She’s in an oversized sweater, leggings hugging her curves.
Her long, chestnut hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head, a few pieces falling down around her face.
Her cheeks are flushed pink from the kitchen heat, and there’s flour smudged on her shirt from whatever she’s been baking.
She’s holding a spatula in her hand and nearly screams when she sees us.
The utensil clatters to the floor as her eyes widen in shock, hands flying to her mouth.
She looks from Dean to me to Callum, her gaze flickering wildly between us all as though she can’t decide who to look at first. “W-what are you doing here?”
“I told you they would come!” Eli crows proudly, completely unaware of the storm brewing in the room.
He throws both hands up into the air like he’s just made the grandest announcement in the world and spins in a full, dizzying circle. “See, Mama? I told you!”
Noelle startles into motion. “Eli?—!”
She lunges forward, catching him by the waist just as his legs wobble and buckle beneath him.
She scoops him up into her arms in one fluid motion, hugging him tightly against her chest while his giggles are muffled against her shoulder.
The sight hits hard, her holding him close like that, instinctively protective even in her shock.
It’s maternal, fierce, and beautiful. It makes my chest ache becausethisis what we’ve all been fighting for.
Dean takes a small step forward like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Noelle…”
She turns sharply, her eyes wide and glassy. “You can’t just show up like this. You can’t…”
Dean’s hands come up slightly, the sign of a peace offering. “We’re not here to cause trouble. We just needed to see you.”
Noelle’s mouth opens, but no words come out.
Her throat works around the words she can’t find.
Her eyes are glassy, rimmed-red, catching the soft flicker of the Christmas lights from the living room.
I can see the war happening inside her, the tug-of-war between being a mother and a woman untethered.
The mother who wants to protect her son’s peace, to shield Eli from the kind of mess that loving us might drag her into, and the woman who’s standing here now, staring at three men who once meant safety, comfort,love.
Who still does even if she doesn’t want to admit it to herself.
Her jaw tightens as she glances down at the boy in her arms, his little fingers clutching the fabric of her sweater while he watches her curiously.
Dean takes a small step forward, voice even gentler this time. “Can we please talk?”
Noelle’s gaze flickers from him to me, then to Callum, her expression shifting with every conflicting emotion.
She studies us like she’s searching for some hidden angle, some reason to believe we’re not here to cause another round of pain.
Her lips part as if to say something, but then her eyes drift back to Eli.
The moment she looks at him, her face softens, yet the fear still doesn’t leave.
If anything, it grows.
That’s when I step in, trying to meet her where she is instead of where we want her to be. “We can talk later tonight. How about we just spend the rest of Christmas together? No drama. No fights. Just…relaxing.”
