Truly Theirs

Chapter 14

Noah’s POV Bennett & Co. Construction HQ

The office hadn’t changed much. Same industrial floor plan. Same smell of sawdust and fresh-cut lumber from the back lot. But the second Noah stepped through the front doors, it felt like another lifetime.

His name was still on the wall etched in reclaimed wood, strong and clean.

“Noah?”

Jenna, the office manager, blinked like she wasn’t sure he was real. “You’re… you’re really back.”

“Not all at once,” he said with a small smile. “But yeah. I’m ready.”

She hugged him awkwardly at first, then tighter. “We kept your office untouched. The team missed you like hell.”

Inside his office, sunlight streamed through the windows. Someone had dusted. There were old blueprints rolled on the desk, a chipped coffee mug waiting.

Noah stepped in slowly, running his hand across the edge of the desk. The silence here wasn’t the kind that swallowed you whole. It was welcoming.

He sat down. Opened his notebook. Breathed.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was just filling space he felt rooted.

Nadyia’s POV– The Studio

The lights were exactly how she left them—soft, natural, with daylight bulbs casting a glow over the white backdrop. Her cameras sat in their cases like loyal old friends.

Nadyia stepped into the space and let the door swing closed behind her. The quiet here was sacred, not scary.

Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the main gear drawer. She pulled out her favorite lens, held it up to the light.

“Hello, old friend,” she whispered.

The first client wasn’t for another hour—just a small family portrait session. She wasn’t ready for weddings or big events yet. But she was ready to hold a camera again.

She turned on the soft music playlist she used during shoots. Familiar melodies filled the space.

A photo on the corkboard caught her eye—her, Liam, Noah, and Ethan in the backyard. Post-rescue. It had been taken by Mama B. No posing, just real. Honest. Tired. Together.

“Let’s do this right this time,” she murmured, setting the frame back down.

She slipped the camera strap around her neck. Her hands stilled. Her breathing evened.

And she smiled.

Nadyia was home in her own skin again.

Later That Night, they returned home separately, but together in their rhythm.

Noah had sawdust on his jeans. Nadyia smelled faintly of tropical paradise and photo paper. Liam greeted them at the door with Ethan in his arms and dinner already cooking.

“How was it?” he asked, eyes searching.

Noah exhaled. “Like standing back in my life after watching it through glass.”

Nadyia nodded, slipping her arms around Ethan. “It felt good. It felt right. Like I remembered who I was again.”

Liam leaned in, brushing his lips over both their cheeks. “Then we’re really healing.”

“Yeah,” Noah said. “We’re finally living again.”

Together, they sat down for dinner.

And this time, they didn’t talk about trauma or pain.

They talked about projects and portraits and preschool applications.

Normal things. Beautiful things.

The kind of things people fought for when they’d already survived the fire.

The room glowed with low lamplight, sheets rumpled from storytime and a tickle fight that had ended in one very giggly toddler crash.

Now, the silence was thick with comfort. Noah leaned against the headboard, shirtless and sleepy, flipping through a novel he wasn’t really reading.

Nadyia sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, rubbing lotion into her hands, her robe loosely tied, curls still damp from her shower.

Liam sat in the armchair by the window, bare feet on the floor, his hands folded loosely in his lap. He hadn’t said much since dinner, but his eyes had been full.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Nadyia said gently.

Liam looked up. “I’ve been thinking.”

Noah bookmarked his page without looking down. “Dangerous habit.”

Liam smirked, but it faded quickly. “About going back to the site. The company. With Noah easing in, I’ve been... missing it.”

Nadyia paused. “You want to go back too?”

“Not full-time. Not yet. But I think I need to be doing something. With my hands. With my team. Something solid.”

Noah nodded slowly. “I get that.”

Liam looked at both of them. “I talked to Mama B. She said she’d be happy to watch Ethan a few mornings a week. She misses the routine. And she said it helps her, too.”

Nadyia’s eyes softened. “You already planned it out.”

“Just an outline,” Liam said. “No pressure. I’d still be home for dinner. For bedtime. I just…” He exhaled. “I need to rebuild something. Outside of the aftermath. Not to escape it. Just to remind myself that I’m more than what happened.”

Noah slid down the bed, crawling across the mattress to where Liam sat. He reached for his hand and held it. “You never stopped being that. But I think it’s brave that you’re ready to believe it again.”

Nadyia moved beside them, cupping Liam’s jaw and brushing her thumb along his cheek. “We want that for you. For all of us.”

Liam’s throat worked. “I just needed to know it wouldn’t feel like leaving you two behind.”

“Never,” Nadyia said. “This is us moving forward. Together.”

“Always,” Noah added, drawing Liam into his arms.

Liam let himself be pulled into the warmth, Nadyia curling against his side. Their bodies tangled easily, like gravity, like truth.

In the hush of their room, no one needed to say it aloud:

They had come through hell.

And now, piece by piece, they were choosing life again.

Together.

Liam’s POV Bennett & Co. Site, West Lot - Thursday Morning – 9:17 AM

The hard hat felt familiar.

The ground under his boots, the clang of steel, the sharp scent of fresh-cut lumber—all of it hit like muscle memory.

“Boss!”

A young foreman waved from the scaffolding, grinning. “Didn’t think we’d see you this week!”

“Didn’t think I’d be here,” Liam admitted, walking toward him. “But it felt right.”

There were handshakes, quiet nods. Respect that didn’t need to be spoken. No one asked about the headlines. No one brought up the storm. They just welcomed him back with solid ground and honest work.

He checked blueprints. Made a few calls. Walked the frame of a new family home that would break ground next month.

By noon, sweat beaded at his temples and a smear of dirt marked his cheek. But the ache in his muscles was the good kind—the kind that meant progress.

He pulled out his phone, wiped his hands on his jeans, and snapped a photo of the new beams rising into the sky.

Sent to Nadyia:

“First walls going up. Still standing.”

Then, a second text. This one to Mama B:

“How’s my boy doing?”

Mama B’s POV– 12:03 PM

Ethan sat on the porch swing wrapped in one of Mama B’s afghans, a peanut butter smear on his cheek and a cup of apple slices balanced beside him.

Mama B was crocheting. Not fast. Not perfect. Just enough.

When her phone buzzed, she pulled her glasses down her nose, read Liam’s text, and smiled.

“Your daddy wants to know how you’re doin’, baby bear.”

Ethan looked up with a grin, fingers sticky. “Tell him I buildin’ too!”

He held up a tower of blocks they'd assembled on the porch floor—lopsided, half toppling, but proud as anything.

Mama B chuckled, then texted back:

“Building like his daddy. And stealing all my peanut butter.”

They had read five books before lunch. She let him help stir the banana bread batter. He’d spilled flour everywhere, and she hadn’t minded a bit.

After naptime, they were going to visit the chickens. Maybe swing under the old oak tree. Maybe just sit and sing nonsense songs until his curls got sweaty and the sun began to dip.

She hadn’t known if she’d ever get another day like this.

But here it was. Soft and golden and hers.

“You’re safe now,” she whispered as Ethan dozed on her lap, his lion clutched tight. “And so are they.”

She didn’t wipe her tears.

Some things were worth crying over.

Later That Evening – Their Home

Liam came home with sawdust on his shirt and new life in his stride.

Ethan came home with cookie crumbs in his hair and a tired smile that only Mama B could coax from him.

And when they all sat down together, passing bowls and sharing stories across the table, there was no heaviness in the air.

Just the quiet certainty of healing.

Of family.

Of finally, finally being whole.