chapter(2/2)
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It was the first time in weeks that the house was completely, deliciously silent.
No lullabies on repeat. No baby monitor static. No soft cries at 3 a.m. or the rustling of swaddles. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of old floorboards expanding in the summer heat.
Eliza stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair still damp from her shower, holding a coffee mug that had long since gone cold. The robe she wore was silk, navy blue, and rarely used—one of the few things from her old life she still kept for herself. She didn't know what made her put it on this morning. Maybe it was the lightness in the air. Or maybe it was the fact that Lyra had gone to spend the afternoon with Will's mother.
The house was theirs again.
For a moment, she didn't know what to do with that.
Then she heard the unmistakable sound of Will's voice from the hallway—softly humming something familiar. He walked in with two plates, setting them down with a grin. French toast. With cinnamon and slices of peach. Her favorite.
"Hi," he said, a little breathless. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we're alone."
She arched a brow. "Really? I hadn't noticed the silence wrapped around me like a gift."
He laughed, crossing to her and tugging lightly on the sash of her robe. "God, I missed this version of you."
"What version is that?"
"The one who looks at me like I'm more than just a father with spit-up stains."
She smirked. "I never stopped looking at you that way. I just got better at hiding it."
His hands settled on her waist. "You know... we could actually finish a cup of coffee. Eat a full breakfast. Take a shower that lasts more than three minutes."
"Dangerous talk, Mr. Bennett."
He kissed her, slow and easy, before whispering against her lips, "Let's take it slow today. Like it's the first time."
They ate at the counter, toes brushing under the barstools. They didn't rush. Will told her about the new book he'd started reading, the one he'd found while reorganizing the library—something lyrical and strange by an author they'd both loved once, back before parenthood rearranged their minds. Eliza listened, her eyes lingering on the curve of his mouth, the way his fingers moved when he spoke.
And later—later when sunlight poured through the bedroom curtains like melted gold and her robe slipped somewhere to the floor—they made love in the stillness of the house that had begun to feel lived in, softened by the presence of their child but still entirely their own.
It wasn't urgent or perfect or wild.
It was slow. Familiar. Reverent.
Like it was the first time, all over again—but with everything they'd carried and survived folded in between.
Afterward, Eliza lay with her head on his chest, tracing lines on his arm. "I didn't realize how much I missed being... just us."
"We were never just us," Will murmured. "We were always something bigger. We just didn't know it yet."
She smiled into his skin. "I love you. As a husband. As a father. As the man who knows when I need peach slices and silk."
Will kissed the top of her head. "And I love you as everything."