For the first time, he doesn’t have to guess.
I love him.
And I’m finally free to let the world know.
Reed’s thumb circles slowly against my cheek, his forehead pressed to mine, as we share the same fragile breath.
By the time we sit down to eat, the house smells of bacon, coffee, and something more stable than fear.
The kitchen’s alive again; chairs scraping, plates clinking, and Maverick raiding the fridge as if he hasn’t eaten in days.
Catalina sits on a stool next to me, her hand casually resting on her belly as she teases Carter for oversalting his eggs. “You’re gonna give the baby high blood pressure,” she mutters.
Carter chuckles, flipping a pancake. “Darlin’, they’re my eggs, I made a special batch for you.”
Amelia snorts softly from across the counter, sipping her coffee. “Catalina, stop complaining.”
Catalina squints. “Can you not?”
“Shut up,” Amelia smirks, and Maverick nearly chokes on his toast laughing.
It’s ridiculous, warm, and perfect.
Reed slides a plate toward me and sits beside me, hisknee brushing mine under the table. His small touch sends a quiet thrill through me, a reminder that it’s okay to be here now, in the open, in the light.
Catalina notices the look we exchange and smiles softly, her voice gentle amid all the noise. “I’m really happy for you, Layla.”
I blink, caught off guard. “You are?”
“Of course I am,” she says, resting her chin on her palm. “You both deserve to be loved this way.”
My throat tightens. “I didn’t think I’d ever have this again. Not after everything that happened.”
Reed’s hand finds mine beneath the table, our fingers intertwining, his thumb gently brushing my ring finger like a silent vow. “You’ve got it now,” he says softly.
The chaos persists around us—Amelia rolling her eyes at Maverick’s boasting, Leo happily babbling in Carter’s lap, and Catalina laughing so hard she almost spills her juice.
And somehow, in the middle of it, my heart finally slows.
I catch myself laughing too, really laughing, the sound light and unfamiliar to my own ears.
Reed watches me with that quiet smile, the one that shows he notices the little things and says he’s never going to let me go again.
I squeeze his hand and look around the table—my girls, their husbands, the man I love, and the life I never thought I’d get to live.
reed
. . .
Layla’s still asleep when I slip out back, coffee in hand, the air cool enough to see my breath.
She’s been doing better, laughing again, eating, sleeping in longer stretches without waking in a cold sweat.
But I still notice the shadows behind her smile, the way her hands sometimes tremor when she thinks no one’s watching.
So today, I wanted to give her something special, something that feels like her.
I spent the morning dragging an old table from the shed and setting it up under the oak tree. I covered it with a white sheet Catalina brought over last week and laid out brushes, jars of paint, and a large canvas still wrapped in plastic.
