Alex laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Erin leaned in. “She terrifies me.”
“She terrifies everyone,” Alex said fondly.
Vic was fussing with the napkins, but gently — almost playfully. Julia caught her hand each time she lingered too long, guiding her back to her seat.
The children sat together at one end, dogs flopped at their feet, tails thumping rhythmically.
Alex took her seat at the centre. Erin sat beside her, their chairs close enough that their knees brushed.
The warmth flooded Alex instantly.
Mrs. MacLeod clapped her hands sharply. “Quiet down, everyone, or I’ll feed the pudding to the dogs.”
Instant silence.
Then the feast began.
It wasn’t perfect. The bread was slightly overdone. The gravy boat was chipped. The ham had a rogue corner suspiciously over-crisped.
But Alex could have cried with happiness.
Erin caught her expression. “Hey,” she murmured. “You okay?”
Alex nodded, eyes prickling. “More than okay.”
Erin reached for her hand under the table. Their fingers intertwined.
Alex exhaled, a slow, trembling breath.
She looked at her beautiful children — laughing, passing food, sharing jokes. She looked at Hyz correcting Vic’s napkin folding. At Julia smiling at Vic like she held the entire world in her hands. At Mrs. MacLeod presiding over the meal like a general commanding her troops.
And she thought:
This is my family. This is my life.
The ache that had lived under her ribs for months — the ache of exhaustion, fear, distance from Erin — loosened.
Erin squeezed her hand again.
Alex leaned toward her slightly, shoulder brushing Erin’s.
“Thank you,” Alex whispered.
“For what?” Erin murmured.
“For loving us like you do.”
Erin blinked, eyes softening. “It’s easy to love you.”
Alex swallowed, trying not to cry into her roast potatoes. “Even when it’s hard?”
“Especially then,” Erin said quietly.
Alex’s throat closed.
She looked at Erin properly, taking her in — the gentle smile, the quiet strength, the fine lines beginning to take root around her eyes.
