The house smelled of tomatoes and basil when Richard stepped into the kitchen. It was rich, warm, the kind of scent that instantly made a place feel lived in. Drew stood at the stove like a man preparing for battle, one hand stirring, the other braced on the counter as though the lasagne might fight back.
"What are you making?" Richard asked, setting his briefcase on the counter.
Drew gave a half-smile without looking up. "Lasagne. I promised I'd try again. Chloe said last time it was… edible."
"It was very edible," Chloe called from the dining table. She sat cross-legged on a chair, her laptop open, papers strewn around her, a mug of tea cooling beside her elbow. "Just maybe not technically lasagne."
"This one's going to be better," Drew insisted, lifting the spoon as though making a solemn oath.
Richard watched them, the familiar, quiet ache blooming in his chest; pride, still new enough to surprise him every time. He leaned against the counter.
"I wanted to tell you something. Isabelle had the baby."
Drew turned, his eyes brightening. "She did? That's brilliant. Are they both okay?"
"They're fine," Richard said, unable to hide the warmth in his voice. "A boy. Michael."
Chloe clasped her hands. "Aw! That's lovely."
Richard nodded, but his expression shifted, thoughtful.
"I just… I'm struggling with what to get them. She's done so much for me... for the company. And she's a good mother. I want to give her something meaningful, but not flashy. Something appropriate. My ability to select thoughtful presents collapses the moment the recipient is someone I actually care about."
Drew tapped the spoon against the pan.
"You know what might be nice? A constellation map. Shows the night sky exactly as it was when someone was born. Like a snapshot of the universe at their first moment. It's… kind of poetic."
Richard blinked, then looked up slowly, the idea unfurling inside him.
"A map of the stars…" He pictured it already: deep navy, silver constellations, Michael's name in small lettering.
"That's perfect."
Drew shrugged, cheeks warming as he returned to stirring. "Figured you'd like something timeless. You've got that 'quietly sentimental' vibe going."
Richard gave him a small smile and a dry look. "Thank you... I think."
"Well…" Chloe interrupted them. "I've seen these personalised children's books. They're hand-illustrated, original works. You give them the child's name and age, and they turn them into the hero of the story."
Drew perked up. "Yes! Those are gorgeous. Like personalised keepsakes."
Richard considered it, the image taking shape instantly: Isabelle curled on the sofa, her three children leaning against her as she read. "A storybook for Michael… actually —" His voice softened. "Why only Michael? Why not one for Becca and Luke as well? Each child deserves something of their own."
"That would be beautiful," Chloe said, softening. "Thoughtful, too. Most people forget the older siblings when a baby arrives."
"Which," Richard said, "is exactly why I shouldn't."
She smiled, warm and sweet,
making her briefly look like the little girl he used to tuck into bed.
"Do you want help choosing illustrators? I need a break from my personal statement before I rewrite it into oblivion."
"Yes," Richard said immediately, with relief. "I am apparently incapable of any gifting decisions without supervision."
Chloe laughed and pulled her laptop closer for him to lean over. Richard placed a hand on the back of her chair and looked at the screen. "How's the application going?"
"I think... good?" She grimaced. "Hard to tell. I'm trying to sound like someone who knows where she's going, not someone who still panics about it at midnight."
"You're allowed to be unsure," he said. "Most adults are faking it every day."
Chloe's smile crinkled her eyes. "Thanks, Dad."
The words still caught him; not painfully, but with that sudden swell of something tender.
Drew slid the lasagna into the oven and set the timer with theatrical precision. "One masterpiece, coming up."
Chloe snorted. "We'll be the judges."
Richard chuckled and he and Chloe got to ordering the gifts.
Later they all sat at the table when the lasagna was ready. They ate, steam rising between them, the air full of gentle conversation and the soft clatter of cutlery; the kind of quiet that felt like comfort rather than silence.
Drew talked about school. Chloe about her application. Richard listened, watching them grow into themselves, steady and bright and surprising.
Their humour. Their quiet resilience. Their softness.
His children. His second chance. His unexpected peace.
He looked at his children. At Drew's intense focus on his plate, at Chloe gesturing animatedly with her fork. Warmth eased through him like evening light settling on a room.
"I'm so proud of you both," he said simply.
Drew blinked. Chloe paused, then they both smiled, real and unguarded.
Richard leaned back slightly, taking in the scene, letting the warmth soak into him like the last glow of evening light.
Isabelle phoned a few days later, just as Richard was sorting through the last of the paperwork on his desk. He felt a small flutter of apprehension as soon as he saw her name flash on his phone screen. He hoped he hadn't made a complete fool of himself with the gifts.
He cleared his throat and answered.
"Isabelle."
Her voice was soft, tired, but glowing in a way only new mothers could manage. "Richard. I just… I needed to call. The gifts arrived."
He straightened, suddenly far more alert than a moment ago. "I hope they were all right. If they weren't suitable I can —"
"Richard." She cut in with a quiet, warm exhale. "They're beautiful."
A pause. A tiny shake in her breath, as though she was smiling and emotional all at once.
"Truly beautiful. The map of the stars —" She let out a small laugh, the soft, incredulous kind. "Robert got teary. He never gets teary. And the books… one for each of them. I can't tell you how touched I am. It's incredibly thoughtful. The sentiment behind all of it… it means a great deal."
Richard stared at his desk, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"I'm so glad. I wanted it to be personal. I wanted it to be something they could keep."
"They will. We will." She lowered her voice, the warmth in it settling over him like a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. Truly."
He swallowed, unable to stop the faint hum of pleasure that rose in his chest. "I'll visit soon. I'd like to meet Michael properly."
"You will," Isabelle said. "But I know how busy you are. I don't expect you to rush."
"Not so busy," Richard murmured. "Not since Wendy took over my schedule."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Isabelle gasped lightly. "Oh? Should I be offended? Has she replaced me entirely?"
Richard froze. "No — no, not at all, I didn't mean — I only meant that she's very efficient and I wasn't suggesting that you —"
Her laughter burst through, warm and bright, and he sagged in relief.
"Oh, Richard. I'm joking. It's fine."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. Yes. Of course."
When she spoke again, her tone had softened. "You sound good, you know. Happier."
He hesitated, then nodded, more to himself than to her.
"I… spend most of my free time with the children these days."
A gentler warmth threaded into his words.
"They're surprising me. Every day. With how remarkable they're becoming."
"That's lovely to hear," Isabelle said, genuine affection in her voice.
"They're good kids. They always were. They just needed to know you were there."
Richard felt something loosen in his chest. A quiet truth. A quiet gratitude.
"I'm doing my best," he said.
"I know." She sounded certain in a way that made sure she could see straight through him. "And it shows."
"How's Robert? I hope he's helping with the night feeds."
"He's on cloud nine," Isabelle said, a soft laugh threading through her words. "He's barely put Michael down since the moment he arrived. I have to pry the baby out of his arms just to feed him."
Richard smiled, the sound loosening something gentle in his chest. "I remember being like that with Chloe. I couldn't stop watching her. Every minute felt… miraculous."
A hush settled between them; not awkward, not empty, just warm. A quiet threaded with all the small things they didn't need to put into words.
Isabelle let out a gentle sigh. "I should let you get on and feed my hoard."
"Of course. Give Robert my best."
"I will. And Richard? Thank you again."
He closed his eyes briefly, letting the warmth of her words settle. "You're very welcome."
When the call ended, Richard set the phone down gently, feeling unexpectedly settled. As if some small weight he hadn't noticed had finally lifted.
The world didn't look romantic or dramatic... just quietly, reassuringly, good.