I return to unpacking, methodically working through box after box. Utensils in the drawer. Pots hanging from the rack. Coffee maker on the counter because I’m going to need industrial amounts of caffeine to survive whatever conversation is coming.
The label maker was a brilliant investment. Every box is clearly marked, every item with a designated home. Control through organization. Sanity through systems.
If only I could label and organize my emotions the same way.
Another trip upstairs. This time, carrying a box markedBOYS - CLOTHESin my neat, color-coded system. I can hear them before I see them—the sound of an electric drill, male voices discussing measurements and angles.
I pause in the doorway.
All three of them are in the boys’ room, working on assembling the bunk bed I’d bought in California. Jace has the instruction manual spread on the floor, studying it with the same intensity he probably uses for tactical operations. Cal’s on his back under the frame, tightening bolts with practiced efficiency. Silas holdsthe ladder section steady, his massive hands making the wood look delicate.
They’re building my sons’ bed.
The thought hits like a fist to the solar plexus. These men—these three men who are my sons’ fathers—are building the place where Liam and Noah will sleep. Where they’ll whisper secrets after lights out. Where they’ll dream.
My throat goes tight.
I’m not crying…it’s allergies. That’s why I’m fighting watery eyes and a burning in my nose.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, my voice coming out thinner than I intend. “I can handle the furniture.”
Cal slides out from under the frame, grinning up at me with that devastating smile that’s always been his most dangerous weapon. “Part of the service, ma’am. Moving and assembly included.”
The joke falls flat. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers are gripping the wrench a little too tightly.
“Very professional,” I manage, setting the box down by the closet.
“We aim to please,” Silas says, not looking at me. His jaw is clenched, that muscle jumping the way it does when he’s holding back words. Holding back everything.
“Besides,” Jace adds, still studying the manual, “this design is clever. Maximizes vertical space. Good choice for—” He stops himself. For what? For twins? For five-year-old boys? For thechildren he saw yesterday and is trying very hard not to think about? “Good choice,” he finishes lamely.
“Thanks.” I back toward the door. “I’ll just—I’ll be downstairs. If you need anything.”
None of them follow me.
I’m grateful for that.
I’m devastated by that.
I’m both things at once, and it’s exhausting.
Back downstairs, I throw myself into work. Unpack the linens—sheets sorted by size, towels arranged by color. Set aside decor boxes for later because aesthetic concerns feel impossibly trivial right now. Move through the house like a woman possessed, creating order because it’s the only thing I can control.
The boys are still at the main house with Sienna, Lottie, and Jimmy. “Let them play while we work,” Sienna had said this morning. “The move will go faster without little ones underfoot.”
She’d meant it kindly. But all I can think is that my sons are over there, being watched by their uncle’s wife, while their fathers are here, fifty feet away, assembling their bedroom furniture and pretending their entire world didn’t tilt sideways yesterday.
Eventually, I end up in my bedroom with the last major project: my bed frame.
It’s a low-profile Alaskan King—massive and close to the carpet, the kind of minimalist design that’s both practical and aesthetically pleasing. I’d bought it specifically because the boys could climb in easily when they had nightmares or just wanted to cuddle.
Which is every night in a new place.
The frame is still in pieces, hardware bag attached to the headboard, instruction manual tucked inside. I pull out my power drill—a good one, professional grade, because I learned years ago that cheap tools only make jobs harder—and get to work.
The familiar weight of the drill in my hand is comforting. This I can do. This makes sense. Bolt A into slot B, tighten until secure, and move to the next piece.
I’m halfway through attaching the side rail when I sense him.
