Chapter 55

Lauren

The smell of pine and fresh earth greeted me as I opened the window in my new room. Still, it was hard to think this view was mine again.

The manner felt cold when we arrived—and yet, here I was, folding my favorite throw blanket over the edge of the bed and placing Abigail’s stuffed rabbit on the pillow on her pillow. Little by little, I tried to carve out a space for myself and Abigail in this house that still didn’t feel like home.

It wasn’t just the house. The Pack was a different world, one I hadn’t been part of for years. Every face I passed in the hallways or on the grounds seemed to hold questions they were too polite to ask. Where had I been? Why had I left? And more importantly, why was I back? What happened to Sophia?

All of them to scared to ask, every question one Alexander refused to answer.

I wasn’t sure why he hadn’t made a proper announcement, but I wasn’t about to complain—I didn’t need any more attention on me or my kids.

I caught my reflection in the mirror as I reached for a laundry basket. My hair was tied back, and I was wearing one of Alexander’s old sweatshirts—a habit I hadn’t shaken, even after everything.

I shivered—having convinced myself it was for convenience, but the truth was, it still felt like a piece of him, even now. I hated how comforting that was in this house.

Downstairs, the faint sound of laughter echoed through the halls. Abigail and Owen. Their bond was growing faster than I could have imagined. For all the awkwardness between Alexander and me, the kids were thriving in this new arrangement.

Abigail adored her brother, and Owen seemed to have found a new purpose in making her laugh. Which was this odd silly side of his that involved way too many funny faces when he thought no one was watching them.

It was bittersweet, really. They were a reminder of what could have been, and what still might be—if I could figure out how to navigate this fragile truce with Alexander.

As I walked to the laundry room, the familiar rhythm of domestic life settled over me. Folding clothes, preparing meals, making pancakes on Saturdays—it was the same routine I’d kept for years, but here, it felt different. I wasn’t just taking care of Abigail anymore. There was Owen, with his quiet smiles and quick wit, and Alexander, who had started lingering around me with poking small talk. I answered curtly, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t cute.

He sort of reminded me of Owen like this, a bit more tentative and cautious. But his brooding arua never wavered.

And then there were the little things. Like how the house, once foreign, now carried the faint scent of lavender from my laundry detergent. Or how I’d catch Alexander pausing in the doorway when he thought I wasn’t looking, his gaze lingering on the way I folded towels or hummed while cooking. He hadn’t said anything to push me further since the night of our dinner, but I could feel the shift.

Abigail

Living here felt like an adventure. Everything was bigger: the house, the backyard, even the pancakes Mom made on Saturdays tasted better! Owen said they were better than dad’s, which made me giggle. Even if I was a bit jealous he’s even tasted them.

Owen would always correct himself quickly and say, “Don’t tell him I said that,” like it was some big secret.

Owen was the best brother ever. He let me play games on his computer and showed me how to climb the big tree in the yard, even though Mom freaked out when she saw us. And he’d tell me stories at night, about when he was little and used to play hide-and-seek with dad.

Again, those stories always made me feel like I’d missed out on something, but Owen was always quick to come up with a new game.

When I first met him, I thought he was some quiet weirdo. Nice, but weird. Turns out he’s a blast!

One day, we were in the living room building a fort with all the cushions. Owen was in charge of the roof, and I was the “architect,” which meant I got to boss him around. We were laughing so hard that we didn’t hear Dad come in. His footsteps were always silent despite his size.

“What are we defending against?” he asked, crouching down to peek in.

“Vampires!” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him in. “You’re the King!”

He laughed and shook his head. “If I’m the King does that make Owen a knight?”

“No,” Owen said, smirking. “I’m the rightful king. Obviously. A traitor!”

Owen tackled him and I was quick to join, “And I’m the warrior princess! Unguard!”

Dad’s laugh, one I wasn’t sure I would ever hear this loud, hummed the air as we pinned him down.

“Uncle! Uncle! I give!” Dad played dead under me as we laughed, his hand lifting me high.

He looked… happy to be holding me. It made me happy too. Things were different now, but they didn’t feel bad.

I’ve always had mom, and that was enough, but this—both of them— just felt…better.

Lauren

I caught him in my room today.

It was late afternoon, and I’d just finished folding the last of the laundry when I walked in and found Alexander standing by my dresser. He looked startled, his hand hovering over the drawer where I kept Abigail’s hair ties.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He straightened, his expression guarded. “Owen said he left something in here. I was just… looking for it.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “In my dresser?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, I thought he might actually blush. Alexander, blushing. The idea was almost laughable.

“I’ll… check his room,” he muttered, brushing past me and out the door.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where he’d been. The air still carried his scent, that mix of pine and something darker, uniquely him. It lingered, just like the memory of his presence

Odd…

Alexander

I didn’t know how much I missed her here. How much I needed it.

Her scent was everywhere. It clung to the furniture, the sheets, even the air. Lavender and something softer, something that was purely Lauren. It was maddening. Every time I walked into a room, it was like she was there, even when she wasn’t.

And then there were her quirks. The way she folded laundry with military precision, the way she always made pancakes on Saturdays without fail. It was these little things, the things I hadn’t realized I missed that kept pulling me back to her.

When I’d stepped into her room today, it wasn’t because of Owen. Not really. I’d told myself it was, but the truth was, I’d wanted to be near her. To see how she’d made the space her own.

And she had.

Her touch was everywhere, from the neatly folded blankets to the vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand. It felt warm, lived-in. It felt like her.

When she caught me, I’d been too embarrassed to admit it. Instead, I’d mumbled some excuse and left, but the look in her eyes stayed with me. She didn’t believe me. I could tell. And part of me wondered if she’d seen through me completely.

Lauren

By the time dinner rolled around, the house was buzzing with activity. Abigail and Owen were setting the table, arguing over who got to light the candles.

Alexander was in the kitchen, finishing up the roast he’d insisted on cooking. I stayed back, watching the scene unfold.

It was moments like this that made it all worth it. The laughter, the banter, the sense of family. It was messy and complicated, but it was ours.

As we sat down to eat, Alexander’s eyes met mine across the table. There was something there, something unspoken but undeniable. Something we’d lost, and what we might still find again.