Where There is Love

I am still married to Lilith.
We are still a family.

I live with Morgana in a different country.
She is also family.

This is not a contradiction.
It is a structure we built.

Lilith and Morgana are friends.

Lilith has learned to trust Morgana’s finely tuned asshole radar when navigating dating apps. No new boyfriend is accepted without passing inspection. No appeals process exists.

Morgana, in turn, relies on Lilith for everything involving structure, continuity, and practical reality. Morgana is chaos personified. Lilith is order incarnate.

Between them, balance emerges.

They bonded through shared experience:
dating narcissistic men, recovering from emotional wreckage, and—me.

Or perhaps I belong in that category as well, blissfully unaware.

Ignorance is bliss, they say.

But only for the ignorant.
For everyone else, it is exhausting.

Still.

When I see them in the same room—talking, laughing, trading stories and judgments and private jokes—something in my chest expands.

Not with relief.

With recognition.

Two strong women.
Both of whom I love.
Both of whom love me.
Existing in the same space.
Without competition.
Without resentment.
Without territorial fear.

Supporting each other.
Trusting each other.
Protecting each other.

Thriving.

For most of my life, love meant scarcity.
If someone gained, someone else lost.
If one bond strengthened, another weakened.

This is different.

This is abundance.

It is evidence that connection does not have to be transactional.
That care does not require hierarchy.
That intimacy does not demand exclusion.

It is proof that I did not have to repeat the old script.

That healing did not mean isolation.
That loyalty did not require erasure.
That family could be expanded rather than defended.

When I watch them together, I understand something simple and radical:

This is what breaking a pattern looks like.

Not perfection.

Presence.
Trust.
Mutual regard.

No fear-driven control.
No silent competition.
No emotional rationing.

Just respect.

Just care.

Just choice.

Every day.

If two women who have every social reason to resent each other instead choose solidarity—

If they can build something humane out of complexity—

Then maybe the world is not as broken as it sometimes appears.

Maybe repair is possible.

Maybe love can be sustainable.

Maybe safety can be shared.

Where there is love, there is hope.

And for the first time in my life,
that hope feels earned.