Chapter Seven: Breakfast With Everyone
584 Words
Breakfast was never quiet in Kali’s house.
Ziva liked to talk while she ate. Eliza liked to sing. The toaster always popped too early, and someone was always asking for something different than what was already on their plate.
That morning, there was an extra chair at the table.
Kali noticed it the moment she set down the plates.
She hadn’t planned it. She hadn’t thought about it. She just pulled the chair out like it had always belonged there.
Ella sat in it.
She swung her legs under the table, bare feet not quite touching the floor, watching everything with wide, delighted eyes. She looked solid in the morning light — curls a little wild, cheeks flushed with excitement, hands folded neatly like she didn’t want to do anything wrong.
Ziva climbed into her seat and grinned.
“Mom can see you now,” she announced proudly, like this was something she’d accomplished herself.
Ella smiled back. “I know.”
Eliza squinted at Ella over her cereal.
“You better not take my pancakes.”
Ella leaned closer, stage-whispering, “I already did yesterday.”
Eliza gasped. “I knew it!”
Kali laughed — a real laugh, surprised out of her. She placed a small plate in front of Ella out of instinct before stopping herself.
“Oh,” she murmured. “You don’t—”
“I don’t need to eat,” Ella said gently. “But I like pretending.”
Kali nodded and slid the plate closer anyway.
The table filled with normal sounds — forks clinking, cereal crunching, milk spilling. And layered through it all was something new: the quiet awareness that this moment mattered.
Ella leaned forward suddenly.
“Mom?”
“Yes, baby?”
“You don’t look sad anymore,” Ella said carefully.
Kali froze — then softened.
“I still get sad,” she said honestly. “But I’m not scared of it now.”
Ella considered this, then nodded like it made sense.
From the doorway, Alonso watched.
He didn’t sit. He didn’t speak. He just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes shining as he took in the sight of all three girls together — one born, one living, one who never got the chance — and yet somehow all belonging.
Ziva poured her own juice and spilled half of it.
“Oops.”
Ella waved her hand just enough for the juice to stop spreading.
Kali raised an eyebrow.
Ella winced. “Sorry. I forgot the rules.”
“No fixing messes with magic before I try a paper towel,” Kali said lightly.
Ella grinned. “Okay.”
Eliza shoved a pancake into her mouth.
“Ella’s the fun one,” she declared.
Ziva snorted. “No, she’s the sneaky one.”
Ella bowed in her chair. “I accept both titles.”
Kali looked around the table — really looked — and felt something settle into place inside her. Not perfection. Not answers. Just presence.
This wasn’t haunting.
This wasn’t impossible.
This was family.
When breakfast ended and the girls scattered, Ella lingered at the table, tracing the wood with her fingers.
“You’re really staying,” Kali said softly.
Ella looked up. “If you’ll have me.”
Kali reached out and brushed a curl from her face, smiling through the ache and the joy tangled together.
“I already do.”
And for the first time, the house felt full in a way it never had before.
- Writer
