Safe With You

I'll Hide No More

~ Alyssa ~

Twelve weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Hope came screaming into the world and changed everything.

Twelve weeks of bottle feeds and burp cloths, of sleepless nights and morning cuddles, of Quinn and Poppy whispering to their baby sister about princess castles and fairy dust.

Twelve weeks of love that feels louder, fuller, and more complete than I ever thought possible.

Twelve weeks keeping her hidden from the press.

And now… it’s time.

No more hiding.

The shoot is set for this morning — the one that will announce Hope’s arrival, reveal my pregnancy story, and introduce the maternity line I designed in secret.

But more than that, it’s the moment I take my life back.

The woman who was broken, scared, and silenced is gone.

Today, I’m Alyssa Sapphire Rose — designer, mother, survivor, and unashamedly me.

The morning is chaos.

Quinn’s lost her hair bow, Poppy’s trying to eat glitter, and Greyson’s holding a baby bottle like it’s a bomb about to go off.

“Sweetheart,” I say gently, “you’re holding it upside down.”

He stares at it, then laughs. “In my defence, I build skyscrapers, not sterilise bottles.”

Elle breezes through the door, holding four cups of coffee and a box of pastries. “All right, troops, caffeine first, panic later!”

Lillian’s behind her with a makeup kit big enough to arm a small army. “If I can make her eyeliner symmetrical before the kids start singing again, I deserve a raise.”

By the time everyone’s dressed, it looks like something out of a dream — a lavender haze of silk and chiffon.

The girls wear matching lilac dresses with embroidered roses and tiny bows that shimmer in the light.

Hope’s miniature version of their gowns makes her look like a doll — her chubby cheeks framed by a matching headband.

Greyson’s in a soft grey suit with a lavender pocket square, perfectly coordinating.

And me? I’ve made myself a gown from the same fabric — flowing, elegant, designed to skim my curves, and show off the tattoos that tell my story.

The scripted Resilience along my collarbone catches the light as I move, the black ink of my sleeve peeking through sheer fabric.

The roses winding up my forearm — once symbols of pain — now gleam proudly as reminders of growth.

~ Elle ~

If chaos had a dress code, this would be it.

Alyssa’s pacing, Greyson’s trying to stop Quinn from knocking over a lighting rig, and the photographer looks like he’s praying silently for patience.

But when the first flash goes off — everything changes.

Alyssa slips into that quiet, confident mode that only she can. The camera loves her, and the world falls away.

The shots are breathtaking.

Her tattoos — the inked vines and blooms — glow under the soft lights, perfectly contrasting the elegance of her gown.

Greyson beside her, hand on her waist.

Hope nestled in her arms.

The girls twirling around them like little halos of laughter.

It’s pure magic.

Then, the photographer pauses and says, “Let’s get one last family shot. Everyone together, right here.”

I grab the girls, fixing their bows as they run back onto the set.

Alyssa adjusts Hope’s blanket, Greyson steps beside her — and I swear, the man looks nervous.

Not “camera shy” nervous.

“Heart pounding out of his chest” nervous.

Something’s up.

And then — it happens.

~ Greyson ~

My palms are sweating.

And that’s saying something for a man who’s negotiated multi-million-pound projects without blinking.

But this? This is different.

I’ve been planning this for weeks — talking to Markus, getting the ring made, and quietly enlisting the photographer to catch everything.

She has no idea.

No clue.

When I look at her — standing there in the dress she made, with our girls beside her and our baby in her arms — I realise I’ve never loved anyone the way I love her.

It’s more than love.

It’s gravity.

The photographer nods at me — the signal.

“Okay,” he says. “Everyone together. Big smiles!”

Alyssa laughs, looking at me as Quinn tugs her sleeve. “Grey, are you smiling or plotting?”

“Maybe both,” I say, voice low.

I take a step back, heart pounding, and before she can question it — I drop to one knee.

Her breath catches instantly.

The girls freeze.

Elle gasps audibly.

And the photographer?

He doesn’t miss a beat — camera clicking rapidly, capturing every second.

From my pocket, I pull out the small velvet box.

Inside, the ring catches the studio lights — a brilliant oval-cut diamond set in platinum, framed by two delicate rose-gold vines entwined around the band. It’s timeless, elegant — everything she is.

“Alyssa Sapphire Rose,” I say, my voice trembling just slightly, “you are everything I never knew I needed.

You’ve built an empire from ashes.

You’ve raised the most amazing, beautiful girl. You've loved Poppy like she's your own from day one, and now you've given me another beautiful daughter.

You’re my calm in every storm, my chaos when life gets too quiet, and the best part of my every day.”

Tears are already spilling down her cheeks.

“So,” I finish softly, “will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

For a second, there’s silence.

Then she laughs — that watery, overwhelmed kind of laugh — and nods so fast she can barely speak.

“Yes,” she finally breathes out, covering her mouth as she cries harder. “God, yes, Greyson!”

The girls squeal, running over to hug them both.

Quinn’s voice rings out, “Daddy, you did it!”

And Poppy, not to be outdone, shouts, “Mummy said yes!”

The entire studio erupts in applause.

Even the crew are crying.

And in the corner, my phone — discreetly propped up and recording — catches it all.

~ Alyssa ~

I don’t even remember falling to my knees.

All I know is that my hands are shaking, my face is wet, and the man in front of me is smiling like the world just stopped spinning for him.

When he slides the ring onto my finger, I can barely see through my tears — but the moment it’s there, everything feels right.

The girls are hugging us both, Hope cooing softly in my arms, Elle wiping tears like she’s watching a romcom.

The photographer calls out, voice thick with emotion, “That was the realest thing I’ve ever shot.”

Greyson just pulls me close, whispering against my ear, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” I whisper back, kissing him through my tears.

Hours later, when we’re back home — dresses unzipped, shoes off, and the kids asleep — I lie on the sofa with my head on his chest, staring at the ring glinting in the lamplight.

“It was perfect,” I whisper.

He smiles against my hair. “So are you.”

I glance at him, half-laughing. “You had a camera recording it, didn’t you?”

He grins. “Phone in the corner.”

“Of course you did,” I groan, smacking his chest lightly. “Winston’s going to make memes out of it.”

“Worth it,” he says, kissing my temple.

And as I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, I realise — for the first time in years — there’s no fear, no shadows, no unfinished stories.

Just us.

Our girls.

Our family.

Our forever.