Author's Note:
Thank you so much for reading my story and helping me reach this far! đź’– Your support means everything to me.
If you're enjoying the book, please don't forget to add it to your collection, leave a comment, and rate it—it really helps me keep going and improves the story's visibility.
I'd love to hear what you think! 💬✨
With love,
[wee_williams]
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Chapter 27 – Damon's POV
For the first time in a long time, the house didn't feel like a prison.
It felt… warm. Alive.
I sat in the living room, pretending to be absorbed in my laptop while Arya helped Liam with a puzzle on the floor. Her laughter — soft, melodic — filled the space between us like sunlight. I wasn't used to it. Neither the warmth nor the way it made my chest tighten in the best possible way.
This… this was what I had been missing.
For weeks, maybe months, everything had felt cold — my marriage, my home, my heart. But now, it was like someone had opened the windows and let fresh air in.
And it was her.
Arya.
She was smiling again. Not the forced, guarded kind she used to wear whenever I passed by, but something gentler, something real. She still flinched sometimes when I walked too close, still looked away a bit too fast when our eyes met — but I could feel it. The wall between us was cracking, slowly but surely.
I hadn't realized how much I missed her until I started to get pieces of her back.
It had started with little things — a small "thank you" when I brought her tea, the way she didn't pull her hand away when our fingers brushed one morning while reaching for the same spoon. And then, Liam — he began to warm up to me too.
God, Liam.
The first time he called me "Dad" without hesitation, it had nearly broken me.
I had stepped into the nursery one night to check on him, expecting to find him asleep. But he was sitting up, hugging his stuffed bear, blinking at me with those big, curious eyes that looked so much like his mother's.
"Daddy?" he had whispered, and my knees almost gave out.
I wasn't sure if Arya had told him to say it or if he'd come up with it on his own, but I didn't care. I just sat on the edge of his bed, holding his small hand, swearing to myself that I would do better — for him, for her.
Now, as I watched them together on the floor, I allowed myself to feel something I hadn't dared to in years:
Hope.
She was giving me another chance.
And I wasn't going to waste it.
I cleared my throat, standing up. "Anyone hungry? I was thinking of making spaghetti."
Arya glanced up, startled. She didn't speak right away, as if surprised I was offering. "You cook now?"
I smirked, walking toward the kitchen. "I've always known how. You just never let me near the stove."
"Because you almost burned the house down the last time."
I chuckled. "One time. And that was years ago."
She smiled again — a real one this time — and it lit up her whole face. Liam giggled beside her, kicking his legs excitedly. "Spaghetti!"
"That's my boy," I said, ruffling his curls on my way past.
As I started boiling the water, I could hear them whispering behind me. Their voices were low, but not tense. Playful. It felt good. Natural. Like maybe we were slowly becoming a real family.
It hit me then just how badly I'd messed up.
I'd spent so long being cold, distant. Running from emotions I didn't want to face. I'd convinced myself that detachment was easier — safer. But all it had done was push the only good things in my life away.
I had been so afraid of being hurt again — of losing Arya the way I lost my mother, of feeling too much — that I hadn't realized I was already hurting. Every day that I stayed silent. Every time I looked at her and said nothing. Every moment I kept my distance, convincing myself it was for the best.
I had buried my love for her so deep, I thought it had died.
But watching her now, hearing her laugh with Liam, seeing the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention… I knew.
I was still in love with my wife.
Madly. Deeply. Irrevocably.
And for the first time in forever, I saw a chance — a real chance — to show her that.
As the pasta boiled, I took out the sauce and began heating it, humming softly. I could feel her eyes on me, but I didn't turn around. I wanted her to see this side of me — the part that wanted to take care of her, of our son. The man I should've been from the start.
"Do you want help?" Arya asked after a moment.
I turned. Her head was tilted slightly, her blue eyes — one pale, one deep — watching me curiously.
God, she was beautiful.
Even more so now, with her walls slightly lowered, her spirit showing again. I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips.
"Sure," I said, stepping aside. "You do the garlic bread?"
She nodded and moved into the kitchen. We worked side by side in silence, but it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. It was... easy. Comfortable.
At some point, our fingers brushed again, and this time, she didn't pull away.
I caught her gaze, and something flickered between us — a spark, a shared memory, or maybe just the possibility of what we could still be.
When dinner was ready, we all sat down at the table — Liam in the middle, chatting about dinosaurs and how he wanted to be a superhero when he grew up. Arya listened, laughing softly. I joined in, offering stories of when I was his age.
It felt like a dream.
A family.
Mine.
And I was going to do everything in my power not to lose it again.