Page 93 of After the Rain

"That's why we're here."

Cooper was out of the truck before I'd even turned off the engine, racing up the porch steps with the kind of boundless energy only seven-year-olds possessed. Ezra and I followed more slowly, watching our son discover his new home.

The interior was exactly as I'd dreamed it would be—warm, welcoming, filled with natural light from the tall windows. The hardwood floors gleamed honey-colored in the afternoon sun, and every room felt spacious and full of possibility.

Cooper ran from room to room, his excitement building with each discovery. "This one can be my room! And this one can be the guest room for when mom visits! And look at this kitchen—it's huge!"

Ezra moved more slowly, running his hands along the restored crown molding, taking in the details with the careful attention he gave to everything important. I watched him fall in love with the house all over again, seeing it now not as a renovation project but as our actual home.

"The kitchen has enough space for homework supervision and cooking at the same time," he said thoughtfully.

"And look at this," I said, leading them to the back windows. "See that oak tree out there?"

Cooper's gasp was audible. "It's perfect for a treehouse! Can we build one? A real one with walls and a roof and everything?"

"Whatever kind of treehouse you want, buddy."

"Can Papa Ezra help build it?"

"I'm counting on Papa Ezra to help build it."

We spent two hours exploring every room, every closet, every possibility. Cooper claimed the bedroom with the best view of the backyard for "treehouse supervision," while Ezra and I discussed garden space and workshop organization.

"When can we move in?" Cooper asked as we sat on the back deck, watching the sun filter through the oak leaves.

"Soon," I said. "We need to pack up our old house, get everything organized. Maybe a few weeks?"

"A few weeks?" Cooper's face fell. "That's forever!"

"It'll go fast," Ezra assured him. "And think of all the planning we can do. We need to figure out your room, plan the treehouse, decide where to put the vegetable garden."

"We're really going to live here? All three of us?"

"All three of us," I confirmed, pulling him close. "Forever."

The move happened gradually over the following weeks. Cooper supervised every box with the seriousness of a construction foreman, ensuring his most important possessions—dinosaurs, LEGO sets, and the stuffed elephant Ezra had won him at the county fair—made the transition safely. Ezra labeled everything with the kind of organizational system that made unpacking feel like following a treasure map.

But the best part was watching our new house become our home. Cooper's artwork appeared on the refrigerator, Ezra's books filled the built-in shelves in the living room, and my tools found their place in the workshop that was bigger than our entire old kitchen.

The treehouse project became our first family construction endeavor. Every weekend, weather permitting, the three of us worked on what Cooper had dubbed "Fort Awesome." Jazz provided consulting and extra hands when needed, but mostly itwas just us—measuring, sawing, hammering, and arguing good-naturedly about design decisions.

"I think we need a rope ladder," Cooper announced during one of our planning sessions.

"Rope ladders are harder to build," I explained.

"But they're cooler."

"He's got a point," Ezra said, clearly taking Cooper's side in the rope ladder debate.

"Fine. Rope ladder it is."

"And a periscope!"

"A what now?"

"You know, those things on submarines so you can see without being seen."

"That's... actually pretty cool," I admitted.

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