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We have two beautiful daughters, somehow grown into women far cleverer and kinder than I ever was at their age. And two incredible grandchildren who treat our Highland home like their own private kingdom every summer, tearing through the gardens and fields barefoot while Lennie chases them laughing.

The house itself still feels like a miracle sometimes, old stone walls warmed by sunlight, my studio tucked away beyond Lennie’s vegetable garden, where I paint with the doors thrown open. Lots of land, too much really, where our Golden Retrievers, Sunshine and Clover can run free alongside our chickens. And the stretch of woodland near the edge of the property where Lennie runs his survival courses. Through everything life has thrown at us, we’ve built something extraordinary. I really hope I’ve not ruined that.

Some days I convince myself we can survive anything because we always have. Other days I lie awake wondering if this will be the thing we can’t come back from. It’s that thought that keeps me from telling him, I can't lose him. This man stood by me through countless surgeries, sickness, and the ugly hollowing-out years after I won my battle with breast cancer. Years where I barely recognised my own body. There were nights I’d lain awake certain he would eventually tire of carrying me through it all, admit he no longer found me attractive because I wasn’t the same, but he never loosened his grip on me. He never looked away, even when I couldn’t love myself, he loved me enough for both of us.

Soulmates, I thought sometimes, feeling foolish and young for believing in such things at my age. But then he’d look at me the way he is looking at me now, with such warmth and affection, and I’d think, maybe soulmates are simply two people who keep choosing each other, no matter the odds.

Yet I’ve stopped giving him the chance to choose, haven’t I? I’ve decided for him that the truth would be too much.

“You look beautiful as ever, Luna,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around me, he kisses me softly. I melt against him as he draws me in, one hand settling at the small of my back while the other curls loosely around mine. There isn’t any music playing, only the muted hum of summer insects outside, but he starts swaying anyway, slow and easy, like the rhythm exists somewhere inside him.

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” I tease.

“Old?”

“Older than me."

“Oh, it’s like that I see.” Grinning, he spins me beneath his arm, my pink dress flaring around my legs in a soft swirl. “Let’s see a young man pull these moves.”

A warm, breathless laugh escapes me, making his face light up with that same crooked smile that undid me the first time I saw it across a crowded bar in Belfast. He’d been beautiful even then, young and self-assured in that infuriating way soldiers often are. I thought he looked far too serious for someone our age until he opened his mouth and asked, “are you a camera? Because all I can do is smile when I see you.” I'd completely lost it, doubled over with tears stinging my eyes, my stomach aching from trying—and failing—to catch my breath. It was easily the cheesiest line I’d ever heard, unbearably earnest in a way that only made it funnier, especially once his face turned bright red at my reaction. Somehow that made the whole thing sweetly wholesome instead of cringe.

I chuckle at the memory, as he pulls back to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“I was just remembering your pick-up line the first time we met,” I grin.

He laughs softly. “Ah yes, when you laughed so hard you alerted the whole bar to my complete inexperience with women…”

“It worked though. You had me from the minute you showed your vulnerable side, red cheeks and all.”

He rests his forehead against mine as we sway together in the fading sunlight, both of us smiling quietly now. “You know,” he murmurs, “I still remember exactly what you were wearing that night.”

“Do you?”

“Uh-huh. Long red skirt and a white off-shoulder top, brown boots with little silver buckles. Your red hair curling halfway down your back. You stood out from the crowd then and you still do now.” His thumb brushes softly along my waist. “Prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

His words still affect me, even after all this time. I kiss him slowly, tasting the familiar warmth of him, and for one suspended, perfect moment, I let myself forget the weight sitting heavy inside my chest. I allow myself to simply be here, with my husband, my soulmate, my home, and pretend I haven’t quietly put it all at risk.

Chapter 11

Jax

The long oak table on the veranda has been transformed while we’ve all been off doing our own thing. Candles flicker between bowls of fresh basil and sprigs of rosemary, the scent mingling with garlic, tomatoes and slow-cooked beef floating in from the kitchen.

We each drift back to the same seats we claimed at lunch, with one exception. Bri has swapped places with Saint, leaving her directly opposite me. She looks... Beautiful. Her curls fall loosely around her shoulders, framing a royal blue dress that skims her figure without clinging, the colour makes her eyes brighter. I notice it all despite myself as she slides into her chair. She’d be impossible to ignore if she didn’t keep looking at me as though I’m personally responsible for every inconvenience in her life. Infuriating woman.

Enzo appears carrying enormous platters of homemade lasagne, creamy mushroom risotto and baskets overflowing with warm focaccia. “Mangiate,” he insists, pointing a serving spoon at us. “Nobody leaves my table hungry.”

Wine is poured—I stick to water—glasses clink, and platters begin making their way around the table. Conversation settles into an easy rhythm, as warm and unhurried as the golden evening sun stretching across the courtyard.

“We’ve got two daughters,” Luna says, smiling in the way only proud mothers do. “Hope is thirty and Faith is twenty-seven.”

“And two grandchildren,” Lennie adds, unable to hide his grin. “Lily is eight and just like Faith at that age, and River is four and the most handsome little lad you’ll ever meet, apple of Hope’s eye and mine.”

Luna rolls her eyes. “You tell everyone before I get the chance.”

“They’re the greatest thing I’ve ever helped create.”

She snorts into her wine. “You didn’t create them.”