Chapter 37 #2
My throat tightens. Strong. I don’t feel it.
Not sitting here, with swollen eyes and a heart that won’t stop aching.
I think about Mum and Dad, how they’ve always expected me to land on my feet.
How, every time I fall short, I feel like I’m proving them right to worry.
He must sense it because he continues. “Mum and Dad see it too, even when you don’t.
You’ve got so much to offer. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. ”
I lift my head, blinking through the blur of tears. “How did you even know?”
He gives a small shrug. “That’s what big brothers are for. To know everything.”
I sniff, laughing softly. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, smirking. “It’s part of the charm.”
Before I can answer, Xavier’s voice booms down the hallway. “Oh, group hug!”
I barely have time to turn before his arms engulf us both, squeezing tight enough to make me wheeze.
“Get off me, Xav!” Brad groans, laughing despite himself.
“No chance,” Xavier declares, hugging us tighter.
Mum’s delighted voice cuts through the chaos. “Aww, my beautiful babies!” Click. The loud, unmistakable snap of her phone camera fills the air.
“Mum!” Brad and I groan at the same time, as I do my best to face her.
She beams, completely unbothered. “Memories, darlings! I’m going to frame that one.”
When Xavier finally lets go, he squints at me. “Why’s she crying? Did you make her cry, Bradley Bear?”
I shake my head, smiling despite the tears. He crosses his arms, pretending to look fierce.
“Do I need to punch someone? Say the word, Liv.”
“No, Xav.” I can’t help laughing. “You can put your muscles away.”
He grins, flexing anyway. “You sure? My knuckles are ready.”
Brad groans. “Jesus Christ, mate.”
Mum sighs, beaming at the chaos she created. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the heaviness in my chest lifts. Not gone. But lighter. Because with or without Sebastian, I have this. My family. And for now, that’s enough.
By the time I slide into the booth at The Willow & Vine, the restaurant’s already buzzing—fairy lights strung along the ceiling, the low hum of chatter wrapping around us like music.
Across from me, Imogen and Isla are practically glowing.
It’s written all over their faces. That smug, floaty happiness that only comes from kids tucked safely into bed by their dads, who run bedtime like a well-oiled circus.
“If Harrison feeds Joseph sugar again, I’m changing my number and moving towns,” Imogen mutters, stabbing at her pasta with unnecessary force.
Isla laughs, swirling her wine. “You said that last time, and then he sent you a photo of Joseph asleep with a Freddo Frog still in his hand. You melted.”
“That was cute,” Imogen defends, scowling even as her mouth twitches.
“Admit it,” Isla teases. “You’re going soft.”
Zoe smirks over her glass. “He’s a Price man, babe. Sugar and bad decisions are in their DNA.”
Imogen guffaws, nearly spilling her wine. “That’s rich, coming from you. You literally bribed Michael with sex to get him to clean the house.”
Zoe points her fork like a weapon. “And it worked. So, technically, that was strategic planning.”
We burst out laughing, the kind of laughter that comes easy, unforced.
The kind that’s been missing from my week.
Between myself, Zoe, Isla, Imogen, and Amelia, the table’s already littered with half-empty glasses, handbags, and banter that loosens something tight in my chest. Yet still, somewhere in that noise, I think about another dad.
The one who doesn’t text anymore. The one whose son still tugs at the edges of my heart.
God, I miss Teddy. His laugh. His obsession with dinosaurs.
His cars. The way he’d wait for me at the school gate, bouncing on his toes like I was the most exciting part of his day.
That ache settles deep in my chest, and no matter how much wine I drink or how many times I tell myself I made the right choice, it still pains me.
Zoe reaches for her glass, glancing around the table. “Okay, now that everyone’s settled and halfway tipsy, someone please tell me I’m not the only one whose overgrown child thinks ‘babysitting’ his own kid counts as an Olympic sport.”
Imogen snorts. “What kid?”
Zoe smirks. “Sprinkles, babe. C’mon. Don’t tell Michael you don’t classify his cat as a daughter… he’ll murder you.”
That earns a round of laughter loud enough to draw a look from the next table.
Isla wipes at her eyes, grinning. “You think it changes? Two kids later, and I still get texts asking if Vegemite toast is a balanced dinner.”
Amelia chokes on her wine. “Honestly? That sounds better than the time Bradley asked me if detergent expires.”
Imogen groans. “Men really are just slightly larger toddlers.”
“Speaking of toddlers”—Isla raises a brow—“when are you and Michael thinking of having an actual one?”
“We’re content with just the two of us. And Sprinkles,” Zoe answers surely, as she swirls the wine in her glass. “He’s never pushed, and I’ve never pretended to be ready. Considering how often we do it, it’s a bloody miracle we haven’t accidentally multiplied already.”
Imogen nearly chokes on her pasta. “Miracle’s one word for it.” Then, with that mischievous glint she’s famous for, she tilts her head toward Amelia. “Your turn, sunshine. When are you and Officer Mitchell adding a little one to the mix?”
Amelia blushes when the attention shifts to her. “Oh, we will. One day. But there’s no rush.”
Zoe leans over, squeezing her hand. All this talk of happy endings and baby plans is doing absolutely nothing for me.
Still, watching them, these women, my family, smiling, laughing, sharing stories like their worlds are finally solid…
it makes something warm settle low in my chest. I’m genuinely happy for them.
Really, I am. They deserve it. Every soft, safe, messy bit of love they’ve found.
I tip my glass, downing what’s left of my drink in one go before catching the waitress’s eye for another. If I’m going to sit through this much love and fertility chat, I’ll need a refill.
Imogen clocks this because her eyes narrow on me instantly. “Alright, Liv. Spill. You’ve been quiet tonight, and that’s never a good sign.”
Four pairs of eyes turn toward me. I twist my napkin in my lap, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Fine fine, or I’m a girl-who’s-about-to-cry-into-her-cocktail fine?” Zoe says.
“Somewhere in between.”
Imogen tilts her head. “How’s your dad doing?”
My throat tightens. “He’s… okay. Better than I thought he’d be. They said it was mild, but he’s being stubborn about the recovery. Won’t sit still, won’t listen. Typical Mitchell behaviour.”
“Sounds familiar,” Isla mutters, earning a round of smirks.
“Yup,” Amelia adds.
I shake my head, smiling faintly, though it doesn’t quite hold. “I just keep thinking about how close it was. And how it’s Christmas next week, and everything just feels… off. I don’t know. I thought I’d feel better by now.”
Zoe reaches across the table, brushing her hand over mine. “You’ve had a hell of a few weeks. You don’t have to bounce back right away.”
“I know,” I say softly. “But part of me keeps thinking maybe it’s not just Dad. Maybe it’s everything else too.”
“A few weeks? Everything else? What have we missed?” Imogen looks between the girls, genuine confusion written all over her face. I can’t help but laugh at her expression. They look so bewildered, and honestly, they have every right to be. This all happened right under their noses.
“It’s nothing,” I say, brushing it off, but Amelia’s already raising a knowing brow.
“You mean Sebastian?” she asks.
Imogen and Isla gasp dramatically, loud enough to turn heads from the next table. His name sits heavy between us. Heat floods my cheeks, but I sigh, finally ready to admit it.
“I don’t even know where to start. It’s like one day, we were something, and the next, I was standing in his kitchen handing him back envelopes full of cheques he thought I’d cashed.
” I exhale slowly. “He found Dad, you know. He’s the one who called it in.
Stayed with him until the ambulance arrived. ”
Isla leans forward. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“Hold on.” Imogen points at me. “I know you were babysitting Teddy, but when did this something more begin? You sneaky little… You took one out of her book.” She jerks her thumb at Amelia, who instantly turns beet red.
Amelia groans. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Nope,” I say with a grin, nudging her before circling back. “Honestly, I don’t even know when it started.”
But I do. In the quiet space between the rain and that song on the farm. Our first kiss. That’s when I stopped cashing the cheques because it felt wrong, taking money from him when I’d already given him something else. The table falls silent, and I swallow.
“It’s messy. But he made his choice. I knew the school holidays were coming. I knew it would end. He told Brad it wasn’t serious… that I was nothing.” The laugh that escapes me is small, bitter. “Imagine hearing that from the man who made you believe you were something.”
Imogen straightens suddenly, eyes wide. “Wait. Did you sleep with him?”
Oh, God. My stomach flips. I take a long sip of my drink instead of answering, trying not to blush as my mind floods with images I can’t unsee—his hands, his voice, the way he said my name like it was something sacred.
“Oh my God, she has!” Isla squeals. The whole table erupts in gasps, laughter, and chaos.
“Oh, shush, the lot of you,” I hiss, trying to quiet them, but they’re already throwing questions. When? How many times? What was it like?
“I don’t even know,” I mumble, half-laughing, half-hiding my face. “I’ve lost count.”
Zoe winks. “Knew there was a good reason I called you Wild One.”
The corner of my mouth lifts, but it’s fleeting.
Because in that moment, what I feel more than anything is gratitude.
Not just for her warmth or her wisdom or the way she always seems to say the exact right thing without trying—but for the silence.
For the fact that she hasn’t breathed a word of what I confided in her the other week. Not even to the girls.
Amelia cuts in. “Alright, enough interrogating the poor girl.” She turns to me, her expression softening.
“First of all, I’m deeply offended I wasn’t the first to know, but I do get it, being married to your brother and all.
” That earns a few snorts of laughter, mine included.
“Secondly,” she continues, “for what it’s worth, Brad told me he’s been…
different. Quiet. Said he’s not himself lately. ”
Zoe huffs. “He’s probably thinking about what he lost.”
“It’s fine,” I say, downplaying the ache still lodged in my chest. “It is what it is.”
Imogen shakes her head. “No, Liv. You’re lying to yourself.”
I meet her eyes. “Maybe. But he made his choice. He built those damn walls back up, and if he can’t decide what he wants, I’m not waiting around for him to figure it out.”
I draw a shaky breath, forcing a smile that doesn’t hold.
“I loved babysitting Teddy, you know? That kid… he’s beautiful.
Brilliant. I’ve never met anyone like him.
He’s got this spark, this whole world in his head.
And I just—” My throat catches. “I just understood him. I knew what he needed before he even said it. No one else is going to get him like that.”
“You love him,” Amelia says softly. Her words hit like a punch. “I saw the way you were with him when we had coffee. The way you looked at him. That’s not just a job, Liv.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say quietly. “He’s not mine. He has a father who loves him, who’s doing his best. And me getting attached… it just complicates everything.”
Amelia’s voice is gentle. “I think you’re brave, Liv. For the way you handled everything. For still being kind after it all.”
My eyes sting, but I manage a small smile.
“Well,” Isla says, reaching for her drink, “I hope the man grovels hard.” She takes a sip, then adds with a roll of her eyes, “We all know how hard men suck at communicating. It’s not like them to share their feelings, so they need a real hard reminder.”
Ain’t that the truth. I bite back a smirk.
Zoe smiles knowingly. “If he’s half the man we think he is, he’ll come back knowing exactly what he wants.”
“And if he doesn’t,” Imogen adds, “we’ll all line up to kick his ass.”
“Or lock him in a pen with Kevin.” Amelia grins.
Zoe frowns. “Who’s Kevin?”
I snort. “One of the bucks on our farm.”
She pins with a confused look.
“A male goat,” I clarify. “And the meanest bastard alive. Took out an entire fence last summer and chased one of the boys halfway down the paddock.”
Zoe laughs. “Oh, lovely. Definitely lock him in there.” She lifts her glass. “To being brave and choosing ourselves.”
“Fucking cheers to that,” Imogen says.
“Amen!” Isla echoes.
“Cheers,” I murmur, the word catching somewhere between strength and relief as our glasses clink together.
We order another bottle of wine, with dessert to follow—something rich and chocolatey that none of us need but all of us devour.
Not long after, the conversation drifts to lighter things: Zoe’s newest trainee at her company, Isla’s girls, Imogen’s hairdressing gossip, Amelia’s hilarious story about a student who proudly brought a live frog in his lunchbox for show-and-tell and lost it halfway through her lesson.
By the time the laughter fades, my cheeks ache, my chest feels lighter.
By quarter-past nine, I’m taking off my boots and sinking onto the edge of the bed, with the soft glow from my phone breaking the dark.
One notification blinks on the screen—small, simple, but enough to send my pulse skittering.
It’s a photo of Teddy, clutching his dinosaur book.
The one he always asked me to read before bed.
Sebastian: Teddy says I don’t read it as well as you, so he’s reading it to me.
For a while, I just stare at it, the ache blooming deep in my chest. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, logic whispering that I should ignore it, but my heart wins.
Me: Tell him I’m proud of him for remembering the big words.