Epilogue
Rory
There’s a very specific kind of chaos that comes with moving day, and it turns out it doesn’t matter how organised you think you are beforehand, how many lists you make, how many boxes you label, how many times you tell yourself you’ve got it under control, it still ends up looking exactly like this.
Boxes everywhere. Shoes abandoned in places they definitely shouldn’t be.
Half-drunk mugs of tea forgotten on windowsills.
Someone shouting about something they’ve lost that was in their hand five seconds ago.
And in the middle of it all, Theo and Isla, both attempting to carry a box that is very clearly too big for either of them, their arms stretched too far, their steps completely out of sync.
“I’ve got it,” Theo insists, his arms wrapped tightly around one side, his face set with the kind of determination that makes it impossible to argue with him.
“You don’t,” Isla argues, gripping the other side, her voice sharp but not unkind. “You’re going to drop it.”
“I’m not!”
“You are!”
“I’m not!”
“Just carry it together,” I say, stepping past them with a smaller box tucked under my arm, watching as the bigger one tilts dangerously.
“We are carrying it together,” Isla snaps back immediately.
Theo nods like that settles it. “Yeah.”
The box dips again, one corner slipping lower. I stop, watching for a second.
“…Carefully,” I add.
They both adjust instantly, shuffling forward in a way that’s far more effort than it needs to be, but neither of them is willing to let go, neither of them willing to admit defeat.
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I carry on through to the kitchen, setting my box down before glancing back toward the living room.
Freya catches my eye from across the room, a small, knowing smile pulling at her mouth as she watches them, like she’s seeing exactly what I’m seeing.
Like she’s feeling it too. And for a second, everything else fades slightly. Because this… This is it.
I glance around the cottage again, taking it in properly even though I’ve already done that more times than I can count since we got the keys.
It’s not modern. Not even close. The floors creak when you walk across them, the beams are uneven, slightly bowed with age, the kitchen looks like it’s been added onto more than once over the years, each part telling a slightly different story.
The garden is overgrown in places, wild rather than polished, like it’s been left to grow into itself rather than be controlled.
But it’s perfect. Because it feels like Oakwood.
It feels like something that already has a life in it.
And more importantly, it feels like somewhere we can build one.
“I still can’t believe you found this,” Freya says, stepping around a box and brushing her hand lightly along the wooden worktop, her fingers tracing the grain like she’s already memorising it.
“I didn’t,” I reply, setting another box down. “It just… turned up.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s not how house hunting works.”
“It is when nothing else feels right.”
And that’s the truth of it. I looked. For weeks.
For months, if I’m being honest. Different houses.
Different layouts. Different versions of what my life could look like.
Places that should have worked. Places that on paper were perfect.
But none of them felt right. Not without her.
Not without Theo. There wasn’t a version of my life anymore that didn’t include them, and trying to pretend there was just made everything feel…
off. Empty in a way I couldn’t ignore. So, I stopped trying to find something that worked for just me and Isla.
And started looking for something that worked for all of us.
“This one does,” she says quietly.
I glance at her. “Yeah,” I say. “It does.”
The front door opens behind us, voices carrying in before I even turn, and I don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Mum?” I call out.
“Kitchen!” she shouts back.
A second later, she appears, already carrying a box, my dad following behind her with two more like he’s trying to prove a point.
“We said we’d help,” he says, dropping them down with a quiet grunt.
“You didn’t have to bring half the house with you,” I mutter.
“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” Mum says, already looking around like she’s assessing everything at once. “You’ll need all of this.”
She sets the box down and then, without hesitation, pulls Freya into a hug.
“Look at you,” she says warmly. “This suits you.”
Freya laughs softly, a little surprised but leaning into it anyway. “It does feel… right.”
Mum nods, like she already knew that. “Of course it does.”
Dad claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done alright here, son.”
I glance around again. At the mess. The noise. The people. The life already filling the space.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I have.”
Theo and Isla run through again, shouting over each other about something I don’t quite catch.
“Careful!” Mum calls after them.
“They’re fine,” I say.
“They’re not fine, they’re feral,” she replies, laughing.
Freya laughs, and I glance at her again, watching the way she fits into this without forcing it, the way she just… belongs. This is my family. Not the one I thought I’d have. But the one I’d chose over and over again.