Chapter 70
Freya
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this settled before. Like I’ve landed somewhere I’m meant to stay.
Theo runs past me for what feels like the hundredth time, narrowly missing a stack of boxes as he goes, his trainers squeaking slightly on the wooden floor as he skids around the corner, his energy completely untouched by the fact that we’ve been doing this for hours.
“Careful!” I call after him, already knowing it won’t make a difference.
“I am being careful!” he shouts back, not being careful at all.
Isla follows a second later, slightly more coordinated but no less enthusiastic, her voice already raised as she barrels into the kitchen behind him.
“We’ve done the kitchen one!”
“Have you?” I smile, turning toward her.
“Yeah,” she nods, pushing her hair out of her face. “We’re helping.”
“You are helping,” I agree.
Even if most of their helping involves moving the same box three times, opening things they definitely shouldn’t be opening, and then abandoning them halfway through when something more interesting catches their attention.
But they’re trying, and more than that, they’re doing it together, naturally, like it was always meant to be this way.
That part still surprises me sometimes. Not because I didn’t think it could happen.
But because of how easy it’s been. Just a slow, natural shift from separate lives into something shared.
Rory moves around the kitchen like he’s already lived here for years, filling the kettle, opening cupboards, shifting things around, already working out where everything’s going to go without needing to say it out loud.
He does it without thinking, like this space has already made room for him, and there’s something about that, something so simple and ordinary, that I keep catching myself noticing.
Six months ago, we were standing in separate kitchens. Separate houses. Separate routines. And now he’s making tea in our kitchen like it’s always been his.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing over at me, already halfway through filling mugs.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m really okay.”
And I mean it. Because it’s not just about him.
It’s about everything that came with him.
The late-night conversations that turned into something more.
The way we stopped pretending it was casual long before we admitted it out loud.
The way we learned each other slowly, properly, without rushing it.
The way we chose to do it right when it came to the kids, even when it would have been easier not to.
The way Isla started reaching for my hand without thinking.
The way Theo started talking about Rory like he’d always been there.
The way it stopped feeling complicated somewhere along the way.
His mum appears beside me again, handing me a mug of tea without even asking if I want one, like she already knows the answer.
“Sit for a minute,” she says gently. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”
“I’m okay…”
“Sit,” she repeats, softer this time.
And I do. Because I don’t feel like I have to prove anything here. That’s new. Not needing to be the one who holds everything together. Not needing to do it all myself.
I settle onto the sofa, wrapping my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I watch everything carry on around me.
Rory laughing at something his dad says.
His mum already unpacking things like she’s done this a hundred times before.
Theo and Isla arguing about which room technically belongs to who, even though they’ve already decided they’re next to each other.
It’s messy. It’s loud. Nothing is where it should be yet. And somehow, it works.
I think about how we got here. Not in one big moment.
But in lots of small ones. The first time he stayed over and it didn’t feel like a big deal.
The first time we sat on the sofa without that underlying tension of what is this.
The first time we said it out loud. The first time the kids saw it and it didn’t feel like something we had to explain. The first time it just felt normal.
Rory strolls over and drops down beside me, letting out a breath like the weight of the day is finally catching up with him, his shoulder brushing mine, his presence settling into the space beside me like it belongs there.
“I didn’t think my life would look like this,” I say, more thoughtfully now than emotionally.
“Me neither,” he replies.
This isn’t what either of us planned. But it’s better than anything we would have.
I glance around again, taking it all in properly this time. And then back at him.
“But I wouldn’t change it.”
He shifts slightly closer, his hand finding mine easily, like it always does, like it belongs there now, like it always has. “Good,” he says quietly.
I squeeze his hand gently, my thumb brushing over his knuckles before my eyes drop briefly to the bracelet still sitting at my wrist, catching the light the same way it always does.
That moment. That choice. Everything that followed it.
It’s strange, really, how something that felt uncertain at the start ended up here.
How something that could have gone wrong in so many ways somehow found its way into this version of life, this version of us, where nothing is perfect but everything feels… right.
Theo shouts something from upstairs. Isla shouts back, louder. Rory groans quietly beside me. I smile, leaning slightly into him without thinking. This isn’t the life I thought I’d have. But I’m really glad we got here in the end.