-HUNTER POV-
Mornings in London had a way of sneaking up on you.
4 65 vouchord
Not loudly, not with the blinding arrogance of New York light that demanded you wake and start conquering something. London mornings cased in….gray, soft–edged, polite in the way only the English could manage.
I woke to the sound of rain tapping gently against the windowpanes and the even softer tempo of Celine’s breathing. She was curled against me, her hair a messy halo across my chest, her hand resting lightly over the small curve of her belly.
It was the kind of peace I used to think people invented for storybooks.
Now, I was living inside it.
I didn’t move for a while. I just watched her sleep. The peaceful rise and fall of her chest, the faint crease between her brows she always had even in rest, as if some part of her never stopped thinking, never stopped worrying.
The woman never did anything halfway.
She loved like it was her job, mothered like it was a calling, and somehow still found time to remind me that my tie didn’t match my suit or that I was being “emotionally unavailable,” whatever that meant.
I brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, my fingers remaining there.
Six months ago, if someone had told me I’d find peace again….not the weak kind that came in brief flashes but the lasting, grounded kind…..I would’ve laughed. Or worse, ignored them completely.
Now I couldn’t imagine a world without this woman beside me, breathing slowly, dreaming quietly, reminding me every single day that love didn’t have to be loud to be real.
The knock on the door came softly, followed by the smallest whisper.
“Papa?”
Celine stirred as I slipped out of bed, pulling on a shirt and opening the door. Caesar stood there in his dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking up like he’d fought a pillow and lost. He was clutching his stuffed bear under one arm and rubbing his eyes.
“Mama still sleeping?” he asked in a whisper that was more of a squeak.
“She is,” I said, crouching to his height. “But we can let her sleep a little longer. How about breakfast with me?”
His face lit up. “Can I have chocolate cereal?”
I sighed like a man who had faced far greater negotiations and lost. “You drive a hard bargain, little man. Fine. But don’t tell your mother.”
14:59 Thu, Oct 9
He grinned, already running down the hallway before I could change my mind.
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The Greysons‘ kitchen was still and warm, filled with that faint sweetness of vanilla and tea leaves that seemed to cling to every corner of the house. Mrs. Greyson was already there, humming softly to the radio as she mixed something in a bowl.
“Well, if it isn’t my early risers,” she said with a smile. “I thought I heard footsteps.”
“Chocolate cereal emergency,” I explained, and Caesar nodded solemnly in confirmation.
“Ah, the most important kind of emergency.”
She poured milk for him and tea for me, moving around the kitchen with the easy beat of someone who had spent a lifetime creating comfort. I watched her for a moment. The lines around her eyes, the silver threading through her hair, the kindness that never seemed to dim.
For years, I had avoided this house, terrified of the ghosts that lived inside it.
Now, sitting here with my son swinging his legs and trying to count cereal pieces, I realized something had changed. The ghosts weren’t haunting me anymore…..they were watching quietly, at peace.
Mrs. Greyson must’ve felt my stare because she turned to me with that same gentle understanding that used to disarm me completely.
“You look better this time,” she said, pouring me another cup of tea. “Last time you were here, you looked like you were trying to carry the whole world on your shoulders.”
I smiled faintly. “Maybe I was.”
“And now?”
I looked toward the hallway where Celine’s soft footsteps approached, her hair tousled from sleep, my shirt thrown over her nightdress. She stopped in the doorway, sleepy but smiling, one hand resting on her belly as if by instinct.
“Now,” I said quietly, “I think I finally learned to share the weight.”
Celine came over, pressing a kiss to the top of Caesar’s head before looking at the bowl in front of him. “Chocolate cereal for breakfast?” she teased.
He pointed at me, utterly betraying me. “Papa said it’s okay!”
“Did he now?” she said, turning her gaze on me, one eyebrow raised.
I gave my most convincing defense. “It was a strategic parenting move. Builds trust.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Mrs. Greyson chuckled softly, setting plates on the table. “You two remind me of Sophia’s grandparents—
always bickering but always laughing. It’s a good sound to have in a house again.
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Something softened in Celine’s expression, and she reached across the table to squeeze the woman’s hand. “You’ve been so kind to us. Thank you….for everything.” This update is available on ⓝovelFind.net
“Kindness has a way of coming back around, dear. And besides,” Mrs. Greyson said, glancing at me, “I think Sophia would have wanted it this way.” noveldrama
Her words landed gently, not serious with sadness but warm with acceptance. I nodded, unable to speak for a
moment.
Breakfast turned easy after that–Caesar talking about his imaginary dog, Celine scolding me for letting him invent one, and Mrs. Greyson trying to convince us both that imagination was healthy.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about meetings or deadlines or the next storm waiting to hit the Reid name. I was just a man at a kitchen table, surrounded by laughter and the smell of fresh bread, with my family.
After breakfast, Celine took Caesar to see the garden while I stayed behind to help clear the table. Mrs. Greyson handed me a dish towel, her eyes crinkling with quiet amusement.
“You’re different, Hunter,” she said softly. “The first time I met you, you were polite but closed off. Now… there’s warmth in you. It suits you.”
I chuckled lightly. “Celine has that effect on people.”
“She must love you very much.”
“She does,” I said, meaning every word. “And I’d walk through fire for her.”
“Then you’ve already learned the secret,” she said simply. “Love is fire, Hunter. It burns, it hurts, but it also keeps you alive.”
I stood there for a moment, staring at the rain streaking the window, her words sinking into the quiet between us. When I finally joined Celine and Caesar in the garden, the rain had stopped. The air smelled of wet earth and roses.
Celine was sitting on a bench beneath the old oak tree, Caesar chasing butterflies nearby.
I came up behind her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. She leaned back against me with a contented sigh.
“Do you ever feel,” she murmured, “like we’re finally where we’re supposed to be?”
I looked out at our son, at the London sky clearing into pale blue, at the soft curve of her smile.
“Every day,” I whispered.
And for once, it didn’t feel like a flimsy truth. It felt like a promise that might actually last.
14:59 Thu, Oct 9
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