It’s quiet at first, the only sounds are the soft clink of silverware and the storm raging outside.
But then Eli starts talking.
He fills the room with stories. Animated recaps of his favorite cartoons, a detailed explanation of why chocolate milk is “way better” than regular milk, and a dramatic retelling of how he and his grandfather almost got stranded out in the middle of a lake for a whole day once when their boat’s motor stopped working.
He’s a talker, and it’s impossible not to be charmed. Even Grant cracks a real smile at one point, the kind that reaches his eyes.
Noelle watches him the whole time, her face soft with quiet pride. Every once in a while, she murmurs a gentle “Chew, honey,” or “Slow down,” but mostly, she just lets him go and go, content to listen.
It’s in that moment, watching them, that it really hits me: she’s built something extraordinary.
A world that’s just hers and his.
I can see now why she’s so guarded, why our sudden reappearance feels like an intrusion.
To her, we’re not just ghosts from the past, we’re the threat that could shatter the fragile peace she’s managed to create out of a difficult situation.
When the plates are cleared and the cocoa is gone, Eli starts to slow down.
His yawns come one after another, his eyelids heavy despite his insistence that he’s “not sleepy.”
Noelle laughs softly. “Uh-huh. Bedtime.”
“But, Mom…”
“No buts,” she says gently, smoothing his hair back again. “Come on.”
“Here,” I say, pushing to my feet before she can protest. I nod toward the adjoining door between the two rooms. “He can sleep in here. It’ll be quieter.”
She hesitates for a heartbeat, like she wants to argue, but then she nods. “Okay. Thanks.”
She scoops Eli up, his little arms draping around her neck, his head lolling against her shoulder.
Together, we head to the next room.
She moves slowly, humming something under her breath as she tucks him into one of the beds—Callum’s—piling blankets around him until he looks like a bundled cocoon.
I step back into the other room, giving her space.
The energy shifts the second she steps back into the other room.
She sits gingerly on the edge of the couch next to me, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes darting between us with a wariness that makes my chest ache.
Cal leans back in the armchair, his fingers steepled under his chin. Grant stands near the window, arms crossed, his profile rigid in the faint lamplight.
I take a breath, knowing what I’m about to say will change everything. But the truth’s been clawing at me for too long to keep letting it go on like this. “Noelle, we need to talk about Eli.”
She tenses instantly, her spine straightening, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about him?”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, locking eyes with her. The air between us feels charged, heavy.
“Is he one of ours?”
10
NOELLE
“IS HE ONE OF OURS?”
