Mum:You’ve been miserable since your birthday. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.
They’re not wrong. I’ve been a ghost in my own damn house. Diesel huffs from the doorway, tail swishing once before he turns and flops dramatically onto the floor, ignoring me completely.
“Yeah, alright, traitor,” I mutter. “I know you miss her too.”
I lean back in the chair, eyes drawn again to the photo. The moment she’d captured, frozen in time. My mind drifts to whatshe must’ve been thinking while she took it. She would’ve been smiling. She always did when she looked at us. Maybe she saw more in that moment than I did. Maybe she already knew how fleeting it would be. And then my brain does what it always does when I’m missing her too hard. It goes to that night. Jesus. I can still feel it. The way her body trembled under mine. The way she moaned my name. That wasn’t just fucking. It wasn’t even close. It was her letting me in. Trusting me with something real. I felt her fall apart around me, and all I could think was,God, don’t let this end.
Because for that one night, I had everything I didn’t even know I wanted.
Something that felt like home.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight, as heat prickles under my skin. I shouldn’t be thinking about this. Abouther. But I can’t stop. And the worst part? Every time I do, it feels like I’ve ruined something I didn’t deserve in the first place. No woman has ever done that to me. Not like her. And no one else will.
The clatter of cutlery, the smell of roast lamb, and the hum of conversation fill my mother’s kitchen. Teddy’s sitting between Sandra’s kids, chattering happily about Lego and school while my mother hovers over the oven, barking out orders. My father pours himself another glass of wine, pretending not to hear.
“Sebastian, grab the gravy, would you?” Mum says, waving a spoon in my direction.
I obey. Because nobody argues with Stephanie Daniels and lives to tell the tale. But the second I sit down, I can feel Sandra’s eyes on me. Andrew, her husband, is halfway through a story about a plumbing disaster, and she’s not listening to a word. She’s watching me like I’m a suspect under interrogation.
“So,” Mum says brightly, sliding into her chair, “where’s Olivia tonight? I expected she’d be here.”
I glance down at my plate, buying time. “She’s… busy.”
Before I can say more, Teddy pipes up beside me, mouth full of mashed potatoes.
“She’s working at the farm now,” he says proudly. “But we’ll see her soon, right, Dad?”
The table goes quiet, and I force a smile. “Yeah, bud. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Mum parrots. “That doesn’t sound very certain.”
“You sound like an idiot.” Sandra scoffs, stabbing her lamb.
Andrew lets out a low whistle. “Sandra,” he warns, but she waves him off.
“No, seriously,” she says, leaning forward. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been moping around for a week. You used to actually smile, remember that?”
I set my fork down, rubbing a hand across my jaw. “Can we not do this here?”
The clatter of plates fades under the weight of the conversation. Sandra narrows her eyes across the table, her fork clinking against her plate. “So what, she’s not with you anymore?”
“With me? What do you mean? She was babysitting for Teddy.”
“Yeah, right.” Sandra lets out a short laugh. “You don’t organise surprise birthdays and cook for someone’s family just because you’re the babysitter.”
Mum tilts her head, clearly agreeing. “She seemed very fond of you both.”
“Please don’t start.”
Mum’s having none of it. “We’re just saying, sweetheart, you can’t keep shutting everyone out. It’s Christmas. Time to move on.”
“Move on?” Sandra echoes, eyes narrowing. “He doesn’t need to move on. He needs to pull his head out of his ass.”
“Manners, Sandra,” Mum snaps automatically, but she’s smiling.
Across the table, Teddy blinks between us, wide-eyed. “Aunty Sandy, you said a bad word.”
Andrew chokes on his drink, trying not to laugh, and Sandra sighs. “Sorry, champ. Don’t tell Grandma.”
