Chapter 21
Willow
Millie is perched on my knee, her tiny bottom lip poking out as she stares at the tower of presents she just tore through. Aria sits beside us, brushing her fingers over Millie's cheek before giving it a playful pinch.
She’d just told me about Ariamotion Studios—her dance studio—and how genuinely excited she was that I’d be joining. She even offered that I could practice out of hours if I wanted some space to myself, which I quietly appreciated.
"What’s got you so glum, Millie? Look at all this; I’m going to have a hell of a time fitting it all in your room,” her mum says.
I glance over just in time to see Elijah shrug one shoulder, a cheeky half smile playing across his handsome face. “I like to spoil my niece. Sue me,” he responded, shoving a burger into his mouth.
I let my hand drift down Millie's arm, focusing on her instead of Elijah, though it's a struggle. I keep sneaking glances at him, longer than I should, which is probably a terrible idea—especially in front of his family.
They are wonderful. His mum and dad are kind and welcoming in a way that actually makes me feel like I belong. Watching them together, the easy affection and laughter, the way they look out for one another. It's quietly beautiful.
There's so much love between them all.
I've never really had that. It was always just my dad and me, my brother during the holidays. It was enough. My dad did everything he could for me, and I'm so beyond grateful for him. But it wasn't this. I've always wanted something bigger. Louder. Warmer.
A family like this.
“I actually got her something,” I say, a little hesitantly. “If that's okay?”
“Ye sweetheart,” Moira laughs warmly. “Ye really didn't have to get her anything—she's spoiled enough as it is.”
Millie, however, is already wriggling on the spot, grinning brightly. “Can I open it?” she blurts, unable to contain herself.
“It's not the kind of present you open.”
“Oh,” she breathes, her voice quiet. “I thought all presents came wrapped.”
“Not all of them. I heard how much you love K-pop Demon Hunters.” I look at all the decorations.
“I found this company online locally. They hold themed birthday events.” Her eyes grow wider with every word.
I smile and continue. “They do your hair, your makeup, even the outfits. You get to sing all the songs, watch the film, and have a tea party with the K-pop cast.”
Not the real cast, but to her it would be.
I peer at Aria, then, nerves flickering in my chest. “I thought it was something you could do with your mum. I hope that's okay. If it's not, I can cancel it—get a refund—”
I don't get the chance to finish.
Millie lets out a delighted squeal and throws herself at me, her arms locking tight around my neck.
“Don't be daft; that's incredibly sweet of you,” Aria beams. “You really didn't need to go to all that effort.”
“I wanted to,” I reply, honestly. And I mean it.
Millie scrambles off my legs, laughter trailing behind her as she bolts toward her dad and the others, eager to share the news with anyone who will listen.
“You've made her day,” Aria says, meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”
I smile back, something soft settling in my chest. When I glance up, I catch Elijah looking at me like he's a little stunned—like he's seeing me for the first time. Then his expression shifts with happiness, just before he turns and heads over to his brothers.
God. He's handsome.
The sun catches on his tanned skin, warming it to a soft glow. His dark hair is tied back today, though one strand has slipped free, falling into his eyes. He hasn't shaved in a while—stubble shadowing his jaw- and I find myself really liking the slightly gruff look for more than I probably should.
“Well, I'd better go save that cake before they get to it and demolish the lot,” she announces, already halfway to her feet. She disappears inside with Moira.
Out on the grass, all the boys are taking turns tossing Millie into the air. She shrieks, fearless and happy.
She's one lucky little girl. Surrounded by people who care for her so loudly, it's impossible to miss.
My throat tightens. I blink back the tears, but I roll them before they can spill over. God, I need to get a grip.
I miss my dad. How he used to give me all of his time, all of his attention, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. Just us. Always.
Watching them now stirs that old ache.
I slip to my feet quietly, hoping no one notices I’ve disappeared. I just need a moment—some air, some space—somewhere without eyes on me. I head down the corridor at an unhurried pace, scanning for the bathroom, letting the distance settle my breathing.
The landing opens up around me. Walls painted a soft, luminous white, edged with layered shades of blue that fade into one another like water meeting sky.
The colours are calming. Underfoot, the carpet is a deep, velvety grey, thick enough to swallow the sounds of my steps.
Flecks of blue are woven through it, subtle and scattered.
Images adorn the walls, creating a vibrant collage of life—memories captured in a delightful array of mismatched frames.
There's nothing polished or contrived here; just real moments, each one telling its own story.
The boys return time and again in these snapshots, each photo a glimpse into their adventures, often caught in the midst of mischief they surely weren't meant to be a part of. I can’t help but smile at one particularly endearing photo of River, his cheeks smeared with chocolate, a testament to his sweet escapades.
Loves chocolate just like his dad.
There's a photograph of Moira that makes me pause. She's smiling softly, a light catching her eyes just right as she cradles a tiny baby in her arms. This picture feels like it holds a small piece of someone's heart inside it.
But it's another frame that steals my attention.
A beach at sunset, where the sky bleeds into rich oranges and gentle pinks, casting a beauty so profound it feels almost painful.
Below, the sea churns—a dark, restless force, crashing relentlessly against the jagged rocks.
Beauty and fury entwine in this moment, a striking contrast that leaves the heart aching.
It’s like grief draped in the elegance of twilight, a bittersweet reminder that even in beauty, there can be tumult.
It reminds me of the beach back home.
“Beautiful, aren't they?”
Her voice makes me jump. I fumble, knocking the frame crooked before catching it in time. My heart thuds as I straighten it, then turn to find Moira leaning in the doorway, a slice of cake balanced in her hand, her eyes surveying the memories on the wall.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop,” I blurt, words tripping over each other.
“No apologies needed at all, love. My home is your home.”
Contemplating her, it’s easy to see where Elijah inherited his commanding presence, yet he mirrors his father in so many ways.
With dark hair and broad shoulders, he carries that strong resemblance.
In contrast, Moira’s bright blonde curls frame her face, stopping just at her shoulders, creating a striking juxtaposition between them.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “You must have had the patience of a saint, bringing up five boys.”
She grins, already shaking her head in amusement. “Ah, don't be fooled. I had a secret stash of wine hidden away. They kept me running ragged, they did—but sure, life was never boring. Still isn't."
I turn back to the wall of photos. “Who took these?”
“Elijah.”
I still. There's no chance he took these.
He's never once mentioned doing anything like this, even after the amount of time we've spent together.
“Surprised?” she asks, catching the look on my face.
Surprised doesn't even begin to cover it.
“He's had an eye for it since he was a wee lad,” Moira says fondly. “One year, all he wanted for his birthday was a camera. Drove us mad, it did—flash going off every five minutes. But look at it now. I have a lifetime of memories because of him.”
She turns then, moving down the hall, and gently lifts a frame from its hook before pressing it into my hands.
The moment I look at it, everything inside me splinters.
The warmth drains from the room, like someone opened a window I didn't notice before.
It's Elijah; he's much younger, and his arm is slung around a man I know by heart.
My dad.
Their smiles radiate pure joy, the kind that seems blissfully unaware of its fleeting nature. I grip the frame tightly, feeling sadness wash over me as grief and tenderness entwine, blurring the lines between them until I can no longer discern where one ends and the other begins.
“I’m so sorry about Leon. He was a good soul. A rare one. An incredible man. Raising ye on his own… that takes a strength most people don't have in them these days. And from what I've heard, he’d have every right to be proud of the woman ye are becoming.”
I don't even realise I’m crying until a tear slips free and lands on the glass of the frame. I scrub at it quickly.
God, I miss him.
“He was the best.”
That doesn't even scratch the surface.
Her hand settles over mine. “That he was,” she agrees, then hesitates. “River mentioned you hated Elijah.”
“I did. For a long time,” I admit. “He betrayed my dad.”
Moira sighs softly, the sound heavy with years of knowing.
“Oh, he got an earful from me when I found out; make no mistake. I may be his mam, but there was no excuse.” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
“That said… Elijah is a good man. Always has been.
He cared deeply for your father, and he's carried the weight of that mistake ever since. Regret like that doesn't fade easily.”
I know that. And yet there are still gaps I can't fill.
My dad never told me exactly what happened—only that Rose built herself a shiny new family and forgot about us. And that Elijah… was the one who helped tear it apart.
“Elijah's done a lot for me these past few months, and honestly, I don't think I'd even be here if it wasn't for him.”