The rules

 The first time the stares bothered Liam, they weren’t even directed at him. They were aimed at her, at Naomi, his wife, her dark hands cradling the swell of their unborn child while their toddler, Elijah, tugged at her sundress. A woman in the grocery aisle had actually clicked her tongue as they passed, as if their love was a mathematical error she needed to correct.  

That night, as Elijah slept curled against Naomi’s side, Liam finally asked the question burning in his chest. “Does it ever… hurt? The way people look at us? Does it both you?”  

Naomi’s laughter was soft, but her eyes were weary. “Every time.” She guided his palm to the curve of her stomach, where their second child kicked. “But this? Us? This is the answer.”  

Liam didn’t understand. Not yet.  

Then came the Sunday at the beach, when a well-meaning older man chuckled and said, “That boy sure got his mama’s color,” as if Liam’s fatherhood needed proof. Naomi’s grip tightened on the stroller, but before she could speak, Elijah, reached up and patted Liam’s bearded cheek. “Daddy,” he announced, as if settling a great debate.  

And suddenly, Liam saw it.  

The equation wasn’t about balancing differences. It was about multiplication. Every time Elijah grinned with Liam’s dimples in Naomi’s deep brown face, every time their unborn daughter stretched beneath Naomi’s ribs (with Liam’s long legs, the ultrasound tech swore), they weren’t halves of two worlds. They were whole new numbers the universe hadn’t calculated before.  

At the gender reveal, when pink confetti burst over their blended families, Liam finally whispered the truth against Naomi’s temple: “We weren’t breaking any rules. We were writing them.”  

And the universe? It had already checked their work….and they passed.