LOGINGerald had been standing at the edge of the garden for nearly ten minutes, watching Ethan struggle with a math worksheet spread across the stone bench, before he finally worked up the nerve to approach, uncertain whether offering help would be welcomed or seen as an overstep he had no right to make."You look stuck," Gerald said finally, keeping his voice light.Ethan looked up, his brow furrowed with the particular frustration of a problem that refused to make sense. "I am stuck. It's fractions. I don't understand why you'd ever want to cut something into pieces that don't match evenly.""May I sit?" Gerald asked, and Ethan nodded, sliding over slightly to make room.Gerald studied the worksheet for a moment, an equation involving thirds and quarters that Ethan had clearly attempted several times, each attempt crossed out with increasing frustration. "I remember struggling with exactly this, at your age. I found it easier once someone showed me the pieces properly, rather than simply
Sophie stood in the doorway of the finished studio early that morning, straightening a stack of fabric swatches for the third time in ten minutes, and found herself, despite months of working in this exact room alone, genuinely nervous about finally sharing it properly."You're rearranging things that are already arranged," Vivienne observed, arriving first, exactly on time, as she always was."I know," Sophie admitted. "I think I wanted everything to look exactly right, though I'm not entirely sure what exactly right even means for a room this personal.""It already looks exactly right," Vivienne said, stepping fully inside and turning slowly to take in the space properly, the drafting table, the new shelving built to match Richard's original uneven joinery rather than replace it entirely, the skylight cutting a clean column of morning light directly across the room. "Richard would be so proud, seeing this finished.""I keep thinking that too," Sophie said. "Every time I sit down to
Miriam had the kitchen radio playing low, an old habit from years of cooking alone in a much smaller apartment, and she was elbow-deep when Ethan wandered in, notebook tucked under one arm, sniffing the air with obvious interest."Are we having good bread tonight?""We're having the good bread tonight," Miriam confirmed. "Since it's Friday, and Friday means proper bread, not the quick kind.""Can I help knead it?""You may," Miriam said, pulling a stool over and dusting his hands with flour before he could ask twice. "Push with the heel of your hand, not your fingers. You'll wear yourself out otherwise."Ethan set to work with the same serious concentration he brought to everything, and Miriam watched him from the corner of her eye, quietly pleased, the way she always was, by how naturally he'd folded himself into the ordinary rhythms of this kitchen over the past year.Sophie appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, still in her studio clothes, a faint smudge of pencil graphite a
Dominic stood at the edge of the training field, watching his son close his eyes and breathe through the exercise Brooke had been running him through for months now, and found himself, for the first time since that terrifying morning in the garden, genuinely calm watching it unfold rather than braced for something to go wrong."He's come a long way," Brooke said, standing beside him, her own posture relaxed in a way it hadn't been during those early, uncertain sessions."He has," Dominic agreed. "I remember how frightened I was, that first time. I couldn't imagine how we'd ever get him to a place where this felt safe rather than dangerous.""Early instinct like his rarely stabilizes on its own," Brooke said. "It usually requires exactly this, patient, consistent guidance, someone helping the wolf learn it doesn't need to surface out of fear or crisis alone. I think what happened at the warehouse actually helped him, in a strange way, once we worked through it properly. He learned his
Dominic had never in his life set an alarm for a school run, and he found himself standing in the kitchen at seven fifteen on a Tuesday morning, mildly baffled by the specific chaos of trying to locate a single missing sock while Ethan complained, with genuine outrage, that breakfast was taking entirely too long."I had one sock this morning too," Ethan said, hopping on one foot while attempting to pull on his shoe unassisted. "Where do socks even go? I only ever lose one, never both, which seems like it should tell us something important.""I've wondered that myself, for considerably longer than you've been alive," Dominic admitted, finally locating the missing sock wedged beneath the kitchen bench, and Ethan accepted it with the particular gravity of a man recovering something genuinely important.Sophie appeared a moment later, already dressed, coffee in hand, and surveyed the scene with visible amusement. "You've both been at this for ten minutes over one sock.""It's a very elusi
Sophie sat at the drafting table in the finished studio, the skylight Dominic had commissioned now cutting a clean column of afternoon light directly across Richard's old, careful handwriting, and found herself, for the first time since she'd first opened his sealed card all those months ago, actually able to think about him without the accompanying ache of grief overwhelming everything else."You look like you're working through something," Vivienne said, finding her there, settling into the second chair Sophie had added to the room once Ethan's small desk proved not to be quite enough space for the whole family to gather comfortably."I've been thinking about Richard," Sophie admitted. "About everything that traces back to him, actually, now that I've had time to sit with all of it properly.""Tell me what you've been thinking," Vivienne said, and Sophie noticed, gratefully, that she asked without any of the careful hesitation that used to color conversations about Richard in this h
Sophie Steele POV.“Oh! Oh! Ohmmmm, yes. Fuck me. Please."Who knew things would spiral this fast? Well it's another Friday night and I'm in my home, the weight of not having a functional social life crushing on me like a wave that doesn't quite know what to do with itself. At ninete
Sophie Steele POV.I step in.The water is hot and the pressure remains exactly as I remember it. I feel my shoulders come down gradually. I raise my face to the water and allow it to soak me while I am breathing in and out. The steam thickens around me. The rest of the house
Sophie Steele POV.Evening comes fast like the clock is running a race it refuses to lose. The guests begin to thin out and I am finally directed to my old room. I am so exhausted, like the world has been placed on my body, and this has nothing to do with the flight.One thi
Sophie Steele POVWith a jolt I wake.The first thing that registers is disappointment. I'm no longer in my bedroom in the Steel mansion seven years ago. I'm currently in my luxury loft studio in the heart of Los Angeles surrounded by art, supplies and the kind of serenity that cannot







