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The villa was quiet in the early hours, the kind of silence that only comes before the house fills with voices and children’s laughter. Light crept slowly through the shutters, painting pale stripes across the bedroom walls. The hum of the ceiling fan above maintained a gentle whirl, keeping a constant noise throughout the room.
Mariona stirred first, her arm heavy against the sheets. She blinked into the dim light, her always scruffy hair falling into her face. Something warm pressed close at her side.
Maya.
Their eldest had snuck into the bed sometime in the night, curling herself neatly between them, curls wild across the pillow. It wasn’t unusual; most mornings began this way, with the three-year-old's small body wedged between theirs, thumb tucked into her mouth, stuffed rabbit squashed under her arm.
On the other side, Lia shifted, propping herself slightly on one elbow. Her straightened hair spilling loose but still neat, her dress from yesterday abandoned on the chair. She smiled faintly at Maya, then at Mariona.
“Again,” she whispered softly in English, her voice still thick with sleep.
Mariona’s mouth curved into a grin. “Sempre. She always finds a way.”
They lay quietly, listening to Maya’s even breathing, the calm pause before the day began. The sheets smelt faintly of them, of the long night before, of the warmth of shared laughter and touches that had kept them awake well past midnight.
Lia reached across, brushing Mariona’s wrist, and her voice dropped reminiscing. “One whole year of our Sofía… I still can’t believe I had her here, in the room over there.”
Mariona’s eyes softened. “I know… your home birth. My mother thought you were boja.”
“She’s a nurse,” Lia said, her tone wistful. “I understand, but it all felt right. I knew we could do it!”
“She was impressed,” Mariona murmured. “Even if she wouldn’t say it then. She told me after, she ‘never imagined her granddaughter to be brought into the world like that!’”
Lia’s hand moved to her bump, pressing lightly. “And now halfway to the next…”
Mariona nuzzled her temple. “Do you think… another at home?”
Lia’s lips curved thoughtfully. “I loved it. But… with Maya and Sofía at home this time? It might be harder to manage.” She glanced down at the toddler, still sleeping peacefully between them, then back at Mariona. “I don’t know if it would feel… as calm.”
Mariona kissed the corner of her mouth, lingering. “We’ll decide when the time comes. Together, as always.”
“Som afortunades,” Lia whispered, letting her hand settle over Mariona’s.
For a while they stayed like that, Maya completely settled between them, the weight of the past and the promise of the future pressing close.
Eventually, Mariona’s eyes twinkled.
“Well, bon dia, amor,” she whispered. “I need coffee!”
The Spaniard padded down the stairs, her warm feet leaving slight heat marks on the cool wooden steps. It was 06:30am. Their days often started this early; whether on their own accord or down to the children, they didn’t mind; they were both early risers anyway.
Mariona’s first point of call was her beloved coffee machine. One of the most expensive parts of their kitchen and the key to the Spaniard's eternal happiness. Besides her wife, of course. She pulled out a mug from the cupboard - one donned with the crest of Barcelona Football Club - before she began pressing all the necessary buttons.
Meanwhile upstairs, Lia had taken Maya and Sofía’s continued slumber as a sign to get ready for the day… alone. Something that didn’t happen often but was always welcomed.
She left the door open of their ensuite, just in case. However, she found herself managing to enjoy the steps of her morning routine. A quick shower, combing through her hair, brushing her teeth. She even managed to get through her entire skincare routine without little fingers stuck in her moisturiser. Her makeup was simple: some concealer, mascara and that lip gloss that Mariona hated every time she kissed her.
Her dress for the day had been hung up in their dressing room for the last few days. A beautiful flowy white linen dress she had found at the local market one weekend. Perfect for the summer heat with her 20-week pregnant bump.
Once ready, she made her way downstairs. Sunlight spilt across their tiled floor and marble countertops through their sliding back doors. The faint sound of cicadas rose from the garden, where balloons still swayed in the breeze, waiting to be properly strung up for the day.
Lia placed a fleeting kiss on her wife’s lips as she leaned against the counter, hair scruffy, mug of coffee in hand. She looked every bit the footballer she had once been - barefoot, in sports shorts, unbothered, tanned from the island sun - but she never carried herself as extraordinary. Her trophies sat scattered through the house, tucked between books or propped carelessly on shelves, sometimes used as toddler playthings. Medals sat in a dusty cupboard in her office. To her, they were relics from another life; to everyone else, they were proof of brilliance.
Lia, already in party mode, stood by the sink beginning to rinse the strawberries, ready to add to the birthday cake she had made the night before. She moved with the quiet order of someone who had always taken pride in details, though the neatness wasn’t just habit - it was a perfect display of her Swiss-ness. Life made more sense when it was in order. She shifted her weight now and then, hand brushing her bump, smiling faintly. Soon he would be here and their family complete.
A thump of small feet on the wooden stairs broke the calm. Maya soon appeared, blonde curls bouncing, a pink rabbit trailing across the floor behind her.
“Bon dia, princesa,” Mariona said, crouching with open arms.
Maya launched into her, clinging tightly. “Bon dia, Mama. És el cumple de Sofí?”
“Sí, amor. Avui fa un any.” Mariona kissed her cheek, then pulled back, raising an eyebrow playfully. “And you know what happens on birthdays?”
Maya’s eyes went wide. “Cake!”
“Cake, sí… però també…” Mariona tickled her ribs mercilessly, “…molts de petons!” Maya shrieked with laughter, wriggling free, curls flying.
From the sink, Lia dried her hands and attempted to scoop her up before she could run away. “Cake later. First breakfast, then balloons, then cake.”
Maya sighed dramatically. “That takes too long, Mama.”
Mariona snorted into her coffee. “She gets that from you. The drama!”
Lia shot her wife a look from across the kitchen, though her lips twitched. Mariona only shrugged, eyes innocent. “Jo? Nunca.”
Suddenly, as if she knew she was missing out, Sofía’s squeal carried from upstairs. Mariona grinned, setting down her mug. “La reina del dia ja s’ha despertat.” The birthday girl was awake.
“She’s awake!” Maya squealed, nearly tripping over her own feet and Bunny in excitement. Mariona caught her arm just in time, laughing.
“Come on, petita,” she said, ruffling Maya’s curls. “Anem a veure la teva germana.”
All three made their way upstairs together, Mariona’s hand warm around Maya’s as Lia followed. Sofía’s nursery was filled with morning light, pale yellow curtains billowing slightly at the cracked window. She was standing in her crib, fists gripping the rail, cheeks flushed pink from sleep. At the sight of them she let out a delighted squeal, bouncing on her sturdy little legs.
“Bon dia, cumpleanyera!” Mariona cooed, swooping her up with practised ease. Sofía buried her face into her shoulder for a moment before peeking out with a grin, her short blonde hair sticking every which way.
Lia leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Happy birthday, my darling girl.”
Maya tugged at her mother’s shorts impatiently. “Down, Mama. My turn.”
Mariona chuckled, lowering Sofía enough for Maya to plant a sticky toddler kiss right on her sister’s ear. Sofía squealed again at the sound, swatting at Maya’s curly hair with chubby hands.
“Careful, eh,” Mariona teased, adjusting her grip. “She’s already stronger than you think.”
Together they carried Sofía downstairs, the family of four spilling back into the sunlit kitchen. The air was rich with the smell of freshly toasted bread and fresh coffee, the doors open just enough to let in the warm breath of the Mallorcan summer morning. Light glanced off the marble counter, catching on the spare half-sliced strawberries that waited in a bowl, red and juicy.
Maya scrambled up into her chair, curls bouncing, while Mariona settled Sofía into the highchair with a soft kiss to her cheek. The baby immediately smacked her palms on the tray, her expectant squeals echoing around the tiled kitchen.
“Patience, petita,” Mariona said, her grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She slid a spoonful of yoghurt onto the tray. Sofía grabbed at it instantly, smearing most across her bib before managing a victorious mouthful.
Lia carried over a fruit bowl and set it on the table.
“All right,” Mariona said, settling into her seat, “who wants to practise some Catalan?”
Maya’s hand shot up as if she were already in school. Sofía squealed again, as though volunteering too.
“Perfect,” Mariona said, leaning across to pluck a strawberry from the bowl. She held it up between her fingers. “Maduixa,” she said clearly.
“Madoo-sha!” Maya repeated proudly, mouth already opening wide in hopes of getting it. She loved strawberries.
Lia tilted her head, lips curving. “Maduixa,” she echoed, her accent softer, more careful.
“Better,” Mariona teased with a wink, finally passing the berry to Maya, who stuffed it into her mouth with a triumphant grin.
Next came a slice of peach, golden and dripping. “Préssec, Mama’s favourite!” Mariona nodded towards her wife.
“Pres-zek,” Lia tried, slow and deliberate.
Maya giggled. “Peh-sek!”
“Good enough,” Mariona said with a laugh, handing the slice to her. Sofía banged her tray impatiently, and Mariona slipped a tiny piece into her sticky hand.
“And this”, Mariona continued, lifting a banana from the fruit bowl, “is plàtan.”
“Platan!” Maya shouted, her bellows echoing throughout their kitchen.
Lia repeated it, softer again, her green eyes catching Mariona’s. “Plàtan.”
Mariona’s grin widened, crow’s-feet deepening by her eyes. “Molt bé, princesa. You’re improving.”
Lia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she sipped her fruit tea. The table smelt sweet now, strawberries and peaches mingling with buttered toast, little hands sticky with juice. The kitchen rang with giggles and soft corrections, yoghurt spoons clattering, sunlight stretching further across the floor.
By the time plates were scraped clean and Sofía’s cheeks were shining with both yoghurt and fruit, Lia brushed her hands together and rose from the table. “All right,” she said firmly, glancing out the window toward the garden. “I need to start setting up before people arrive.”
Though only 8am, Lia knew as much as anyone how quickly the day could get away with you - especially with small children.
“Perfect,” Mariona replied, already scooping Sofía up out of her highchair. “I’ll take these two hurricanes upstairs. We’ll make them even more beautiful.”
Maya cheered at the idea, clapping her jam-slicked hands together. “Can we shower with you, Mama?” she called, darting toward the stairs.
Mariona gave Lia a grin over her shoulder, that grin that always seemed to say ‘don’t worry, I’ve got this.’ Then she carried Sofía out of the kitchen, following Maya’s stomping feet up the staircase, leaving Lia with a quiet kitchen and a sunny garden waiting to be transformed.
While Lia stepped into the garden, arranging yesterday’s premade platters and tying bunting and balloons beneath the olive tree, Mariona shepherded both girls into their ensuite. Sofía balanced on her hip, with Maya skipping along at her side.
“Come on, princesses,” Mariona said. “Hem d’estar guapes per la festa.”
The bathroom filled quickly with steam, sunlight glinting off tiled walls. Mariona set Sofía down on her wet mat on the tiled floor, her little legs wobbling in anticipation, while Maya scrambled, tugging off her pyjamas.
They all squeezed under the warm spray, all three laughing as water splashed from the full-body jets in every direction.
“Maya!” Mariona laughed, wiping her face from a direct hit. “Ets un monstre de s’aigua.”
Maya grinned wickedly. “Rawrrr!”
Mariona scooped her into her arms, blowing raspberries against her cheeks until she shrieked. Sofía watched on, clapping her hands in delight.
The Spaniard washed both the girls' hair before her own. Letting Maya play with her ducks in the suds on the floor whilst she waited.
Once finished and the water turned off, Mariona bundled them into their soft pink monogrammed towels and lined them up at the sink. Handing Maya her toothbrush already with toothpaste on it. The three-year-old scrubbed furiously at her teeth, humming to herself, while Mariona guided Sofía’s chubby fist around a tiny brush and into her mouth.
Then, she quickly did her own. The messy foam around her mouth reminded Maya of Papa Noel, or so she said.
“Moltes dents netes,” Mariona declared solemnly afterward, getting Maya to show her teeth in the mirror. “Perfecte.”
In the dressing room, the dresses Lia had laid out this morning waited on the large chair - pale pink tulle for Maya and soft white with silver sparkles for Sofía.
“Sparkle!” Maya cried, twirling before Mariona had even pulled the dress fully over her head.
“És una princesa, segur,” Mariona teased, steadying her.
Sofía wiggled through her own dress, arms flapping until Mariona fastened the last button. Once finished, she reached for her sister, squealing in delight.
“Sofí needs her crown!” Maya placed the little fabric crown on her head with great importance.
Mariona stepped back, taking in the sight of both girls, glittering in the sunlight, cheeks flushed from the shower. “Guapíssimes,” she whispered.
“Maya tugged at her arm impatiently. “Let’s show Mama! Ara!”
So they did. But not before the Spaniard got changed herself.
Together they headed downstairs, Maya skipping ahead, Mariona following behind with Sofía balanced on her hip. The back doors were already open from earlier, the sound of soft music and the clink of plates drifting in from the garden. Deeper into the morning, the sunlight was stronger now, filtering through the olive branches, and the scent of cut grass from the neighbour mixed with the faint salt of the sea on the breeze.
Lia was out there, arranging platters on the long table, pausing every so often to smooth the linen cloth or adjust the little vases of flowers she had picked out at the market earlier in the week. Her white linen dress reflected the sunlight, her hair was swept back neatly, and a growing bump was visible beneath the fabric.
“Mama!” Maya’s voice rang across the garden.
Lia turned just in time to see her eldest daughter come barreling through the open sliding doors in a whirl of tulle and curls. She opened her arms, laughing, as Maya flung herself forward. “Oh, my love, look at you.” She leaned back to admire her. “You look like a fairy.”
Maya beamed, cheeks pink with pride. “Mama helped.”
Behind them, Mariona stepped out holding Sofía. The baby’s dress sparkled softly in the sunlight, her dark brown eyes wide as she blinked at the brightness. Though Lia’s gaze lingered not just on Sofía but on Mariona herself.
The Mallorcan had pulled on white linen trousers and a loose button-up with the collar undone, casual but put together in a way that only made her look more striking. Her hair was still a little damp from the shower, with the slight untamed fluff in her signature low bun, and her tan was glowing against the pale fabric. She was handsome, maddeningly so, and Lia’s chest tightened just a little at the sight.
Mariona caught the look instantly, her grin curving slyly. “Què mires, princesa?” she asked softly.
Lia flushed, caught in the act. “Just my beautiful family,” she said, a little too smoothly.
“Mm.” Mariona stepped closer, her voice low enough for only Lia to hear. “I looked more beautiful between your thighs last night, if that’s what you’re thinking about.”
Lia gasped, her mouth dropping open, scandalised. “Mario!” She stopped herself, glancing at Maya twirling nearby and Sofía squealing on Mariona’s hip. Her cheeks burnt hot as she swatted at her wife’s arm. “The children are right here!” she hissed, though her eyes were already betraying her with a sparkle of laughter.
Mariona just laughed, broad and unrepentant, crow’s-feet crinkling as her grin stretched wide. “Qué?” she said innocently, giving Lia a wink. “És veritat.”
Lia shook her head, still pink, but she couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “You are impossible,” she whispered, but there was fondness threaded through every word.
“Impossible,” Mariona agreed, leaning in to brush a teasing kiss against her lips, “but you still keep me around.”
By lunchtime the garden had transformed. Bunting fluttered from olive branches, pastel-coloured balloons swayed, and the long table stretched beneath the shade, laden with food. The children’s laughter echoed, high and unrestrained, as the first guests arrived.
Maya twirled across the grass, her pale pink dress puffing around her, glitter catching the sunlight. She looked like she’d leapt out of a storybook. Sofía, in white with silver sparkles in her crown, rode on Mariona’s hip like a tiny monarch, her hand batting at the balloons her mother kept touching to her face.
Lia’s heart squeezed at the sight of them - her wife, relaxed and radiant despite her scruffy hair, carrying their youngest daughter as if she were the most natural thing in the world. She moved through life like water, steady and sure, laughing even when chaos bloomed around her.
Guests spilt in: Grosi and Gropi with treats from Switzerland, Àvia with warmth in her eyes, and Mariona’s brother Miquel with his teasing grin. Friends, neighbours, neighbours’ children - they filled the garden with chatter, with the blend of Catalan, English, and Swiss German that had become the fabric of their lives.
At some point, someone’s child had found a small football, an ever-present object in their home. Mariona was the first to spot it. She set Sofía down carefully, then, with a mischievous grin, tapped the ball lightly toward Maya.
“Va, princesa - xuta!”
Maya squealed, lifting her little tulle skirt as she kicked, the ball skimming sideways more than forward. A burst of laughter came from the adults nearby.
“Good effort,” Lia called, settling plates on the table. She nudged the ball back with her left foot, sending it straight to Mariona.
Mariona caught it under her bare foot and arched an eyebrow at her wife, the familiar spark in her eyes. “Still got it, eh?”
Lia laughed, a hand naturally over her bump. “Better than you think.”
Her pass was light but precise, threading perfectly through two children playing tag. Mariona pretended to fumble dramatically, throwing her hands up in mock despair as Maya laughed, watching along.
“Un desastre,” Mariona groaned, sending the ball back with a flick. It skimmed just past Lia’s ankle, neat as ever. She shot her a look, equal parts amused and fond.
The children quickly claimed the ball for themselves, chasing it in a messy cluster across the grass. Mariona let them, crouching back down with Maya and Sofía to inflate more balloons.
Lia shook her head but couldn’t hide her smile.
In the grass, Mariona spent her time blowing balloons until her face turned red, only to let them whizz away across various parts of the garden. The girls’ giggles carried across the lawn, infecting everyone who heard.
“Encara! Encara!” Maya cried.
“Last one, princesa.” Mariona puffed her cheeks dramatically before letting the balloon zip under the table. Gropi yelped as it brushed his leg, dropping his fork.
“Mamaaaaa!” Maya howled. “You scared Gropi!”
Lia pressed her lips together, but her eyes betrayed her amusement. It wasn’t discipline her wife needed - it was reigning in. And yet she wouldn’t trade it for anything. That cheekiness, that unpolished joy, was why their daughters adored her.
The little dramas of the day unfolded as they always did. A jug of juice toppled, soaking the patio. Children shrieked and scattered, parents swooping in with towels. Maya snuck strawberries, blaming Oncle Miquel with an expression too innocent to be real. Sofía seized an olive from the grass under the tree and nearly swallowed it whole until Mariona plucked it deftly from her mouth.
“You encourage them,” Lia muttered, exasperated.
Mariona’s grin was unapologetic. “Només un poc.”
But when Maya stumbled and scraped her knee on the patio, it was Mariona who scooped her up instantly, voice soft and certain: “No passa res, princesa. Ja està bé.” Lia watched as their daughter buried her teary face into Mariona’s chest, comforted in seconds. Marks from her tears were left on her shirt. The ache rose in Lia again - not envy, not even admiration, but love in its rawest form.
By evening, the garden was alive, full of voices as more people joined them, laughter, and the squeals of children splashing their feet at the pool’s edge. Plates clinked, glasses chimed, and the scent of grilled fish and roasted vegetables drifted on the breeze. Guests wandered in little clusters: some of Mariona’s old friends from the island, a few neighbours, and Lia’s sister chatting animatedly with Mariona’s brother near the table.
Amid the noise, Mariona slipped inside to fetch more wine from their cellar, her eternal smile in place as someone clapped her shoulder on the way out. She ducked through the open doors into the kitchen, cooler and quieter, the hum of the fridge filling the stillness.
She wasn’t alone for long.
Lia appeared a moment later, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face, her cheeks flushed from the sun and the chatter. She leaned against the counter, exhaling as though she’d been holding her breath.
“Tired,” she murmured.
“Mm.” Mariona set down the bottles she’d gathered, opening her arms without a word.
Lia stepped into them, letting her forehead rest against Mariona’s shoulder. The linen of her shirt was warm from the sun, her familiar scent of salt and citrus clinging to her skin. For a moment, the party could have been miles away.
“Are you happy?” Mariona asked softly, her voice low, her accent wrapping around the English.
Lia nodded against her. “So happy. Tired,” she admitted with a small laugh, “but happy.”
Mariona’s hand slid down to the curve of her belly, cradling it. “He’s happy too,” she said quietly. “I can tell.”
Lia smiled, covering Mariona’s hand with her own. “He’s been moving today. I think he likes the noise.”
“Or the maduixes,” Mariona teased, remembering the strawberries at breakfast.
That earned her a laugh, soft and warm. “Maybe both.”
Mariona leaned lower then, pressing a kiss to the swell of her wife’s stomach. “Escolta’m, petit,” she whispered in Catalan. “Your Mama is waiting for you. Your sisters are waiting patiently. We’re ready to see you in a few months.” She let her lips linger there for a moment before straightening again, her eyes bright with affection.
Then her gaze moved back to Lia, and something shifted in her smile - softer, more serious. She brushed a strand of hair from her wife’s cheek, fingertips lingering like a vow.
“Mi vida,” Mariona murmured. “Everything is for you. Just you; my whole life will always be you.” Her voice wavered with the intensity of it, but she held the words steady, as if daring Lia to doubt them.
Lia’s throat tightened, her eyes shining. “You’ll make me cry in the middle of the kitchen,” she whispered.
“Let them see,” Mariona said with a grin. “My mother knew from the first days I was obsessed with you. She thought I was ridiculous, moving to London.”
That earned her a helpless laugh, cheeks flushed pink.
“You look handsome,” Lia whispered back, her eyes flicking to the undone collar of Mariona’s shirt.
“Ja ho sé,” Mariona teased. Then, softer, she kissed her, a slow press of lips that carried none of the noise outside, only the steady hum of their life together.
They stood like that, wrapped in each other, until a squeal of laughter burst from the garden, Maya’s voice unmistakable above the others. Both women smiled, their private moment folding itself neatly back into the day.
“Back to it?” Lia asked reluctantly.
Mariona nodded, brushing one last kiss to her cheek before gathering the drinks. “Back to it.”
When the cake was brought out, the chatter hushed into laughter and song. It was a simple but perfect creation - homemade by Lia the day prior, its layers of sponge and cream rising high, crowned with strawberries that gleamed under the evening sunshine and soft garden lights.
Sofía’s eyes went wide at the sight, her hands already reaching, palms opening and closing impatiently. Mariona laughed, steadying her on her hip as everyone sang.
Maya leaned in dangerously close, her curls bouncing as she tried to sneak a strawberry before the candles were even lit. “Maya…” Lia warned gently, though her smile gave her away. Maya grinned, caught in the act, her fingers still stained with strawberry juice from the one she’d managed to steal earlier while no one was looking.
The candles flickered, and everyone’s voices rose. Sofía clapped so hard she nearly tipped herself out of Mama’s arms, squealing with delight. Mariona held her steady, her grin wide enough to crease the lines around her eyes. Together, Lia and Mariona leaned close, helping Sofía puff her cheeks and blow. The flames danced out, smoke curling into the warm evening air.
Applause broke out, but Sofía was already diving forward with both hands. Her fingers landed squarely in the cream, sinking deep, smearing white across her cheeks as she tried to shovel the sweetness into her mouth. Guests laughed, phones came out for photos, and Lia just shook her head, pulling a napkin she knew wouldn’t help much.
Meanwhile, Maya had succeeded in her mission - two more strawberries vanished into her hands, tucked beneath the table as if she thought no one could see. Lia spotted her instantly, eyebrows lifting, but her daughter’s cheeky grin was too much. She let her keep them, only shaking her head as Maya bit triumphantly into the stolen fruit.
When slices were finally passed around, cream and sponge crumbling onto plates, the garden filled with the sound of content chewing and children’s sticky giggles, and compliments to the baker. Sofía had cream smeared across her nose and dress, Maya’s fingers were stained red from strawberries, and Mariona leaned across to kiss Lia softly, whispering, “Perfect cake, amor.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she replied, her wife’s grin still against her cheek.
Later into the evening, after the sun went down, lanterns glowed in the olive branches, soft golden light bathing the garden. Children slowed, sprawling on blankets, their voices fading to tired murmurs. Sofía dozed against Àvia’s shoulder, Maya trudged at Grosi’s side, balloon bobbing in her hand. The football from earlier rolled lazily across the patio, straight into Mariona’s path. She stopped it with her foot, a grin curving.
And suddenly she sat at her garden table in Mallorca. Lia was back in Barcelona. The afterparty had spilt into the morning, Mariona scruffy and radiant, grin unstoppable - la chica de la eterna sonrisa. Their words had been clumsy, their kiss on the terrace inevitable, the beginning of everything.
Now, watching her wife in their garden, hair still just as messy, crow’s-feet deeper from all the extra years of smiling, she felt that same love as all those years ago.
Mariona caught her staring. “Què?”
“Res,” Lia murmured, lips curving. “Just remembering.”
Mariona crossed to her, standing behind her chair, slipping her arms around her neck, pressing her lips into her.
“Bona memòria, amor.”
The rest of the long table still hummed with chatter, glasses catching the light. Maya wriggled up onto Mariona’s lap, still nibbling strawberries with sticky fingers, while Sofía - awake again, sat between her grandmothers, being fed tiny bites of bread that mostly ended up on her dress.
“Vint setmanes, no?” Mariona’s mother asked Lia, her tone gentle but pointed.
Lia nodded, smoothing a hand over her bump almost unconsciously. “Halfway, yes. It feels faster this time. Maybe because I don’t have time to think about it,” she added with a small laugh, glancing at her daughters.
“És normal,” Mariona’s mother said, reaching across to pat her hand. “La primera comptaves cada setmana, cada dia fins i tot. La segona… només esperes recordar en quin mes estàs.”
The table chuckled. All the parents know the feeling.
“And how is it?” asked her sister-in-law, curiosity gentle. “Different from the girls?”
Lia thought for a moment. “He moves more already. The girls were quieter, at least at this stage.” She smiled faintly. “Sometimes it feels like he’s kicking just to remind me he’s there… or that he wants to play football!”
Mariona leaned in, grinning. “Ja veus, és com jo. Sempre fent soroll.”
That earned laughter and a fond eye-roll from Lia. “Maybe.” Her voice softened. “I love it though. Feeling him move.”
Lia’s mother cleared her throat, his smile tender. “Have you decided where? The birth?”
That brought a ripple of energy to the table. Mariona’s mother folded her arms, giving her daughter a pointed look. “Jo encara dic que això és boig. Però bé, va ser preciós amb la Sofía.”
“Mama,” Mariona countered lightly, grinning, “you know it was perfect. Home births are special.”
Her mother shook her head, though her smile betrayed her fondness. “Sí, sí… però ja ho saps: els hospitals estan fets per alguna raó.”
Lia touched her belly thoughtfully, her lips curving in a smile that was equal parts fond and uncertain. “I loved it. But this time - with Maya older, and Sofía-” She shook her head, trailing off.
“No és només sobre vosaltres ara,” Mariona finished softly in Catalan, her hand resting on her wife’s knee under the table.
Maya piped up suddenly, pointing at her mother’s belly with a giggle. “He’s going to be my little brother! But if he cries, I’ll tell him to be quiet!”
The table erupted into laughter, Mariona’s mother shaking her head fondly. “Ja veus, ja té caràcter!”
Lia laughed, covering her face briefly with her hands. “Oh, he’ll be in trouble already,” she whispered.
Mariona squeezed Lia’s hand under the table, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You remember,” she said softly, “when Maya was a baby, you said you wanted ten of her?” She gave a little laugh. “Now that she can talk - and shout - I think we may have to rethink that plan.”
Lia groaned playfully, hiding her smile behind her hand. “I stand by every word I said… sort of. She was a great baby!”
Mariona’s eyes softened, her thumb brushing gently over her wife’s hand and then, instinctively, across her belly. “He’s going to be loved more than he knows,” she said softly.
Then Mariona’s brother leaned back, a mischievous grin on his face. “So… three under four, eh? And you’re finished?”
A ripple of laughter went around the table. Lia’s cheeks flushed, half-exasperated, half-amused. She had gotten used to the openness in Spanish family conversation over the years. “I… I don’t know. Maybe we’ll see,” she said, smiling shyly.
Mariona winked, leaning a little closer. “I’m retired now,” she joked in Catalan. “Three babies is all we can afford. Nobody else at this table had to pay for their babies, you know.” She gave a mischievous grin.
“So”, Miquel continued with a sly grin, “have you decided on a name yet, or are you still negotiating?”
Lia touched her belly thoughtfully. “Almost,” she said. “We’re leaning toward Mateo… But we’re open to ideas. Something that works in German and Spanish.”
Mariona squeezed her hand, eyes sparkling. “Mi vida is picky. She wants it perfect.”
“Perfect is hard,” Lia said with a small laugh. “He’ll have to live up to it.”
There was a pause for a moment before she spoke again.
“I’ve been thinking…” she began softly, her voice barely rising above the chatter. “If we do choose Mateo… I like the idea of Mateo Miquel.”
The sound of her words seemed to pause the table. Mariona’s head snapped toward her, dark eyes wide. “Miquel?” she repeated, her voice hushed.
Lia nodded gently, her gaze steady. “After your father.”
For a heartbeat, Mariona couldn’t speak. Her easy smile faltered into something rawer, softer. She blinked quickly, crows’ feet deepening as her lips pressed together, the eternal smile replaced by something almost reverent. “Mi vida…” she whispered, her hand tightening over Lia’s under the table.
“I thought maybe it would be a way to carry him with us,” Lia continued, her voice warm, quiet but sure. “Through his grandson. I didn’t want to say before I was certain. But it feels right, and everyone is here now…” she trailed off.
Mariona swallowed hard, her eyes bright with emotion she rarely let show in front of others. “I didn’t know you were thinking that,” she said softly, switching briefly into Catalan, the words trembling with feeling. “Gràcies, amor meu.”
Her mother, sitting just across, reached out to touch Mariona’s arm, her own eyes glistening. “El teu pare estaria molt orgullós,” she murmured.
The table quieted, respect falling into the space like a blessing. Even Maya, sensing something important, leaned her curly head against Mariona’s chest, whispering, “Mateo Miquel,” as if testing it.
The name hung in the air, tender and strong all at once. And in that moment, beneath the olive trees and the warmth of their family gathered close, it seemed to settle into their hearts as if it had been waiting there all along.
Mariona leaned in, her forehead briefly touching Lia’s temple. “Perfect,” she whispered, her voice breaking into a soft, shaky laugh. “És perfecte.”
By the time the last guests drifted away just after midnight and the garden lights dimmed, the girls were past the edge of exhaustion. Sofía was heavy in Lia’s arms, her white dress streaked pink from strawberries, her cheeks flushed, her eyelids sticky with sleep. She made soft little hums as Lia carried her upstairs, head dropping against her shoulder.
Maya, on the other hand, had found her second wind. She darted ahead up the stairs, still in her glittering tulle, curls wild from the day. “Not sleepy!” she announced, her voice echoing down the hallway.
“Of course not,” Mariona said dryly, her grin giving her away. “Never sleepy, eh, princesa?”
Maya climbed onto the bed, scattering pillows, her stuffed rabbit clutched in one hand. Mariona flopped beside her dramatically, pretending to snore, which made Maya shriek with laughter.
“Shh,” Lia whispered, though she was smiling too, Sofía still asleep in her arms. She perched on the edge of the bed, brushing Maya’s curls from her face with her spare hand. “It’s late, my angel. Tomorrow you’ll be tired.”
“Not tired,” Maya insisted, crawling atop Mariona's chest.
Eventually, between Mariona’s steady presence and Lia’s gentle coaxing, Maya settled beneath the covers. Mariona lay stretched beside her, stroking her hair, while Lia hummed a soft lullaby in German, her voice low and soothing.
When at last Maya’s breathing slowed, thumb slipping into her mouth, Mariona glanced over at Lia. Their eyes met over the tangle of pillows and blankets, over their eldest daughter finally asleep.
Later, when they slipped out and closed the door quietly, the house felt hushed again, shadows long across the tiled floor. Lia leaned against the wall, tired but content, with Sofía still sleeping peacefully in her arms. Mariona came up behind her, slipping her arms around her waist, her grin brushing her cheek even in the dim light.
“Bon aniversari perfecte,” she murmured, brushing her fingers along Sofía’s forehead.
For a moment they stood there, neither rushing to move, just letting the silence settle. The air carried the faintest trace of birthday cake and lavender, reminders of the long, full day. Lia exhaled, her body heavy with exhaustion, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go of Sofía yet. She glanced toward the nursery, the unspoken tug of wanting just a little more time with her baby written in her eyes. Mariona squeezed her waist, a silent permission, and pressed one last kiss to her temple before letting her go.
Lia then moved across to Sofía’s room. A mobile of felt stars and moons hung above the crib, swaying gently, catching the faint nightlight’s glow. On the shelves sat neat rows of storybooks and wooden toys, and a few framed photos of the girls together, already beginning to mark the walls.
Sofía fussed lightly in Lia’s arms, her white birthday dress already exchanged for soft cotton pyjamas scattered with little yellow stars. She squirmed for a moment, not quite ready to surrender to sleep, until Lia adjusted her hold and gathered her close against her chest. The room glowed with the warm, golden spill of the bedside lamp, and from the dresser came the faint, steady drift of lavender from the diffuser, soothing and familiar.
Sofía nursed as they sat together in a rocking chair - something they only did in the evenings. Her tired whimpers softened to quiet little sighs as time passed. Her tiny hand found its way instinctively to Lia’s collarbone, curling and uncurling with the rhythm of her breathing. Her eyelashes drooping heavier with each passing moment.
It amazed Lia how quickly a year could pass. Only twelve months ago she had been in the same house, in this very room, but with sweat clinging to her skin and her body trembling with effort. She remembered the quiet intensity, the hushed instructions from the midwife, and the way the night air slipped through the window, cool on her overheated skin. She remembered the grip of her Mariona’s hand and the cool hand towel she had placed on her forehead. And then, in the end, she remembered the cry - so tiny yet so impossibly mighty - and the sudden flood of love coursing through her.
Now that newborn lay heavier in her arms, fuller in her cheeks, and stronger in her grip, her eyes slowly blinking into sleep.
At the doorway, Mariona leaned her shoulder lightly against the frame, careful not to disturb them. She hadn’t meant to linger, but something about the picture stopped her - the rhythm of mother and child in perfect unison. A warmth bloomed in her chest: pride, happiness, love.
It was a private moment, but it belonged to her too. Watching them like this, she felt the years stack one against the other: the day Lia first held Maya, the moment Sofía was placed in her arms, and the image of Lia kissing their foreheads with that same smile.
When at last Sofía’s eyes fluttered shut for good, her lips falling from the breast, Lia lingered just a little longer, watching her sleep. She pressed a tender kiss to her daughter’s temple, breathing in the faint scent of milk and lavender, before lowering her into the waiting crib. The sheets were cool and freshly laundered, with a small stuffed lamb tucked in the corner.
“Bona nit, my angel,” Lia whispered, smoothing her thumb gently down Sofía’s forehead and nose.
From the door, Mariona smiled to herself, filled with pure pride and adoration.
Lia straightened slowly, brushing a hand down the front of her dress as though smoothing the quiet out of her bones. When she turned, she saw her wife waiting for her in the doorway, arms folded loosely, smile soft, eyes shining with that look she saved only for her.
“Dorm?” Mama asked quietly, tilting her head toward the crib.
Lia nodded, stepping closer. “Sí, finalment.”
They didn’t need to say more. Lia slipped through the doorway, and Mariona shifted just enough to make space for her. Their hands brushed, fingers naturally finding one another as though they were magnets. Side by side, they stepped into the hallway, pulling the nursery door closed behind them with careful precision.
The house was hushed now, the whirl of ceiling fans and the faint ticking of a wall clock the only sounds. They crossed the hallway together, barefoot on the cool tiles, and entered their bedroom. The tall ceiling made the room feel airy even in darkness, with the wide bed turned down and the balcony doors cracked just enough to let in a summer’s night breeze.
The French doors lead out onto a balcony that overlooked their garden, now quiet in the dark. From there, the olive trees looked like shadows, the pool faintly reflecting the garden lights left on for the evening. Beyond the patchwork of neighbouring houses and scrubby land, the ocean gleamed faintly in the distance, a silver line under the moonlight.
Their bedroom carried the same language of the house - white and cream - but with softer beige accents that made the space feel warm rather than stark. A super king bed dominated the centre, the linens pale and inviting, pillows scattered with the kind of casual luxury that hinted at care behind the scenes. Against one wall hung a wide television; once it had been reserved for football matches, late-night highlights and tactical replays, but these days it was more often tuned to 6am reruns of Bluey, the soundtrack to Maya and Sofía’s mornings.
The room felt like theirs, not a showpiece but a lived-in space, filled with the subtle undertones of family: a pair of children’s books left on the lounge by the bed, a stuffed bear tucked into the corner from a forgotten morning and framed photographs on the wall from travels and victories past.
Through another door lay their ensuite: sleek and tiled, with a wide glass shower and a deep bath big enough for both of them to sink into, side by side. Double sinks stretched along the counter, Lia’s side always neater, and Mariona’s side always scattered with little things: her watch, a stray hair tie, and a bottle of nail polish half-open.
Steam clung faintly to the mirrors as Lia leaned over the sink, warm water carefully washing her face. She moved with the same quiet precision she always had - measured and deliberate - patting her skin dry with a soft towel before smoothing cream into her cheeks.
Mariona, on the other hand, had finished her ‘routine’ in less than three minutes. A splash of water, a rough towel-dry of her face, some moisturiser and brushing her teeth with absent-minded efficiency. Now she leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her wife with a smile tugging at her lips.
“You make it look like art,” she murmured.
Lia glanced at her in the mirror, lips curving faintly. “It’s just skincare.”
“No, mi vida,” Mariona countered softly, her voice warm. “It’s the way you take care of yourself. You’re beautiful. Always.”
Lia shook her head, amused, turning slightly to face her. “Flattery will get you nowhere this evening, my love.”
“Not flattery,” Mariona said, stepping closer. “Truth.”
For a moment, they moved in silence again - Lia dabbing cream along her collarbone, Mariona simply watching, her smile softer now, almost hesitant. Finally, she spoke again, her voice low.
“What you said at the table today… Mateo Miquel.” She exhaled, her hand raking absently through her hair. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
Lia froze for a beat, then turned fully, resting her hands lightly on the edge of the sink. “I thought you’d like it,” she said gently. “Your father deserves to be remembered. And our boy deserves to carry something of him.”
Mariona’s eternal smile faltered, her dark eyes shining as she tried to hold it in. “He never saw any of it, mi vida. Not the finals. Not the trophies. He never got to see me be what he always believed I could be.” Her voice cracked slightly. “And now you’ve given me this… a way for him to be part of it still. Part of us.”
And then, to her own surprise, the tears came. Hot, unbidden, sliding down her tanned cheeks.
Mariona never cried. Not when she broke her nose on her professional club debut. Not when she lost her last cup final. Not when the Spanish press tore her apart during Las 15. She was la chica de la eterna sonrisa, and tears never came.
But here, in the quiet of their bathroom, with Lia’s soft hands and their son growing steadily beneath her skin, her guard gave way.
Lia turned at once, catching her face between both palms, her own eyes brimming. “Oh, mi amor…”
Mariona shook her head, laughing shakily even as the tears fell faster. “I don’t- I never cry. You know I don’t cry.”
“Then I’ll hold you for as long as you need,” Lia whispered, pulling her into her chest.
Mariona buried her face against the curve of her neck, breathing her in, the familiar scent of cream and soap and warmth. Her shoulders shook once, twice, before she steadied herself, her arms tightening around her wife as though she might anchor herself there forever.
When she finally pulled back, her smile was small but truer than ever, her cheeks damp. “Only you,” she whispered, her voice thick. “Only you could do this to me.”
Lia brushed the tears away gently with her thumbs, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Only us,” she corrected softly. “Always us.”
Mariona laughed again, wetter this time, and pressed her lips to Lia’s cheek, holding her close as though the weight of grief and love could only ever be borne together.
For a while they stayed like that, swaying gently in the quiet, the world outside their room forgotten. It wasn’t the passion of their younger years but something deeper - two lives wound tightly, every joy and every ache shared. Eventually, with a steadying breath, Mariona eased back, threading her fingers through Lia’s, and they walked together toward the bedroom. Neither spoke; they didn’t need to. The silence between them was thick with meaning, with everything they had already said and everything they didn’t have to.
Lia stretched out on the bed with a low sigh. Mariona slid in beside her, curling close, her arm warm across her waist. They lay for a moment in silence, the faint hum of the fan above, the quiet of their home deep around them.
“Quin dia,” Mariona murmured into her hair. What a day.
Lia gave a soft laugh. “Mm. I think there’s still cream on the floor downstairs.”
“I’ll clean it,” Mariona promised, though they both knew she wouldn’t.
Lia smiled, turning her head to kiss her cheek. “‘Perfect cake’, you said. Even if Sofía wore more of it than she ate.”
“She enjoyed it,” Mariona said with certainty. “That’s all that matters.”
For a while they were quiet again, just breathing together. Lia let her palm rest over Mariona’s hand where it lay across her bump. “Can you believe next year,” she whispered, “he’ll be here too?”
Mariona groaned dramatically. “Three wild ones. Maya stealing strawberries, Sofí with her hands in the cake, and the little one-who knows?”
“Maybe calmer.”
“Impossible,” Mariona said with a grin she knew Lia could feel. “Not in this family.”
“Everything will work out as you want,” Mariona said simply. “Always. I will make sure.”
Lia turned, meeting her eyes in the dim light. Even in shadow, Mariona’s grin was there - gentle, unshakeable. It softened her, made her feel like the world could wait. She kissed her wife slowly and tenderly, then rested her forehead against hers.
“You’re too good to me,” she whispered.
“Not possible,” Mariona said, her Catalan accent thickening with tiredness. “Ets la meva princesa.”
Lia smiled at that, letting the words settle deep. She curled closer, tucking herself against her wife’s warmth, the ocean faintly visible beyond the balcony, the house hushed with the sleep of children.
“Tomorrow,” she murmured, already drifting, “I bet Bluey will still start at six.”
Mariona chuckled softly. “Better than cartoons in German.”
“Hey.” Lia nudged her, half-asleep.
“Vale, vale,” Mariona whispered, kissing her temple. “Bluey it is.”
They drifted off like that, laughter fading into silence, wrapped in the easy closeness that had carried them from a crowded terrace at an afterparty in Barcelona to this quiet room filled with the sounds of home.