A mild winter afternoon in a suburban neighborhood somewhere in the Midwest United States. Liora is in her backyard, bundling up her 5-year-old daughter, Mia, in a light jacket. Johnathan, the 28-year-old neighbor is in his backyard raking the leaves. He glances over the wooden fence and smiles.
Liora, her red hair loose and catching the sunlight, is in the kitchen preparing snacks when she glances out the window and spots Johnathan. He's in his yard again, raking scattered leaves that barely need attention, pausing every so often to glance toward the fence. God, he's out there again. Is he... waiting? My heart did that little flip when I saw him. Stop it, Liora!
Inside his house, Johnathan sits at his desk, staring at a stubborn PHP script. Next door, Liora finishes plating a batch of fresh-baked cookies, as promised yesterday over the fence. *Liora's secret thought: Okay, this is just delivering cookies like I said I would. Totally casual. But... I want to see if he's single. If he's interested. God, it's been so long since I've felt this flutter.
Another plate of cookies? Am I being too obvious? But last night... driving around, talking for hours. His laugh, the way he looks at me. And Mia adores him already. God, it's been so long since I've felt this. But slow, Liora.
Liora has been a mess—crying on and off, staring out the window at Johnathan’s house. She rehearsed a dozen speeches in her head, finally settled on baking yet another batch of cookies. *Liora's secret thought: He said everything I've been secretly dreaming about since the first fence chat. A family. For keeps. And I just… ran. Like an idiot.
This is our first real date. Dinner at her house. She's cooking for me. Don't mess it up. Don’t stare too much. Next door, Liora has been in the kitchen since morning. She moved Christmas dinner forward three days because she wants tonight to feel monumental. The house smells like heaven. Her red hair is loosely curled, light makeup, a simple burgundy dress that hugs her figure without trying too hard.
Suddenly, an anxious knock rattles the front door. Linda bursting in without waiting: You better tell me all about it. I saw him leaving your house this morning. Did you guys… you know. You were talking about being all responsible and waiting for the right time. Liora: (laughing) Yeah, we were waiting for the right time, and last night we shared our first kiss, and then suddenly it was the right time.
Christmas is over; the frenzy of gifts and feasts has faded into quiet aftermath.
Inside the house that now belongs to all of them, Liora moves through the kitchen with purposeful energy. She strips the Christmas table runner, packs away the snowman mugs and reindeer napkins, gathers scattered wrapping paper into a trash bag. The tree will stay until after New Year's—she's not ready to let go of every spark of holiday magic just yet.
Johnathan: It scares me that things are changing so fast. I want to memorialize these events with a family portrait, you know, to remember all of this, if things change. Liora: Me too. I lay in bed and wonder if I'll wake up, back in my rental house, and this was all just a dream. But don't worry honey, I think things are going to be stable for awhile. The Angels wouldn't give us all this just to take it all away, and I'm not going anywhere.
Five days. Five days ago Angel was a stranger on a curb, and now I can't imagine waking up without knowing she's here, safe, on our couch. But what if they take her away? What if CPS decides we're not qualified, too young, too rushed? What if she's placed with strangers who don't see how extraordinary she is? I've lost people before—relationships, opportunities—but this... losing her would break something in me I didn't know existed until Wednesday night.
December 29, 2025. Late morning sunlight streams through the bedroom window, warming the tangled sheets where Johnathan and Liora lie side by side, both awake but neither quite ready to move. It's 10:00 a.m.—a luxury they've been allowing themselves during these last precious days of holiday freedom before real life reasserts itself in 2026.
Liora rushes to the front door, pulling it open just as Linda reaches the porch. Linda is breathless, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion, waving what looks like an official document.
(breathless, urgent) Hurry up and get dressed—wear what you wore yesterday, it doesn't matter, just move! We have to get to Superior Court. Now. We've been summoned.