Chapter 11 #2
‘True,’ I say, thinking about Theo’s once-pristine pad. And it’s tempting. Surprisingly so. Maybe I could do this. Maybe it’s time to stop simply surviving and start shaping something new – lay down roots, build a life. A life with friends in it.
How did Theo put it?
Rebuilding.
That’s what this feels like… a step towards something meaningful and mine.
‘Hey, why don’t we swap numbers and we can fix up a time? Here…’ Joshua’s mum says, pulling out her phone and handing it to me. ‘Stick your details in there. My name’s Rachael, this is Charlene. We live just around the corner.’
‘I’m Sadie. I’m staying in the flats next door.’
‘How perfect! Maybe you can talk us into running with you one day.’
Charlene laughs. ‘Steady on, Rach!’
I grin as I punch in my details and hand the phone back to her.
‘So you’ll come?’ she says.
‘Yeah, I reckon so. It’ll be good for Lottie to have some friends to play with.’
‘You’re new to the area?’ Charlene asks, clearly assuming that’s why my daughter doesn’t have any yet.
I swallow the pang of regret and nod. ‘Recently moved back.’
‘Well, consider us your welcome-back crew,’ Rachael says with a grin. ‘It’s great for the kids to have friends, but I reckon us parents need it more.’
‘Amen to that,’ Charlene adds. ‘Mental health 101: surround yourself with other parents, people who just get it . No long explanations required, no judgement, just mutual madness.’
‘Yeah…’ I say automatically, chuckling along.
Not that I’d know. The last real conversation I had with another parent was back in the maternity ward, just after Lottie was born.
But if an afternoon escaping the rain at soft play means getting out of the apartment and giving Theo some space to work in peace, it has to be worth pushing through the nerves for.
And if it gives Lottie and me another slice of normal, then all the better.
I leave the café twenty minutes later, juggling two takeaway cups, the soft play leaflet, and a pastry box so heavy, I half-expect it to collapse in my hands.
I’d love to say it’s to give Theo some choice, but really, I couldn’t decide.
My appetite’s finally woken up, and it wants to sample everything.
I snagged a cinnamon swirl, pain au chocolat, pain aux raisin, almond croissant, a bear claw for Lottie, and something extra sticky with pecans that looked so outrageously indulgent, it made me think of Theo and everything he’s done for us.
Because he didn’t have to make space for us.
He didn’t have to let Lottie take over his living room, one pirate mutiny at a time.
Or spend half his Sunday flying around a rose garden just to humour us.
He didn’t have to turn into some pseudo-therapist, drawing me out of myself and encouraging me to live again. But he did.
And simply saying thank you will never feel enough.
When the elevator slides open, there’s laughter already – Theo’s voice high-pitched and ridiculous, Lottie cheering. My heart cheers with her. This . This is what coming home should sound like.
I step out and call, ‘I come bearing gifts!’
Theo appears in the hallway, his once crisp shirt now wrinkled, a rainbow sticker on his chest, a sparkly unicorn grinning on his cheek, and somehow he’s never been sexier.
It’s pointless trying to deny it, so I don’t.
His green eyes twinkle as they narrow on my haul. ‘Did you… go to Becca’s?’
I nod, my smile widening with his. ‘I did.’ I offer it out like the prized achievement it is. ‘Carbs. And caffeine. For your valiant service.’
‘My valiant service?’ He slaps a hand to his chest, humour flickering into something deeper, more sincere. ‘Don’t you mean yours?’
We share a moment, one that tells me he knows. He sees me. Sees what this small gesture truly means.
Then Lottie barrels onto the scene. ‘Mummy-Mummy! We made princess toast!’
I laugh. Really laugh. ‘Maybe you don’t need the extra carbs after all… or the extra juice,’ I say as she rugby tackles my legs. For a second, I fear a full-on coffee-and-cake catastrophe, but Theo – ever my knight – is already there, sweeping in to take the lot.
‘Yours is the coffee on my right,’ I say, lifting Lottie into my arms. ‘Flat white, okay?’
‘Spot on,’ he says, heading for the kitchen.
‘ Ew , Mummy!’ Lottie wrinkles her nose and pushes away. ‘You’re all soggy!’
I grimace. Faced with Theo, I hadn’t even thought about how I must look. I glance at the hallway mirror – blonde hair dark with rain, strands stuck to my cheeks, skin damp and flushed. Drowned rat just about covers it.
‘I should shower,’ I say, popping Lottie back on her feet. ‘I feel like a soggy gym sock.’
‘Nonsense,’ he chuckles back. ‘Come get your coffee while it’s hot…’
I glance down the hall towards our quarters, but Lottie’s already grabbing my hand, tugging me towards the kitchen. ‘Come on, Mummy.’
‘Yes, boss,’ I say, letting her lead the way. What can it hurt? He’s seen me now. He’s also seen me looking a whole lot worse.
And speaking of things looking worse…
My gaze drifts over the living area, taking in the open books, scattered toys, and cushions tossed across the floor before settling on the kitchen table, where his work is spread out alongside Lottie’s craft supplies. Glitter and toast crumbs coat the lot.
It’s a mess. A genuine mess.
But the good kind of mess. The kind that shows this place is lived in.
Less museum, more home.
‘What’s this?’
I turn to find Theo sipping his coffee as he studies the leaflet I picked up.
‘It’s a new soft play area that’s opened up nearby. Looks like it’ll be great for Lottie. There were a couple of mums in Becca’s talking about heading there this aft…’ I nip my lip. ‘They asked if I wanted to come along.’
‘They did?’ His brows arch as his eyes meet mine. ‘How do you feel about that?’
I pick up my coffee, trying to act cool. ‘With the weather like this, the park’s a washout. So I figured, yeah, why not?’ I shrug. ‘Might be good for both of us.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
I almost choke mid-sip. Theo? In a soft play centre? I can’t imagine him wanting to do anything less. ‘Don’t be daft. You’ve got work. We’ll be fine.’
I say it easily. Lightly. But the moment the words leave my mouth, their truth settles inside me. We will be fine. It will be fun. And it will be us . Just Lottie and me. As it should be. As it needs to be.
Theo has his life to return to, and we need to start building our own, even if the temptation to fold the two together is sweeter than anything on display at Becca’s.
He watches me for a second longer, then smiles. ‘Good. That’s… good.’
* * *
Theo
Hours later, I watch the elevator doors slide closed on their cheerful chatter.
Lottie’s been buzzing since she clapped eyes on the leaflet, nagging and nagging to leave. Drawn in by the bright colours, smiling kids, and the promise of adventure – all the bouncing, sliding, climbing she could ever wish for.
And beneath Sadie’s nerves, I can see she’s excited too. About making friends, socialising again, moving on with her life… taking real steps forward.
I told her it was good, and it is. Huge, even.
But the silence?
I glance around the kitchen, registering the little things.
Sadie’s lipstick-stained water glass. Lottie’s sequin-studded beaker.
A half-finished doodle forgotten on the table.
One of Lottie’s tiaras abandoned on the back of a chair.
I pick it up and place it with the others on the fern, mouth twitching – part smile, part something I don’t know how to name.
I should be thrilled. Finally, a chance to work in peace. A whole afternoon to get ahead of tomorrow’s acquisition call. Time to tackle the logistics spreadsheet still mocking me from my inbox.
But instead, I’m listening.
For the stomp of tiny feet.
For Lottie’s excited squeal or Sadie’s exasperated shout, her quiet laugh, her storytelling lilt.
Even for that suspicious hush – the one that comes before all hell breaks loose.
Nothing .
And then I realise:
They’re not just in my space any more.
They’ve become my space.
And what kind of crazy talk is that?
I’m a billionaire bachelor with a business to run, not a billionaire babysitter on endless standby.
Time to start acting like it…
At least until they get home.
* * *
Sadie
Getting lost in unfamiliar streets, nerves ticking higher with every wrong turn, my anxiety is through the roof before we even get there.
Lottie babbles from the buggy, kicking at her steamed-up rain cover, begging to get out. But I don’t want her out until I know we’re there. It’s hard enough trying to use my phone as a sat nav without watching her wandering legs too.
I heave a sigh of relief when the building finally appears. A converted industrial unit with bold lettering in giant kid-block font standing out against the grey units all around, kind of like how Lottie’s things brighten up Theo’s.
The thought makes me smile past the nerves as I push through the door.
A perky teen with pigtails, looking very much like a grown-up Lottie, smiles at us from behind the vibrant welcome desk.
‘Hey!’ she chirps, her voice carrying over the wall of noise behind her. ‘Mum and toddler, yeah?’
‘Please,’ I say, peeling off my rain jacket and hooking it on the buggy handle as she rings us through the system and pops the gate.
‘You can park the stroller just over there…’ She gestures to a buggy bay off to one side.
‘Thanks.’
I steer Lottie in before unstrapping her, and she’s out before I’ve even straightened, one arm looped around my leg as she gawps at the seemingly endless space.
It’s a riot of colour and sound – neon mats, foam-covered frames, padded tunnels, gleaming ball pits, roleplay units, even a mini racetrack with toddler-sized cars zipping around.
The air is thick with the tang of fresh paint, the sterile bite of disinfectant, and the bitter aroma of over-brewed coffee.
Kids shriek, laugh, cry. One licks a window, several try to eat the balls, and whatever’s happening in the pretend supermarket looks less Tesco, more WWE – a showdown of plastic produce and toddler wrestling.
Fun.
I peel Lottie off my leg and take her hand, but she jams the other in her mouth, making no attempt to get closer. And neither do I.
Like mother, like daughter. Two peas in a frozen pod of nerves.
‘Hey, Sadie! Over here!’
I turn towards the shout and spot Rachael waving at us. She’s already settled at a table beside the toddler zone – a jug of squash, cups, water bottles, and the dregs of ketchup-smeared chips in front of her. How long has she been here?
Judging by the red-faced sweat on Joshua as he clambers out of the ball pit, long enough. He waves from the edge as we join Rachael, then launches himself back in headfirst.
I give a laugh that almost sounds normal. ‘Stuntman in the making.’
‘Tell me about it.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Hey, Lottie, I’m Rachael. Your mummy’s told me all about you, and my Josh is so excited to meet you.’
Lottie leans into me but flashes a shy smile.
‘Are you looking forward to having some fun?’
She nods but doesn’t let go of my hand.
‘Charlene’s on her way,’ Rachael says to me. ‘She got caught up in a nappy explosion of apocalyptic proportions.’
‘Oh God, I don’t envy that one,’ I say, trying to encourage Lottie towards the pit, but her feet have grown roots.
‘Tell you what, Lottie,’ Rachael says, spying my struggle. ‘My Josh knows every inch of this place now. Shall I get him to show you the funnest bits?’
Lottie nods more eagerly this time, and Rachael calls him over.
He bounds up to us, bursting out, ‘Hiya!’
‘Josh, this is Lottie. The friend I told you about.’
Without hesitation, he turns to her, hand out. ‘Wanna come on the spinny thing with me? It’s cool!’
Lottie hesitates, glancing at me.
I crouch beside her. ‘It’s okay, baby. I’ll be right here. Just wave if you need me.’
She smiles and releases my hand to grab Joshua’s instead, and they toddle off towards a padded merry-go-round being spun by several sugar-fuelled toddlers. I wince, waiting for her to baulk. But she doesn’t. She lets Josh help her on and giggles as they take off together.
My little girl is in.
The breath I didn’t know I was holding rushes out of me.
‘She always shy at first?’ Rachael asks as I take a seat.
‘It’s her first time in a place like this,’ I say, watching Lottie’s face light up in real time.
Rachael lifts a brow. ‘Three years without soft play? You deserve a bloody medal.’
I laugh and it’s surprisingly easy. Her words simple, unweighted by our past and what we have survived. And it feels good. Like a clean slate. To be seen for who I am now, not where I’ve been.
‘Ladies!’ Charlene bursts in with a giant mum bag and a theatrical sigh. ‘We need to invent a nappy that can survive a toddler tsunami. We’d be billionaires.’
She flops down beside us as Parker runs ahead, joining Lottie and Joshua just as they tumble off the roundabout like mini drunks. All three dissolve into giggles – happy, tangled, and gloriously unaware of us watching on.
Conversation flows around the table… Snacks. Sleep regressions. Tantrums. Teething. It’s all about the everyday, and it’s everything. Not just for me, but for Lottie too.
She’s finally just a kid, living her life.
And I get to be just her mum.
No fear. No past. Just this.
Extraordinary in its normality.
Perfect in its simplicity.