Steam swirls lazily above the rim of the glass in his wife’s hand. Lemuel sits back against the plush gray couch, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Across from him, in their modest but warm Texas apartment, Ava cradles their baby in a soft wrap against her chest, her fingers curled around a glass mug of hot chocolate. The late afternoon sun drips gold through the blinds, casting a halo over her hair.

The baby stirs, and Ava hums, an unhurried, gentle sound that seems to soothe them both. Lemuel studies her, his heart pressing against his ribs like it’s trying to get closer.

He’s thinking about how lucky he is; how he came to America as a wide-eyed British student with nothing but a scholarship and a carry-on bag, how he stayed after graduation, and how somewhere in the messy chaos of building a life, he found her.

She takes a slow sip, closes her eyes briefly at the taste, and he swears the world pauses just so he can drink in the moment.

A chime cuts through the stillness. Lemuel glances at his phone on the coffee table. Facebook notification. He doesn’t care to open it, social media can wait. But then he sees the name.

Catherina.

His thumb hesitates, then taps.

The post opens, and words arrange themselves into something he doesn’t want to believe: “In memory of Catherina Lewis… taken from us too soon. Victim of domestic violence…”

His breath catches.

The rest of the post tells the story in jagged sentences — how a petty argument escalated, how she called her husband “broke” in the heat of the moment, how he lashed out with irreversible violence. Lemuel’s eyes stick to the photo attached: Catherina in her twenties, laughing at some party years ago.

They’d been teenagers together in Kent, England. She’d been his first crush. The girl who smelled like vanilla and made fun of his terrible handwriting in chemistry class. He hasn’t thought of her in years, but suddenly she’s painfully present.

He stares at the screen until it blurs. Ava’s voice pulls him back.

“Lem… what’s wrong?” She’s beside him now, the baby shifting gently between them. She sets her mug down and touches his face. Her fingertips come away damp, and that’s when he realizes he’s crying.

Without a word, he hands her the phone. Her eyes move quickly over the post, then widen in shock. She doesn’t say anything, just sets the phone aside and wraps her arms around him, baby and all.

Lemuel holds her tighter than he has in weeks. The weight of her and the tiny life they’ve created presses warm against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.

He shakes his head. “I’m just… grateful.” His voice is thick. “Grateful that I have you. That we have this life.”

She pulls back slightly to look at him, her brow furrowed in that way that says she knows exactly what he means without him saying more. They both know life isn’t perfect. It’s long hours, juggling deadlines and diaper changes, keeping up with clients for their joint digital marketing business while making sure bills are paid.

But they’ve built something steady. They own their small apartment in Dallas. They have separate savings accounts and a joint investment portfolio they’ve been adding to bit by bit—stocks, bonds, and even a small slice of real estate crowdfunding.

Lemuel thinks about the recent article he read about the UK’s financial climate, the one on a business platform he follows. The piece had been blunt: inflation biting into disposable income, middle-class families squeezed tighter, and a cautious but rising interest in private asset allocation as a hedge against instability. Even though he’s an ocean away, the struggles in Britain feel personal. He knows too many friends back home who are still stuck living paycheck to paycheck.

He wonders if things might have been different for Catherina if her marriage had been stable - emotionally, financially. But that’s a dangerous path to wander. Some tragedies don’t have clean explanations.

Ava strokes his back. “We’ve done well, Lem. Not because we’re lucky, but because we worked for it. And we keep working for it.”

He nods, feeling the truth of it. They didn’t just stumble into stability. They’d fought for every contract, every paying client, every repeat customer. Ava had handled social media campaigns while nursing the baby. He’d taken midnight calls with overseas clients in between coding website fixes. They’d taught themselves to invest, to set aside money for the long game instead of spending it all in the now.

It hits him harder how blessed he is to have a partner who’s also a teammate, a co-architect of their future.

He draws in a long breath, then hugs her again, even tighter this time. “I don’t want to take any of this for granted.”

“You won’t,” she says softly. “Neither will I.”

For a few moments, the only sound is the baby’s quiet breathing and the faint hum of the heater. Outside, traffic passes. Somewhere in London, people are talking about Catherina’s death, shocked and grieving. Here in Dallas, Lemuel sits on his couch, clutching his wife and child, silently counting blessings like prayer beads.

****

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