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spoil sport

ELLIE

T he kettle clicks off just as I realise I’ve been staring through the kitchen window without really seeing anything.

In the daylight, the garden looks smaller than I remember. A little unkempt. A little forgotten. Mia’s old skipping rope is wrapped around the fence post like ivy, and one of her socks clings to the washing line like it got left behind on purpose.

For a second, it almost makes me laugh.

But the memory of last night is still there, painted into the corners of the garden like a secret. The way he kissed me like he meant every second. Like he wasn’t asking for permission. Because he already knew I’d given it.

And I had.

I pour the water into my mug and wrap my hands around the ceramic like it might steady me. My fingers are stiff, but the heat sinks in fast, chasing out the chill.

I stir sugar into the tea with slow, absent motions, letting the steam curl into the air. Letting the weight of last night settle into my bones like something warm. Something real.

The truth is. I would’ve let him keep going. Every inch of me had said yes. My body. My mouth. Even my silence.

But Kieran… he’d stopped. Not because he didn’t want me. He’d made that clear.

He stopped because he wanted more than a moment in the dark. More than something hurried, half-finished, pressed between shadows and reckless hands. He wanted more than just the right now. He wanted me. All of me.

And he was willing to wait for it.

No one’s ever done that before.

Not really.

And that’s what scares me the most. Not the wanting. The being wanted back.

Because this isn’t crashing in like a tidal wave. It’s creeping up in quieter ways. Slipping beneath my skin, finding all the broken, quiet places I thought I’d buried for good.

It’s the way he makes me feel seen without having to perform for it. The way he makes it easier to just be. No masks, no shrinking, no pretending I’m okay when I’m not.

Around him, I don’t have to edit myself down to something manageable. I can be messy. I can be honest. I can be me.

And maybe that’s the thing. It’s not just about last night. It’s about the five months before it. Since he walked back into my life. Five months of memories clawing their way to the surface. Five months of new moments folding in with the old ones.

All of it leading here.

To this. To the space he’s held for me without asking for anything in return.

It’s only been three weeks since I packed Mia into the car and drove through the dark, looking for something— someone —safe. But I think I’d been switched off from David for so much longer than that.

I just didn’t realise it. Not fully. Something in me had let go a long time ago, long before I even had the words for it.

I think about what Kieran said last night. His voice low, almost breaking.

What if I mess this up?

And honestly? I’m scared too. Scared of how easy it is to want this. Scared of how much it already matters.

In some ways, it feels like everything is moving too fast, faster than I know how to keep up with. But in others, it feels like it’s been building for years. Like we’ve been orbiting this without even realising it. Like all the mess and hurt and wrong turns were always leading here.

To this exact moment.

It doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t even feel reckless. It feels like exhaling after holding my breath for too long.

I look out at the garden again, thinking about the person I used to be. The girl who spent years twisting herself into someone smaller, more convenient, more tolerable.

The girl who thought surviving was the same thing as living. And now? I don’t recognise that girl anymore.

Or maybe I do. Maybe I finally see her clearly. The way she tried so hard, carried so much, folded herself into corners just to keep the peace.

And now, for the first time, I’m ready to choose differently.

Because with Kieran, it doesn’t feel like just surviving. It feels like everything .

I’m not na?ve. I know life doesn’t click into place in a single kiss. It might be messy, uncertain, and rough around the edges.

But it also feels like it could be right.

Every instinct that once told me to run is quiet now. Not silenced by desperation or fear. Just soothed by something steadier.

Something truer.

I don’t know what’s ahead. I don’t even know if we’ll get it perfectly right. But for once, I’m not bracing for it to fall apart before it even begins.

Mia’s voice cuts across the quiet, pulling me back into the morning. “Mum! Do we have any more of those chocolate bars? The ones with the caramel?”

“In the cupboard next to the toaster,” I call. “But that doesn’t count as breakfast.”

“I already had toast,” she shouts back. “This is second breakfast.”

I huff a quiet laugh, grab my tea, and head for the living room. “Alright, Frodo ,” I mutter under my breath.

She doesn’t respond, just lets out a sigh from the sofa like I’m ruining her hobbit lifestyle.

When I step into the living room, she’s already curled up under the throw blanket, hair still wild from sleep, a bar of chocolate now balanced on her lap as she flicks through the documentary channel. I set my tea down on the side table and drop onto the sofa beside her.

She barely glances at me as she breaks off a square. “You’re being weird.”

I blink. “Weird?”

“You keep smiling at nothing,” she says, eyes still glued to the TV.

I raise an eyebrow, but the corner of my mouth betrays me. It lifts. Just slightly. “Maybe I’m just having a good morning.”

Mia shrugs, popping another square of chocolate into her mouth. “I mean, it was pretty cute last night. You and Kieran pretending you’re not in love.”

I choke on my tea.

She looks at me then, but her face is smug and unbothered.

I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my jumper, glaring at her over the rim of my mug. “You’re impossible.”

Mia shrugs. “You’re the one that was making googly eyes all night.”

I snort. “I was not making googly eyes.”

She breaks off a square of chocolate, pops it into her mouth, and mumbles, “Please. You’re one rom-com away from doodling his name in a notebook.”

I gasp. “Rude.”

She grins around a mouthful of caramel. “Just saying.”

I reach over and ruffle her hair, making her squeal and bat me away half-heartedly.

“Brat.”

“Lovesick,” she sings under her breath.

She flashes me a grin and turns back to the TV, utterly victorious.

I open my mouth to argue, but stop. What’s the point? She’s not wrong. I just don’t have the right words for it yet.

By mid-morning, she disappears upstairs with her snack stash and her headphones, officially dismissing me from her realm until at least lunchtime.

The house falls quiet again. Still a little echoey without David’s things in it, but it doesn’t feel like a space I need to fill.

I clear the mugs, rinse out the cereal bowl, and set up at the kitchen table with my laptop and a fresh cup of tea.

The light through the window hits the floor in a way that makes the laminate glow, and for a moment, it almost feels like I’m in someone else’s house. Someone else’s life.

But the tea is mine. The chair beneath me is mine. The silence is mine.

I open my emails, and my inbox is a mess. Unread bills. Appointment reminders. Spam from places I haven’t visited since 2016.

I start clearing, replying, and flagging anything that needs attention. It’s almost satisfying. Like sorting through a box of tangled threads and finally finding the ends.

Then something catches my eye.

Subject: Graduation - Guest Confirmation

I blink, click.

My breath hitches halfway through the message as it loads.

Graduation. I’d almost forgotten. Everything that happened over the last few weeks—David, the house, Kieran. It blurred the edges of my calendar.

How is it almost November already? But it’s there, clear as anything. A date. A milestone. Something that once felt unreachable.

I scroll to the bottom and hover over the reply button.

I used to know who the tickets were for. Mia, of course. David. My mum and dad. Brenda.

But now?

Subject: RE: Graduation – Guest Confirmation

Hi, thank you so much for your email regarding graduation. Please find below my guest list confirmation:

1: Mia Carter

2: Brenda Collins

Kindest regards,

Eleanor Carter

I hit send before I can hesitate.

There’s an ache in my chest as the message disappears. Bittersweet. Like I’m grieving something and claiming something else in the same breath.

I glance at my phone, thumb tapping open the last text I sent to Mum.

Just wanted to let you know David and I have separated. I’m home if you want to talk. I’d like to talk.

It’s been days.

Read. No reply.

I told myself it was enough just to say it. To put the ball in her court. To leave the door open.

But silence has a way of answering for people, doesn’t it?

I lock the screen and set the phone down, forcing the ache back behind the quiet resolve I’ve been learning to live inside.

I think about Kieran. About his hand in mine last night. The way he looked at me like I was something bright.

I think about how safe I feel when he’s around. How full the house sounds when he and the boys are here. How easy it is to smile without checking who’s watching.

But I don’t add his name. Not yet. Not because I don’t want him there. But because I don’t want to put pressure on it.

I close the inbox and breathe a long, slow exhale. The kind that doesn’t feel forced anymore.

But then, as I’m scrolling, something else catches my eye.

Subject: Accident & Emergency | Staff Nurse | South Havens Trauma Hospital

I sit up straighter and every nerve flickers awake.

What is happening right now?

It’s not just the hospital. It’s the contact name beneath it.

Linda Browne: Senior Sister, Accident & Emergency.