Chapter Forty-Five - Why She's Still My Favorite Human

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Why She's Still My Favorite Human

IT’S NOT BECAUSE she’s perfect.
She’s not.

She gets hangry.
She leaves coffee mugs in weird places.
She’ll rewatch the same show fifteen times and still gasp like it’s new.

But she’s real.
God, is she real.

And that?
That never stopped being my favorite part.

I’ve watched her become so many versions of herself.
The girl with spark in her laugh.
The woman who stood with me in front of everyone and said yes.
The mother who bled love into every corner of this house.

And every time, every version of her has somehow been more radiant than the last.

She has this way of making people feel seen.
Like eye contact is a superpower.
Like listening is a form of touch.

She’s goofy when she’s tired.
Quiet when she’s hurt.
Wickedly smart in ways she’ll never brag about.

And when she laughs hard, I mean really hard, she snorts a little.

I live for it.

She’s still my favorite human, because she’s the one who sat with me when I didn’t know how to talk.
Because she didn’t leave when I shut down.
Because she called me out without cutting me down.

Because she believed in the best version of me, even when I hadn’t met him yet.

She’s still my favorite, because even now, after all this time, I catch her doing something completely ordinary, like brushing her teeth or reading a book with her feet tucked under her, and it breaks me.

The beauty in it.
The familiarity of it.
The miracle of being near someone you’d choose in every version of every life.

She’s still my favorite because she’s not just the love of my life.

She’s the personhood of it.
The reason it’s worth growing, struggling, laughing, and staying.

And when I leave this world, one day, far from now, I hope she’ll still be the one I see when I close my eyes.

The first name I speak in whatever comes next.

She’s still my favorite human.
And I don’t need a reason.

I just know.