Truly Theirs

Chapter 12

6 Months Later

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and coffee.

Liam stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand, Ethan perched on his hip. The toddler wore a soft onesie and a sleepy smile, chubby fingers gripping the spatula like it was treasure.

Noah walked in, freshly showered, towel still draped around his neck. “Have you been up long?”

“Since five,” Liam said, smirking. “Someone wanted to supervise breakfast.”

“A tyrant in footie pajamas,” Noah said, walking over to kiss Ethan’s head.

Down the hall, Nadyia emerged in leggings and a worn hoodie, hair piled in a bun, coffee in hand. She paused in the doorway, just watching. For a second, she didn’t say anything, just breathed in the peace.

This life wasn’t perfect. There were still therapy appointments. Ethan still startled at loud noises. Nadyia still checked the locks twice before bed.

But the house was full. Warm. Alive.

And every day, it was easier to smile.

“Do I smell pancakes?” she asked.

“Pancakes,” Liam confirmed. “And world-class toddler commentary.”

Nadyia crossed the room and kissed Ethan’s cheek, then Liam’s. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

Noah slid into a chair and began setting the table. “Therapist said this week we can talk about boundaries again. About what we want going forward.”

Nadyia looked at Ethan, now babbling happily. “I want normal. I want messy hair and too many shoes at the door and mornings like this.”

Liam handed her a plate. “You’ve got it.”

They sat together, just the four of them. Pancakes, syrup, sunshine bleeding through the curtains.

No alarms. No code red.

Just laughter. And love. And a future they’d fought like hell to keep.

Later that afternoon at Mama B’s house to celebrate Ethan’s 2nd birthday party. The yard was strung with soft lights and paper lanterns that swayed gently in the breeze.

A picnic table was covered in finger foods, cupcakes, and a cake shaped like a lion with one ear slightly lopsided thanks to Noah’s enthusiastic frosting technique.

Ethan squealed with delight as bubbles floated past him, chasing them on sturdy toddler legs, his tiny shoes kicking up grass.

Mama B stood at the grill, flipping hot dogs with one hand and cradling a drink in the other. She wore an apron that read Grill Sergeant, a gift from Liam, who was currently helping Ethan climb onto a pint-sized slide.

Nadyia sat on a quilt near the edge of the yard, barefoot, laughing as Ethan launched himself down the slide straight into Liam’s arms. “Again!” he demanded.

“We may have created a monster,” Liam joked, ruffling Ethan’s hair.

“A very cute monster,” Noah said as he passed by with a tray of juice boxes. “Apple or grape, birthday king?”

Ethan pointed decisively. “’Grape!”

Nadyia leaned back against the tree behind her and took in the scene: streamers tangled in the branches, Mama B chuckling with a neighbor, Noah pretending to lose to Ethan in a game of cornhole, Liam with cake frosting on his shirt.

This, this was healing. Not forgetting, but choosing joy anyway.

She didn’t miss the extra locks Mama B had installed. Or how they all subtly scanned the street when a car passed.

But none of that is defined today.

Today there were balloons and laughter and one very happy little boy with chocolate on his face.

Later, when the sun dipped low and fireflies started to blink in the shadows, they sang happy birthday. Ethan clapped along, his face glowing in the candlelight.

He didn’t understand the lyrics. But he knew he was loved.

And that was more than enough.

The party had faded into silence. Paper cups and wrapping paper littered the backyard. The candles had burned low.

Inside, Ethan lay curled on Mama B’s couch under a crocheted blanket, a smear of frosting still on his cheek. His little lion was tucked against his chest.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen and the faint flicker of the TV muted, forgotten.

Liam stood at the window, arms crossed, watching the street like he always did.

Noah returned from locking up, setting the alarm, checking every door twice. Old habits.

Nadyia sat on the floor near Ethan, back against the couch, knees pulled to her chest. She held one of the birthday cards hand-drawn by Ethan’s tiny fists and guided by Mama B’s patient hands. The scribbles looked like wild rainbows.

“He’s two,” she whispered, voice thick. “We almost didn’t get to see this.”

Liam turned. “But we did.”

“Barely,” Noah added, sitting beside her. “By a thread.”

Nadyia looked up at them, eyes shining. “Do you ever wonder how close we came to not making it?”

“Every day,” Liam said.

Noah nodded. “But then I remember we did make it.”

“Because we didn’t stop,” Liam said. He came to sit beside them, drawing Nadyia between them. “We kept going. For him. For each other.”

They sat in silence, just breathing together, the weight of the past months pressing into their shoulders and lifting, just a little.

“He’s safe,” Nadyia whispered, glancing back at Ethan. “He’s here. He’s ours.”

Noah leaned his head against hers. “Forever.”

Liam’s arm slid around both of them, steady and grounding. “Truly.”

Outside, the wind rustled the trees. Inside, surrounded by warmth and quiet, they let themselves believe it for the first time in a long time.

They had survived the storm.

And the future?

It was finally theirs to write.

Two Days After Ethan’s Birthday – Mid-Morning – Their Home

The balloons had deflated. The leftover cake was wrapped in foil, half-eaten, in the fridge. A single paper lion still clung to the wall of the living room like a forgotten guardian.

Nadyia stood barefoot in the hallway, watching Ethan nap on the couch. His curls were tousled, his cheeks still pink from sunshine and sugar and laughter.

Her hand rested absently on the back of the couch, her other hand cradling a mug she hadn’t drunk from in half an hour.

“He didn’t even cry when we left Mama B’s,” she said softly, not turning around.

Noah stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “He knew he was going home.”

“He is home,” Liam added from the kitchen, drying his hands with a dish towel. “He finally knows what that means.”

The air inside the house felt softer now. No more tight-wire tension stretching between rooms. The silence wasn’t suspicious anymore—it was sacred.

Noah pressed a kiss to Nadyia’s temple. “You okay?”

“Getting there.”

“Little by little,” Liam said, walking over to join them. “We’re allowed to have days like this. Slow ones. Safe ones.”

They stood there, shoulder to shoulder, as the morning sun spilled through the windows and pooled on the rug.

No police reports. No court hearings. No nightmares last night—for any of them.

“I think he’s starting to forget the worst of it,” Nadyia said, her voice low. “But I don’t want to. Not all of it.”

“You don’t have to forget,” Liam replied. “You just don’t have to live in it.”

“We fought to get here,” Noah said. “We can let it be good now.”

Nadyia exhaled. “Okay. Let’s let it be good.”

Behind them, Ethan stirred—just a soft grunt and the flutter of lashes—and then settled back into sleep.

The three of them didn’t move.

At that moment, they didn’t need to.

Home was quiet. Safe. Whole.

And for the first time since the world had cracked open beneath them—

It felt like they had time.