There’sa certain kind of peace that only comes after a storm.Not the quiet before, the tense stillness where everything waits on a knife’s edge.No.Theafter.When the wind fades, the clouds break, and the sunlight finally filters through, soft and golden, like forgiveness.
That’s what my life feels like now.
Peaceful.
I stand on the porch of our house overlooking the trees, coffee mug warm in my hands, early morning light spilling across the yard.The air smells like pine and dew and the lingering sweetness of breakfast waffles.
My wolf stretches lazily inside me, content.He’s always content now that we have our mate and our family.
Our pup is up,he murmurs.She’s loud this morning.
I huff out a laugh.Yeah.She’s loud every morning.
As if on cue, chaos erupts inside the house.The good kind.
Tiny footsteps.High-pitched laughter.Roxie’s voice, warm and patient, even when she tries to sound stern.
“Careful with the syrup!”
Too late,I think as I smell the sweet scent.
I sip my coffee, a smile tugging at my lips as I listen to my family inside and reminisce.
Five years ago, I carried a terrified, drugged, stubborn, brave-as-hell woman out of a nightmare.Today, she’s my wife, my whole world, and the mother of our daughter.
The porch door creaks open, and I don’t even need to look.I’d know her anywhere.
Roxie steps up beside me, sliding easily against my side like we were designed to fit.My arm goes around her waist automatically, pulling her close until our bodies share the same space, the same air, the same steady breath.
My wolf inhales deeply as our mate cuddles closer.
Her scent wraps around me, all warmth, wildflowers, and home.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
“Morning,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She watches the tree line for a moment, peaceful, a soft smile curving her lips.Her hair is longer now, wavier.Sunshine threads through it where the light hits.She has a few faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.
I love every one of them.
“How bad is the syrup damage?”I ask.
She snorts.“We’re at ‘moderate disaster, may require new pajamas.’”
I grin.“So… normal.”
“Very.”
Inside, our daughter, Naomi, squeals with unrestrained delight.
My chest tightens.
Yeah, I still can’t believe I get this.
A family.
A life that isn’t built out of duty or survival or constant vigilance.
