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The New Year Begins
January 2, 2026 – The first real workday of the new year
January 2, 2026. Johnathan wakes early—his internal alarm clock refusing to acknowledge holidays or new year laziness. The house is quiet in that particular way that promises chaos later: the calm before the storm of family life resuming its usual velocity.
Yesterday had been strange in its solitude. Angel at Jennifer's. Mia at Lynette's. Liora helping Mildred organize her still-chaotic new house. Johnathan had spent the day alone with his thoughts and his code, the silence both peaceful and unsettling after weeks of constant family noise.
Johnathan's secret thought: That silence yesterday felt wrong. Like the house was holding its breath, waiting for everyone to come back. I've gotten so used to the sound of Liora's voice, Mia's laughter, Angel's music bleeding through her bedroom door. Three weeks ago I craved solitude. Now it feels like deprivation. How did that happen so fast?
Today the situation is reversed. The house hums with female energy—voices drifting from various rooms, footsteps on stairs, the coffee maker gurgling in competition with conversation. Jennifer spent the night with Angel. Lynette is here with Mia, having arrived early with Linda. And Mildred sits with Liora in what used to be Johnathan's office, their voices animated as they discuss careers and creative collaboration.
Johnathan stands at the kitchen counter, pouring his second cup of coffee, when Liora and Mildred emerge from the office room, clearly in search of caffeine reinforcement.
Johnathan, Mildred wants to know if there are any more men like you out there.
There's something in Liora's tone—light on the surface but weighted underneath. She's testing him, he realizes. Watching how he'll respond.
(grinning) No, I'm the last one. Liora was lucky to find me.
He delivers the line with exaggerated confidence, expecting laughter. But Liora just stares at him—her expression unreadable, neutral in a way that makes his stomach tighten. The joke has landed wrong somehow, though he's not entirely sure why.
Liora's secret thought: Really? That's his response? I set up a perfect opportunity for him to be humble and sweet, and he goes with arrogant comedy instead? I know he's joking, but there's something in that joke that bothers me. Like he really does think he's some rare prize I should be grateful for. We need to talk about this. Later. Not in front of Mildred.
Liora and Mildred retreat back to the office without another word, their coffee cups refilled. Johnathan stands there feeling vaguely like he failed a test he didn't know he was taking.
Johnathan's secret thought: What just happened? That was a joke. Obviously a joke. Why didn't she laugh? God, I'm still figuring out how to be married. How to read her moods. How to know when comedy is welcome and when it's a minefield. Mental note: when she asks serious questions disguised as casual conversation, take them seriously.
Before he can process further, Mia bursts into the kitchen, Lynette trailing behind her looking apologetic.
Johnathan! Angel won't open her door! I want to see what she's doing with Jennifer but she said it's private and I can't come in and that's not fair because she's MY sister!
Mia's face is flushed with indignation—the particular outrage of a five-year-old encountering boundaries she doesn't like.
(kneeling down to Mia's level) Remember what we talked about, kiddo? Angel's room is her private space. She's allowed to have time with her friend without little sisters watching. You have your room, she has hers. That's how privacy works.
(pouting) But I MISS her. They're probably doing something fun and I want to do fun things too!
Then do fun things down here. You have all your toys, and Lynette is here to play with you. Angel will come out when she's ready. Give her space, Mia. That's part of being a good sister.
Mia's secret thought: I don't like privacy. Privacy means being left out. Privacy means Angel gets to have secrets and I don't get to know them. But Johnathan is giving me that look that means I'm not going to win this argument. Fine. I'll go play with my dolls. But I don't have to like it.
Mia stomps out of the kitchen in an exaggerated huff, but moments later Johnathan hears giggles erupting from the living room—Mia and Lynette creating elaborate scenarios with her doll collection, the boundary drama already forgotten.
Johnathan's secret thought: Five-year-olds move through emotions like weather patterns—intense storms that blow over in minutes. I love that about her. No grudges, no festering resentment. Just immediate feelings, processed and released. Adults should be more like that.
Johnathan grabs his laptop, intending to work in the bedroom where it's quiet. But first, he needs to retrieve his charger from the office. He walks down the hall, hearing Liora and Mildred's voices before he reaches the door—animated, energetic, bouncing ideas off each other with the rapid-fire intensity of creative collaboration.
Johnathan's secret thought: This isn't going to work. I need silence to think. Hours and hours of uninterrupted silence to write code, to solve problems, to hold complex logic structures in my head without distraction. I love the sound of Liora's voice—genuinely love it. The cadence, the passion when she talks about her work, even the soft sound of her breathing when she's concentrating. But I can't work like this. My brain doesn't function with this level of ambient noise.
He pauses in the doorway. Liora and Mildred sit at the desk surrounded by design mockups, color swatches, and half-finished sketches. Mildred's laptop displays a 3D room rendering. Liora's tablet shows packaging designs. They're deep in discussion about brand consistency and visual storytelling.
Johnathan's secret thought: I should have used half the garage for my office when I had the chance. Built a separate space with real walls and a door that locks. But then we got two cars and suddenly the garage is for cars like some kind of normal suburban household. Now I'm displaced from my own office by my wife's business partnership. Which is great for her. Really great. I'm genuinely happy about it. But where does that leave me?
Johnathan grabs his laptop and charger, trying to be unobtrusive. But Liora notices him, looking up mid-sentence.
Johnathan, how's the coding going? Are you making progress on the Python transition?
He could just answer briefly and retreat to the bedroom. But something about the genuine interest in her voice makes him pause. He sits down in the extra chair, setting his laptop on his knees.
Actually, I've been rethinking the city contract. You know, the citizen database fraud prevention thing? I think I'm going to bid on it after all.
Liora's expression immediately shifts—the light in her eyes dimming, her posture subtly closing off. Mildred, sensing tension, busies herself with her laptop.
(voice carefully neutral but disappointed) So you're selling out? We talked about this. You said it violated your principles.
Liora's secret thought: He's going to take the surveillance contract. After everything we discussed. After he said he wouldn't compromise his integrity. Was that all just talk? Does money trump values when the bills come due? Am I married to someone who says the right things but doesn't actually mean them?
Johnathan is silent for a moment—that particular quality of silence that means he's organizing complex thoughts into coherent language. When he speaks, his voice is thoughtful, deliberate.
No, the opposite of selling out. If I bid on the contract and become the principal developer, I can build guardrails into the system. Strict operational limits. Privacy protections. Safeguards against mission creep that leads to surveillance abuse. If I don't take it, someone else will—someone who won't even think about those protections. But if I'm the one building it, I can ensure it does what it's supposed to do and nothing more.
Liora's expression softens slightly, though skepticism remains.
How are you going to do that by just writing a program? Code does what it's programmed to do. If the city decides to expand the scope later, they'll just hire someone to modify your work.
Which is why I'm changing my approach. I don't want to just write programs anymore. I want to create AI agents—entities that do more than execute code. Agents that can evaluate requests, determine if they fall within ethical parameters, refuse to process queries that violate the original mandate. I've been listening to experts on X.ai and YouTube, especially this woman, Julia McCoy. She has this robot version of herself that explains how AI agents are revolutionizing software development. Not just solving problems, but understanding problems, outlining solutions, finding resources, building implementations autonomously.
Johnathan's secret thought: This is it. This is the future I need to master or become obsolete. Not just coding, but creating intelligence that can code. Not just solving client problems, but building entities that solve entire categories of problems. It's terrifying and exhilarating and I'm not sure I'm smart enough to do it. But I have to try.
Most people think this kind of AI agent technology is years away, decades even. But Julia McCoy shows it's happening now. Today. I need to learn how to build these agents, how to control them, how to embed ethical frameworks into their decision-making processes. Then I can create a fraud prevention system that genuinely prevents fraud without becoming a surveillance tool. The agent itself becomes the guardrail.
So you're going to take classes? Learn this new technology? Please tell me you're doing it online so you don't disappear to some campus somewhere and leave me here alone with the girls.
There's vulnerability in her voice—the newlywed fear of abandonment, of being left to manage everything solo.
No formal classes. I learn best through immersion—jumping in, experimenting, failing, iterating. I'll study documentation, watch tutorials, build practice projects, break things and figure out how to fix them. That's how I learned PHP, and before that ASP, and before that Pascal, and before that Fortran. It's how I learned every technology I've ever mastered. This will be the same process, just more intensive.
And once I gain proficiency, we can all work together. I can teach you and Angel how to use AI agents for your design work. Agents that can generate initial concepts, research brand trends, even handle client communications. We adapt or we become irrelevant, Liora. Every one of us. We can't just go work at McDonald's if our careers collapse. The jobs at McDonald's will be automated by robots soon. We need to be the people who control the robots, not compete with them.
Mildred, who has been listening with increasing interest, finally speaks up.
Do you really believe all that? I think most of the AI hype is just hype. We've been hearing about robot takeovers for decades and we're still here, still working. I think it'll be fine. I was watching a podcast, I think it's called MoonShots and these guys are so focused on that narrow little world of theirs, the AI world, that their clueless about like 90 percent of what is really going on in the world.
Mildred's secret thought: They're both so intense about this AI stuff. Maybe they're right, maybe they're paranoid. I don't know enough to judge. But I do know that people who prepare for change survive better than people who deny it's happening. Maybe I should pay more attention to this. I haven't been impressed so far.
So what do we do next? What's the actual plan?
(standing, gathering his laptop) Right now, I'm taking this to the bedroom where it's quiet. I love you both, genuinely, but you're noisy and I can't concentrate. I need silence to work. Hours of uninterrupted silence. So I'm going to connect remotely to my server and code from the bedroom like some kind of hermit while you two build your design empire out here.
He delivers it with humor, but there's real frustration underneath. Liora catches it immediately, her expression tightening.
(voice cool) Oh, I see. Well, enjoy yourself in the bedroom. All alone. Cuddling with your laptop. Mildred and I will be here being productive and collaborative and probably having way more fun than you.
Liora's secret thought: He called us noisy. He's retreating to the bedroom because we're bothering him. I know he needs quiet to work, I understand that intellectually, but it still hurts. Like we're an inconvenience. Like our work is less important than his need for silence. This is why I was scared to move in together—these little resentments that build up.
Johnathan leaves, the tension hanging in the air behind him. Mildred and Liora exchange glances.
(carefully) Is he always like that? Or is this a bad day?
(sighing) He's an introvert who needs quiet to function. I'm an extrovert who processes by talking. We're still figuring out how to coexist without driving each other crazy. Most days it works. Today... today we're both stressed and tired and the house is full of people and he probably didn't sleep well. We'll be fine.
Liora's secret thought: Will we be fine? God, I hope so. Marriage is so much harder than dating. You can't just retreat to separate apartments when you're annoyed. You have to actually work through stuff. I'm not sure I'm good at that yet.
Upstairs, Angel and Jennifer finally emerge from Angel's room around noon, hungry and full of the particular energy of teenagers who've stayed up too late talking. They descend on the kitchen like locusts, ransacking the refrigerator.
Where's Dad? I want to show him something.
(from the office) He's in the bedroom working. He needs quiet, so maybe wait until later?
Oh. Okay. Is he mad about something?
Angel's secret thought: Something's wrong. I can hear it in Mom's voice. That particular tone that means adults are fighting but pretending they're not. God, please don't let them split up. Please don't let this family fall apart because I'm too much trouble. I'll be quieter. I'll take up less space. Whatever it takes to keep them together.
(appearing in the kitchen doorway, forcing brightness) No, honey. Nobody's mad. Johnathan just needs quiet to work on some complicated coding stuff. You know how he gets all hermit-like when he's deep in a project. He'll emerge eventually, probably hungry and disoriented. In the meantime, what are you girls making?
Grilled cheese. Jennifer has apparently never had a proper grilled cheese sandwich, which is tragic, so I'm educating her.
My mom only makes fancy paninis with like seventeen ingredients. I want simple cheese on white bread, you know? Classic.
Angel sets to work with surprising competence—butter, bread, cheese, medium-low heat to prevent burning. She's absorbed in the task, explaining her technique to Jennifer like she's teaching culinary arts. The sandwiches actually turn out perfectly: golden brown, cheese melted but not oozing.
Angel's secret thought: I'm good at this. Cooking simple food. Taking care of people. Maybe that's my thing—not just design work, but making sure everyone's fed and comfortable. Mom used to say I was her little helper in the kitchen before everything fell apart. Maybe I can be that person again. The one who takes care of her family.
The afternoon settles into a quieter rhythm. Liora and Mildred work in the office, their conversation more subdued now, conscious of Johnathan isolated in the bedroom. Mia and Lynette play with increasingly elaborate doll scenarios. Angel and Jennifer alternate between Angel's room and the kitchen, eating and laughing and being sixteen and fourteen respectively.
It's a laid-back, stick-to-business workday in what they're all starting to think of as the Taylor household—though the name question remains unresolved. Johnathan Taylor. Angel Garcia, clinging to her Latina identity. Liora McCoy, unwilling to erase her Irish heritage. And Mia, who's decided she's Mia Taylor regardless of what anyone else chooses.
Liora's secret thought: The Taylor household. Or the Taylor-McCoy-Garcia household. Or just "our house." Does it matter what we call it? We're family regardless of what names appear on documents. But it would be nice to have clarity. To know what to put on Christmas cards. If we ever send Christmas cards. Do people still do that?
As evening approaches, they gather naturally around the kitchen and dining room table. Johnathan emerges from the bedroom looking rumpled and slightly wild-eyed, the way he always looks after hours of intensive coding. He's hungry and disoriented and oddly energized.
I did it. I built my first functional AI agent. Took me eight hours and approximately sixty-seven failed attempts, but it works. It actually works.
(warming toward him, her earlier hurt fading) That's amazing, honey. What does it do?
Right now? It just generates shopping lists based on recipe inputs and dietary restrictions. Super basic. I could have coded in in PHP in 20 minutes. But the AI architecture is there—the framework for building much more sophisticated agents. It's like I've been learning individual words in a new language and suddenly I can form sentences. I'm exhausted and exhilarated and starving.
Dinner is a quiet affair—leftover pizza reheated, salad thrown together, everyone too tired for elaborate cooking. But it's together, all of them around the table sharing food and space and the comfortable silence of people who've spent a full day in each other's proximity.
As they're finishing up, Jennifer gets a text from Mildred.
My mom says she's done for the day and wants me home. Thanks for letting me stay over last night and hang out today. This was really fun.
Tomorrow? Come back tomorrow?
Definitely. We're neighbors now—you're stuck with me.
Jennifer heads next door. Lynette and Mia have already transitioned to a sleepover at Lynette's house, Linda picking them up an hour ago. Suddenly the house is quiet again—just Johnathan, Liora, and Angel.
Angel retreats to her room without being asked, intuiting that her parents need couple time. The gesture is thoughtful and mature in a way that makes Liora's heart hurt with gratitude.
(settling on the couch beside Johnathan) I'm sorry about this morning. About getting annoyed when you needed quiet. I know you're not trying to exclude us. You just work differently than I do.
And I'm sorry for calling you noisy. That was rude. You and Mildred were doing important work, building something real together. I should have been more respectful about it.
We're going to have to figure out the space situation. You need quiet to work, I need collaboration. Maybe we convert part of the garage after all? Build you a proper office out there?
Maybe. Let's revisit it when we're not so financially stressed. For now, I can make the bedroom work. It's actually kind of cozy once you get past the weird feeling of working in bed.
Johnathan's secret thought: This is what marriage is. Small conflicts resolved through communication instead of festering. Apologizing even when you're not entirely sure what you did wrong. Choosing connection over being right. I'm still learning, but I'm learning.
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, Liora's head on Johnathan's shoulder, the TV playing something neither is really watching. It's domestic and mundane and exactly what they both need.
And then, cutting through the peace, Johnathan's phone buzzes. An unknown number. He almost doesn't answer—telemarketers and spam callers are relentless. But something makes him pick up.
There's breathing on the other end. Young breathing. Scared breathing.
(voice small and desperate) Is this the man who bought me a coat? The one with the daughter named Angel?
Johnathan's heart stops. Lonely Girl. The teenager he met at the bagel shop on New Year's Eve. He sits up straight, suddenly completely focused.
Yes. This is me. Are you okay? What's wrong?
I... I had a fight with my mom. She tried to take my coat to sell it and I wouldn't let her and things got bad and I ran. I've been walking for hours. I'm at the bagel shop again because I didn't know where else to go. I found someone who let me use their phone. I memorized your number from when you bought me food. I don't know why I'm calling. I just... I didn't know what else to do.
She's crying now—soft, desperate sobs that break Johnathan's heart all over again.
Johnathan's secret thought: This is it. This is her moment. Her Angel moment. The crossroads where she chooses survival or destruction, help or isolation. And somehow, impossibly, I'm the person she called. Why me? What am I supposed to do?
You said there were places that could help. Real help, not just shelters with rules I can't follow. Is that true? Or were you just being nice?
Johnathan looks at Liora, whose expression has shifted from relaxed to alert. She can hear the girl's voice through the phone—can hear the desperation. She nods, giving permission for whatever comes next.
It's true. Stay exactly where you are. Don't move. What's your real name, sweetheart? I can't keep calling you Lonely Girl in my head.
Taylor. My name is Taylor.
Taylor. That's a beautiful name. Okay Taylor, I need you to do something for me. There's a church—the Church of Angel Love. Do you know it?
I've heard of it. Some of the street kids talk about it. They say the people there actually help.
They do. I'm going to call my friend Linda—she runs the outreach program there. She'll come get you. Tonight. Right now. And she'll take you somewhere safe, somewhere with people who understand what you've been through. People who helped my daughter. They can help you too. Will you let them?
There's a long pause. Johnathan holds his breath.
Yes. I'm so tired. I'm so tired of being cold and scared and hungry. If there's actually help, real help... yes. Please. Help me.
Stay at the bagel shop. Linda will be there in twenty minutes. I promise, Taylor. You're not alone anymore.
He hangs up and immediately dials Linda. She answers on the first ring, like she's been waiting for this call.
Linda's secret thought: The Angels told me to keep my phone close tonight. They said someone would need me. This is her. This is Taylor. Her grandfather has been praying for this moment for two years. Finally. Finally she's ready.
Johnathan. What do you need?
There's a girl. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Her name is Taylor. She's at the bagel shop downtown, the good one. She just ran away from her mother at David Camp and she's ready for help. Real help. Can you get her?
I'm already getting my coat. I'll have her within the hour. Don't worry, Johnathan. The Angels have been waiting for Taylor. We'll take care of her.
Johnathan hangs up, his hands shaking slightly. Liora wraps her arms around him.
You just saved her. You know that, right? That phone call—that was her turning point. Her moment of choosing life.
I didn't do anything. I just answered the phone.
You showed up. You were kind when you didn't have to be. You gave her your number—maybe subconsciously, maybe deliberately, but you gave her a lifeline. And when she called, you answered. That's everything, Johnathan. That's literally everything.
They sit together in the quiet, processing what just happened. Somewhere across town, Linda is driving toward the bagel shop. Taylor is waiting, clutching her coat, choosing hope over despair. Angel sleeps in her room, safe and loved and healing.
Liora's secret thought: This is what the Angels do. They arrange circumstances. They place people in paths. They whisper to hearts and guide hands and orchestrate rescue. Johnathan was at that bagel shop on New Year's Eve for a reason. Taylor remembered his number for a reason. Linda was available tonight for a reason. None of this is coincidence. This is divine intervention through human hands.
Johnathan's secret thought: Taylor. Lonely Girl has a name and maybe now she'll have a chance. Angel's Angel turned out to be us—Liora and me and this accidental family. Maybe I'm Taylor's Angel too. Not because I'm special or heroic, just because I was in the right place at the right time and willing to care. Maybe that's all angels are—regular people choosing to show up.
The house settles into evening quiet. Angel emerges briefly to say goodnight, sensing something significant happened but not asking questions. Johnathan and Liora retreat to their bedroom, exhausted by the emotional weight of the day.
Tomorrow will bring new challenges. The city contract decision. Liora's agency building. Angel's continued healing. And now, somewhere in the network of Angel Love support, Taylor beginning her own journey from despair toward hope.
But tonight, they rest—grateful for the ordinary miracle of answered phones and timely kindness, for the extraordinary gift of being used by forces larger than themselves to bring light into darkness.
2026 has only just begun, but already it's proving to be a year of transformation. Not just for the Taylor household, but for everyone whose life intersects with theirs. The ripples spread outward—Angel saved, Taylor rescued, more to come.
The Angels are at work. And their human instruments are learning to recognize the call when it comes.
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