“Then a month later, I met your father,” she continues, glancing toward the hallway like she might summon him just by saying his name, “and everything I thought I understood aboutlove shifted.” She lowers her voice, eyes darting to the doorway. “Your dad doesn’t need to hear this part. He still thinks he was my first love.” She pauses. “Well… in a way, he is, but shhh!”
A soft laugh escapes me, but it catches halfway up my throat. Because all I can think about is something else entirely.
“Teddy called me Mummy the other day,” I say suddenly, like the words have been waiting to jump out. My breath catches, and I blink again, faster this time, but it’s useless. The tears are already there. “And I know it probably doesn’t mean anything. I mean, he is little, and he was tired, but God, Mum… I really liked hearing it.” My voice breaks on the last word.
Holy shit.Why am I crying?
Before I can pretend I’m fine, Mum wraps her arms around me, tea-scented and warm. The kind of hug that makes it impossible to lie. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers, rubbing a hand over my back. “That’s not nothing.”
I nod against her shoulder, swallowing thickly. “It felt like everything. Just this one tiny word, and it undid me.”
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her hands still on my arms. “You don’t get moments like this by accident, Liv. You don’t stumble into a little boy calling you ‘Mummy’ unless something real is happening.”
I press my palms to the counter, grounding myself. But the doubt creeps in anyway. It always does. “This is wrong, though, isn’t it?” I murmur. “I should be embarrassed. It’s not like I’m his mum. And what’s Bradley going to think? That I’ve overstepped? That I’m playing house with his best friend and his kid like I’m some delusional babysitter?”
Mum pulls a face. “First of all, stop that. That’s nonsense. You should never feel embarrassed for caring for someone. Ever. Especially for a little boy who clearly adores you.”
I let out a shaky exhale. “Still. Bradley’s opinion matters. It always has. I just—”
She cuts me off with a scoff. “Liv, your brother is the last person who should be telling you what to do.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I smile despite myself, but it doesn’t change the knot in my stomach. “But the thing is, he’s not.”
“Then what is it?”
I glance down at my hands, now dusted with flour and worry. “He doesn’t know.”
She stills. “About what?”
I meet her gaze, the weight of my fear pressing hard against my ribs. “About any of it. Me. Teddy. Sebastian. The way this is starting to become… more.”
Mum takes a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is firm. “Then you’ve got a decision to make. You can let that fear keep you small, or you can lean into what this might be.”
I nod slowly, because it’s easier than finding the right words. Easier than explaining that the problem has never been anyone else. It’s me. It’s always been me. Standing just outside the light. Waiting for someone else to go first. Convincing myself that the good things, the meaningful things, are meant for other people. The truth settles heavy in my chest. I’m not scared of losing it. As if she can hear the thought forming, Mum squeezes my hand.
“Doing things that scare us is usually where the magic lives.”
My voice cracks. “You think this might be it?”
Her hand finds mine. “I think it alreadyis, darlin’.”
32
Sebastian
Something In The Orange – Zach Bryan
Birthdays as an adult are basically just your annual reminder that your bones hate you, and your social battery dies faster than your phone at two per cent. Still, when your mum and sister tell you to be somewhere at“six sharp, Sebastian, not a minute late,”you don’t argue.
Especially not after I spent last week doing exactly that. Because last time I didn’t listen, they staged a joint silent treatment that lasted a full week. I was twenty-eight and traumatised. Sandra even changed the Netflix password. No warning. No mercy.
Yet here I am, pulling up out front, already bracing for the forced celebratory dinner I told them I didn’t want. They try it every year. Every December. Barbecue. Cake. Every year, I say no. They never listen. Not that I don’t appreciate the effort, I do, it’s just not my thing. I’ve never been the centre-of-attentionguy. Never liked people staring. Makes my skin itch. Teddy’s hand is in mine, warm and sticky, probably from the juice I told him not to spill. His grip tightens the second we hit the front steps, and he glances up at me with that cheeky-ass grin.
Olivia was invited—Mum and Sandra made that very clear. Like I wouldn’t have brought her anyway. But she texted earlier, saying she had to help her dad out with an inventory delivery. Some courier mix-up meant it wouldn’t arrive until late, and she promised she’d swing by as soon as it was sorted. Still, it feels off without having her beside me.
Teddy’s excitement is buzzing off him in waves. Not suspicious at all. He’s usually this hyped when we come here, sure, but tonight, there’s something different in his face. In the way he keeps glancing at the door like he’s waiting for a cue.
I narrow my eyes. “What are you hiding?”
