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Mia leans her head against my shoulder, the top of her head warm against my neck. She says nothing at first, just lets out a soft breath that settles against my skin like a sigh she’s been holding in for days.

I rest my cheek on her hair. “I’m sorry, Mia. I know things have been... a bit rough.”

“A bit?” she says, pulling back just enough to look up at me, her brows drawn. “You’ve been crying in the kitchen when you think I’m asleep. You forget stuff. You never sing in the car anymore.”

I let out a shaky breath, half a laugh and half a sob. “You noticed all that?”

“I’m not a baby, Mum.” She shrugs, like she’s been holding this in for a while. “I know something’s been wrong. I didn’t know what to do… so I just tried to be extra good.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” My heart cracks wide open. I cup her face, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re perfect, just the way you are.”

“You’re different lately,” she says. “Better. Not all better, just… not as sad. I like it.”

I nod, pressing a kiss into her hair, holding her a little tighter. “I feel it. Like I can breathe again.”

She snuggles in again, arms wrapping around my middle. “I’m glad you’re okay, Mum.”

The words land like a stone in my chest. Gentle but heavy, full of all the things she’s too young to carry but somehow has, anyway. I blink hard, swallowing around the lump that rises in my throat.

Outside, the rain starts again, soft and rhythmic against the windows. Inside, we stay wrapped in the blanket’s warmth, the quiet hum of the TV flickering in front of us.

It’s not perfect. It’s not over.

But it’s ours.

The knock comes just as I’m reaching for the remote, Mia still tucked in against me, her head resting on my shoulder. We’re halfway through some baking show neither of us is really watching, mugs of half-drunk hot chocolate cooling on the coffee table.

Mia sits up straighter, her eyes flicking toward the door. “Was that…?”

“I’ve got it,” I say, dropping the remote onto the arm of the chair as I pad barefoot down the hallway.

My heart ticks a little faster. Not with fear. With something like anticipation. Like a string already pulled tight, waiting to be tugged.

I reach for the door handle on instinct, muscle memory taking over before my brain catches up. But then I freeze, hand hovering just above the metal as a flicker of unease twists in my stomach. I draw my hand back and take a step closer to the door instead, pressing my eye to the peephole.

Theo’s grinning face is pressed comically close to the glass, a pizza box balanced in one hand, a six-pack of beers dangling from the other.

“You gonna let us in or what, Ellie-Bellie?” he calls through the door. “It’s pissing it down and my hair’s doing unholy things.”

I laugh, a full-on belly laugh, and unlock the door, pulling it open.

Theo barrels in first like a golden retriever in skinny jeans, rain dripping off the hem of his jacket. “She’s alive!” he declares, heading straight for the kitchen like he’s been here before.

Naomi’s right behind him, shaking out her umbrella and grinning. “You didn’t think we’d let you spend your first night back on your own, did you?” she says, tugging off her coat and kicking her boots onto the mat.

Kieran’s next. He steps inside slower, steadier, his eyes locking on mine for a beat longer than the others. He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. Soft and fleeting, but enough to make my stomach do a ridiculous little flip.

“Hey, you,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” I say, unable to keep the smile from tugging at my lips.

Luca and Ryder follow, arms full of snacks and board games and a suspicious-looking bottle of something that looks like tequila.

Lord . Pray for my carpets.

“Hope you like chaos,” Ryder grins, holding up a half-squashed bag of popcorn.

“Because we brought a lot of it,” Luca adds, already unloading everything onto the kitchen counter like a man on a mission.

I blink at the lot of them, dripping water onto my freshly cleaned floor, filling the house with noise, warmth, and the scent of melted cheese.

“You’re all insane,” I say, but the smile won’t leave my face.

Naomi plops onto the sofa beside Mia, tugging her into a quick side-hug and asking about school.

Theo hijacks the TV, pairing it to his phone, and moments later, his Spotify playlist hums through the speakers.

Meanwhile, Ryder is crouched in the corner, trying to get the fireplace going, although I know it’s mostly decorative.

Luca takes over in the kitchen like he’s been appointed logistics officer, opening cupboards, claiming the best serving plates, arguing with Kieran over which drink belongs to whom.

And me?

I just stand in the middle of it all for a moment. And breathe.

This house used to feel like a pressure cooker. A place where I had to shrink myself to survive. Now… it feels wide open. Full of mismatched voices, obscene jokes, and the people who stitched me back together when I couldn’t see the cracks forming.

I don’t need to do anything tonight. I don’t need to explain. Or justify. Or carry the weight of everything that’s happened.

I just get to be here. With them. The people who show up, stay late, and make everything feel better.