Chapter Forty-Seven: What’s Worth Building

This is Mira’s story — part fiction, part reflection, wholly honest.
(Each chapter will end with a note from her writing, signed as your trusted friend.)

🎧 Listen while you read: “Forever” by Ben Harper
For devotion without spectacle. Gentle, masculine, deeply felt.

Mira’s Story: What’s Worth Building
Where living in-between teaches you how to build something lasting

Rowan’s house was starting to feel like a campsite.

Not quite moved in. Not quite visitors. They were existing in that liminal space of “we’re here often enough to have a designated spot for toothbrushes, but not so often that we don’t bring an extra tote just in case.”

Cal’s skateboard leaned against the couch, half-tucked under the coffee table like it was hiding from responsibility. Ellie’s homework was spread across the dining table in organized piles. Pepper’s hoodie, which was Rowan’s hoodie now claimed by Pepper, was draped over the banister. Mira’s tote bag had taken up permanent residence on the kitchen counter.

It wasn’t seamless. But it was something.

“You know this house is a storage unit with a mortgage, right?” Mira teased, dropping her keys into a ceramic bowl.

Rowan glanced up from where he was tying his boots. “That sounds like a logistical marvel.”

Pepper flopped onto the couch dramatically. “Mim says that messes just means a house is ‘lived in’, Mom.”

“Is that what we’re calling Cal’s science project under the stairs?” Ellie asked, eyebrow raised.

Cal didn’t even look up from his phone. “It’s habitat enrichment.”

Mira chuckled, grabbing Rowan’s flannel from the back of a chair. She didn’t even ask before slipping into it.

Rowan looked up, eyes lingering just a beat longer. There was something about the way Mira moved in his space that rearranged his insides. She was effortless and present, yet always half-packed, like she was ready to retreat if the air changed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said, bumping him with her hip.

“Can’t help it. You’re ridiculously hot.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “You’re only saying that because I’m wearing your shirt.”

“I’m saying it because you’re here. Because you show up, with your tote and your kid and your clutter, and somehow it makes this house feel like a home.”

Before Mira could think of a response that wouldn’t turn her into a puddle, her phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: hey.

She flipped it over.

Pepper noticed. “One of those again?”

Mira nodded. “It’s fine.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press.

“Dinner’s on me tonight,” Rowan said, steering the energy back into the room. “But I’m making you all earn it. Team effort.”

An hour later, the kitchen was a beautiful disaster.

Pepper and Cal were arguing about how to properly load the dishwasher.

“It’s Tetris, not Jenga,” Pepper snapped.

“You’re just mad because your method results in wet forks,” Cal shot back.

“Isn’t that the whole point?” Pepper responded with a roll of her eyes.

Ellie was rewriting her notes from class, again, color coded. Mira was elbow-deep in cutting vegetables, pretending not to notice that Rowan kept brushing past her just a little closer than necessary.

Mira was elbow-deep in vegetables, pretending not to notice that Rowan kept brushing past her just a little closer than necessary.

“You need all that counter space?” she asked, slicing a red pepper.

“I need exactly the six inches you’re in,” he grinned.

Every few minutes, her phone would buzz.

Unknown Number: what’s up.

Unknown Number: need to talk.

Unknown Number: Mira it’s important.

Unknown Number: Please answer.

She ignored them. They always came. They always faded. Except something felt… different.

Rowan caught her glancing at the phone again.

“Need me to take a look?” he asked, quiet enough that only she could hear.

“Not yet.” She tried to smile.

Later, after the dishes were (mostly) done, and the kids were wrapped up in their own orbits,

Mira’s phone buzzed again. This time, a voicemail.

Rowan was sitting on the couch, flipping through a set of blueprints, when Mira sat beside him, phone in hand. She played the voicemail on speaker.

It was garbled. A voice she didn’t recognized. The words “hospital,” and “overdose” managed to carve themselves into the room.

Pepper’s head snapped up from her spot on the floor.

The words didn’t land all at once. They layered. Hospital. Overdose.

Mira stayed still for too long.

Mira’s chest tightened. The guilt came fast. She’d ignored the messages. She’d thought it was the usual noise. But this wasn’t noise.

Rowan moved instantly. He stood, taking Mira’s phone from her gently, like it might shatter if she held it too long.

“I’ve got us,” he said, voice low and steady.

Pepper sat frozen, eyes wide. Mira moved to her, crouching in front of her daughter, brushing hair from her face.

“We don’t know everything yet,” Mira said. “But we’re here. We’re okay.”

Ellie appeared quietly, standing beside Pepper. She didn’t say anything, just offered a hand.

Cal fetched a blanket without being asked.

Cal fetched a blanket without being asked, then paused. “It’s not lavender-scented or anything,” he said, awkwardly. “But it’s warm.”

“That’s perfect,” Mira said softly. “You’re perfect.”

“Tell Pepper that next time she says I smell like a gym locker.”

Rowan redialed the unknown number. The phone rang. And rang. Then voicemail.

He texted instead.

Rowan: Who are you? What happened? I need information.

When the reply came, it was brief.

Unknown number: At St. David’s South Austin. Nate is unconscious. They think fentanyl. They’re not sure if he’ll wake up.

Rowan filtered the information. He didn’t flinch.

“Rowan… ” Mira started.

“I’ve got you,” he said gently. “Don’t worry.”

He set the phone down carefully, then looked at Mira and Pepper. “Nate is in the hospital from an overdose. He’s currently unconscious. That’s all we know right now.”

Ellie’s eyes flicked up. Cal was watching too. No one said anything, but the air shifted.

“We should go, Mom,” Pepper said, starting to get up.

Mira reached out, catching her hand. “Honey, your dad is in Texas. Right now, we just have to wait for information. We’ll talk to Nana and see what the next steps are.”

Pepper seemed to melt into Mira, her eyes filling with tears. “Is Dad gonna die?”

“I don’t know, Pepper.”

Rowan gave Mira a nod and quietly slipped out of the room, phone in hand. He moved through the house with purpose, calm but deliberate.

First, he called Mira’s mom.

“Sylvie, it’s Rowan,” he said softly when she answered. He explained everything they knew, his tone a careful balance between clear and gentle. He asked if she had a better contact for Nate’s mom, someone who could get through to the hospital without running into privacy walls.

“I’ll call her now,” Sylvie said. “We’ll get answers. You keep Mira and Pepper steady.”

“I will,” Rowan promised.

He hung up and immediately opened a flight search, pulling up options for Austin. Just in case. He wasn’t sure if Mira and Pepper should go, or would want to, but if they did he’d have the plan ready.

When Nate’s mom called back, Rowan stepped into the garage to take it. He kept his voice low, firm, and kind.

“They’ve stabilized him,” she said, words rushing. “He’s not awake, but they’ve got him breathing on his own. They don’t know if or when he’ll wake up. They said… brain activity looks okay so far. But they’re watching him closely.”

Rowan closed his eyes briefly, grounding himself before he spoke. “Thank you for calling back. Mira’s with Pepper. We’re holding steady here. I’m looking at flights, just in case.”

“I’ll keep you updated,” Nate’s mom said, her voice trembling.

“Let us know everything, even the small stuff. We’ll figure out next steps together.”

When Rowan returned to the living room, Mira was sitting on the floor with Pepper wrapped in her arms. Ellie sat cross-legged nearby, watching quietly, and Cal was pacing the length of the couch with a sort of helpless restlessness.

Rowan crouched beside Mira, gently placing a hand on her back.

“Nate’s breathing on his own now,” he said. “He’s not awake yet, but his vitals are holding. Your mom’s in touch with his mom. We’ll know more soon.”

Mira’s shoulders sagged with the smallest bit of relief. Pepper clung to her tighter.

Rowan didn’t push. He just stayed close, his hand a quiet reminder that they weren’t carrying this alone.

The relief didn’t come all at once, it arrived in pieces. A breath. A nod. A quiet, stilted laugh that didn’t quite land.

Mira sat still for a long time after Rowan spoke, arms still wrapped around Pepper. The kind of stillness that wasn’t peaceful, just exhausted. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t really seeing the room.

“I hate that this is what it takes to hear anything,” she whispered. “I hate that I feel relieved, just because at least now… we know where he is.”

Rowan didn’t correct her. He just knelt beside her, solid and close.

“You’re allowed to feel all of it,” he said. “Even the things that don’t make sense.”

Ellie passed by quietly, her face unreadable, and set a glass of water on the table. Cal wordlessly handed Mira her phone.

No one tried to fix it. They just stayed close.

The house had softened into quiet, but it wasn’t the peaceful kind. It was the hush after a storm, the kind of silence where the air still vibrated with everything unspoken.

Later that night, Pepper fell asleep in Ellie’s bed, the two of them tangled in a fortress of pillows and shared breath. Cal camped out in the hallway outside their room, pretending to scroll his phone but keeping watch in his own quiet way.

Once the house softened into a low hum with the kids tucked away in their own little nests of worry and warmth Rowan made one more check around the rooms. Doors locked. Lights dimmed.

He paused at the base of the stairs, looking up toward where Mira waited standing just outside Ellie’s bedroom. The house was messy, cluttered with emotions and half-finished routines, but something about it felt more stable tonight than it had in weeks.

He didn’t know if stability came from stillness or presence, but whatever this was, it was something he wanted to keep showing up for.

He climbed the stairs quietly, already knowing which floorboard would creak. As he approached Mira he grabbed her hand and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on her shoulder. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go lie down.”

They moved through the nighttime routine in silence, wordless but attuned. Each from their own side of the bed, they crawled under the covers, their bodies drawn toward each other by heat, by comfort, by scent. It wasn’t sexual, but it was deeply physical and primal in the way belonging can be. The way a body knows where it’s safe to rest.

Mira lay beside Rowan in their not-quite-shared bed, wrapped in soft sheets and sleepy kisses. They talked until the moon was high.

About building things that last.

About how grief isn’t linear.

About Rowan’s mother and how she used to believe water remembered everything.

“I think grief gets quieter over time,” Rowan said, tracing gentle circles on Mira’s back. “But I still miss her most when I have good news.”

“Then she’s close,” Mira whispered, swallowing a lump in her throat. “Because, you Rowan, feel like good news.”

He kissed the tip of her nose, a silent thank you.

But Mira’s exhale shuddered. The calm had given her body permission to feel again. Mira’s system sagged under the weight of release. The adrenaline had drained from her fingers. Her limbs felt too heavy. Her breath, too loud.

It was only in the quiet that the guilt found her.

“Rowan. I should have answered the phone,” Mira said with a trembling voice. The guilt overwhelming her as her nervous system finally felt settled.

He stilled, his hand resting warm and solid on the curve of her hip.

“I ignored it. I thought it was the usual. But it wasn’t. What if…” her breath hitched. “What if something happened because I didn’t answer?”

“You didn’t know,” Rowan said gently.

“I should have known. I should’ve…”

“…Mira,” he interrupted, voice steady but soft. “You’ve been on high alert for so long, you think being hyper vigilant is keeping people safe. But it’s not your job to be a siren. You’re allowed to not answer. You’re allowed to rest.”

She buried her face into his chest, overwhelmed.

“I feel useless. Helpless. Like my body doesn’t know what to do now that the crisis isn’t immediate.”

“That’s because your systems been stuck in fight or flight,” Rowan murmured. “You’ve been the alarm, the responder, the clean-up crew… everything. And now, your body doesn’t know how to just be.”

“She let out a humorless laugh. “It’s easier to panic. Being still feels… wrong.”

“I know.” He kissed her temple. “But we’re here now. You don’t have to stay on guard alone.”

“What kind of mother doesn’t answer the phone? What kind of mother is relieved her child’s father is in a hospital bed?”

Rowan didn’t flinch. “That’s not wrong, Mira. That’s just… truth. Complicated doesn’t mean bad.”

Mira shifted, curling into his side. “I’m so tired of complicated.”

“I know,” he said again. “But you don’t have to hold it all tonight. Let me carry some.”

For the first time that day, Mira’s body truly settled. Not because the fear was gone, but because she wasn’t holding it alone.

Later, after Mira had fallen asleep, Rowan stayed awake, watching her breathe. He felt the weight of it all, the kids, the chaos, the ache of wanting to hold it all steady.

He could feel it in the walls, that this house had absorbed something sacred tonight. Not perfection. Not peace. But the willingness to keep showing up, even in the mess.

Even in the grief.

He’d seen Mira at her breaking point. He’d seen Pepper trying not to cry. And still, this was the clearest thing he’d ever wanted.

A life where they didn’t have to be perfect to belong.

He got up, checked on the kids again. Found Pepper curled against Ellie, safe. Cal had finally dozed off, sprawled out with a pillow on the floor.

Rowan’s chest ached. The father-ache.

He didn’t know if he could carry it all. But he could carry some. And tonight, that was enough.

He went back to bed, lay beside Mira, and pulled her closer.

He’d built dozens of homes in his life. But this, this was different.

This wasn’t a blueprint.

This was what was worth building.

---

Letters from The Clever Confidante: “When Someone Really Sees You“
You’re not just visiting, your home

There’s a kind of guilt that sneaks in when you finally exhale.

The moment someone reaches for your hand, says, “I’ve got you,” and means it, you almost flinch. Not because it’s wrong, but because you’ve lived so long without that softness, your body doesn’t know what to do with it.

You think: I should have handled this better.
You think: I should have seen it coming.
You think: How dare I feel relief when something so painful is happening?

The truth I need to tell myself right now:

You’re not failing because you feel tired. You’re not weak for needing someone beside you. And you’re not wrong for feeling grateful, even when the gratitude is tangled with grief.

When someone really sees you—not just the polished parts, but the trembling, overloaded, quietly breaking ones (the ones even worse than your messy closet)—and they stay?

That’s not weakness.
That’s partnership.
That’s the framework of something real.

Maybe you’re not just visiting anymore.

Maybe this is what home feels like.

And I’m so grateful for the people…

no, the person,
who knows how to hold me, and does it without me even asking.

I spend so much time bracing for things to break.
Because that is what my nervous system is used to.

So when they do, my body is prepared.

What it wasn’t use to,
what I am learning to receive,
is someone who shows up.
Who stays
Who helps me carry the hard stuff without making me feel like I’m too much.

You’re not more worthy by white-knuckling your way through the storm.
So when someone offers to sand beside you,
Don’t shrink from it.
Don’t apologize for needing it.

Let yourself be held.
Let yourself exhale.
Let this be what love looks like.

Because love isn’t just in our ability to give from our strength,
it’s also in our ability to receive when we’re tired, trembling, and undone.

Always,
Your Trusted Friend ❤️

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➡️✨ Continue Mira’s Story with Chapter Forty-Eight: The One Where Everything Starts to Fit

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