“Not all of them. I heard how much you love K-pop Demon Hunters.” I look at all the decorations. “I found this company online locally. They hold themed birthday events.” Her eyes grow wider with every word. I smile and continue. “They do your hair, your makeup, even the outfits. You get to sing all the songs, watch the film, and have a tea party with the K-pop cast.”
Not the real cast, but to her it would be.
I peer at Aria, then, nerves flickering in my chest. “I thought it was something you could do with your mum. I hope that's okay. If it's not, I can cancel it—get a refund—”
I don't get the chance to finish.
Millie lets out a delighted squeal and throws herself at me, her arms locking tight around my neck.
“Don't be daft; that's incredibly sweet of you,” Aria beams. “You really didn't need to go to all that effort.”
“I wanted to,” I reply, honestly. And I mean it.
Millie scrambles off my legs, laughter trailing behind her as she bolts toward her dad and the others, eager to share the news with anyone who will listen.
“You've made her day,” Aria says, meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”
I smile back, something soft settling in my chest. When I glance up, I catch Elijah looking at me like he's a little stunned—like he's seeing me for the first time. Then his expression shifts with happiness, just before he turns and heads over to his brothers.
God. He's handsome.
The sun catches on his tanned skin, warming it to a soft glow. His dark hair is tied back today, though one strand has slipped free, falling into his eyes. He hasn't shaved in a while—stubble shadowing his jaw- and I find myself really liking the slightly gruff look for more than I probably should.
“Well, I'd better go save that cake before they get to it and demolish the lot,” she announces, already halfway to her feet. She disappears inside with Moira.
Out on the grass, all the boys are taking turns tossing Millie into the air. She shrieks, fearless and happy.
She's one lucky little girl. Surrounded by people who care for her so loudly, it's impossible to miss.
My throat tightens. I blink back the tears, but I roll them before they can spill over. God, I need to get a grip.
I miss my dad. How he used to give me all of his time, all of his attention, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. Just us. Always.
Watching them now stirs that old ache.
I slip to my feet quietly, hoping no one notices I’ve disappeared. I just need a moment—some air, some space—somewhere without eyes on me. I head down the corridor at an unhurried pace, scanning for the bathroom, letting the distance settle my breathing.
The landing opens up around me. Walls painted a soft, luminous white, edged with layered shades of blue that fade intoone another like water meeting sky. The colours are calming. Underfoot, the carpet is a deep, velvety grey, thick enough to swallow the sounds of my steps. Flecks of blue are woven through it, subtle and scattered.
Images adorn the walls, creating a vibrant collage of life—memories captured in a delightful array of mismatched frames. There's nothing polished or contrived here; just real moments, each one telling its own story. The boys return time and again in these snapshots, each photo a glimpse into their adventures, often caught in the midst of mischief they surely weren't meant to be a part of. I can’t help but smile at one particularly endearing photo of River, his cheeks smeared with chocolate, a testament to his sweet escapades.
Loves chocolate just like his dad.
There's a photograph of Moira that makes me pause. She's smiling softly, a light catching her eyes just right as she cradles a tiny baby in her arms. This picture feels like it holds a small piece of someone's heart inside it.
But it's another frame that steals my attention.
A beach at sunset, where the sky bleeds into rich oranges and gentle pinks, casting a beauty so profound it feels almost painful. Below, the sea churns—a dark, restless force, crashing relentlessly against the jagged rocks. Beauty and fury entwine in this moment, a striking contrast that leaves the heart aching. It’s like grief draped in the elegance of twilight, a bittersweet reminder that even in beauty, there can be tumult.
It reminds me of the beach back home.
“Beautiful, aren't they?”
Her voice makes me jump. I fumble, knocking the frame crooked before catching it in time. My heart thuds as I straighten it, then turn to find Moira leaning in the doorway, a slice of cake balanced in her hand, her eyes surveying the memories on the wall.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop,” I blurt, words tripping over each other.
“No apologies needed at all, love. My home is your home.”
