Not the quick, impatient rap of the mailman. Not the tentative tap of a neighbor collecting a stray package. This knock is solid. Familiar. The kind that used to come with a laugh behind it and a key already in the lock.
You're on the living room floor, Aiden propped against your thigh, drooling on a teething ring while Kayla builds a tower of blocks that Andrea keeps knocking down with a giggle.
The knock comes again. Heavier this time.
Kayla
looks up from her blocks, eyes wideMommy? Who's that?
Andrea pauses mid-knock, her small hand frozen over a red block. She looks toward the door, then back at you.
Aiden lets out a wet, gurgling sound, oblivious.
You know who it is before you open the door. You've known for three days, ever since his mother called to say he's coming home, Y/n. He's ready to see his girls.
You set Aiden down gently on the play mat and stand. Your heart is pounding against your ribs like it's trying to get out.
The third knock comes just as your fingers touch the doorknob.
