Chapter 184

Chapter 184
Emily's POV

Five Years Later.

The morning started the way most weekends did now—with the sound of small feet thundering down the hallway and a four-year-old's voice cutting through the comfortable silence of the bedroom.

"Mama! Mason made pancakes!"

I felt the words before I fully registered them, my body already shifting into the half-awake state that had become second nature since Lily was born. Beside me, Ethan groaned softly, his arm tightening around my waist in a reflexive attempt to keep me in bed. On my other side, Alex didn't even open his eyes, but his hand slid possessively over my hip, anchoring me in place.

"Too early," Alex muttered, his voice rough with sleep.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Seven-thirty. For a weekend, it was early. For a house with two small children, it was practically sleeping in.

Lily appeared in the doorway, her blonde curls wild around her face, her eyes, blue like Ethan's, bright with excitement. She was already dressed in her favorite purple shirt and leggings, which meant Mason had gotten to her first.

"Mama, come on! The pancakes are getting cold!"

Before I could respond, Noah toddled in behind her, his dark hair sticking up in all directions, clutching his stuffed elephant against his chest. At two years old, he was quieter than his sister had been at that age, more observant. He took after Alex in that way—watching everything, processing, waiting for the right moment to act.

"Up," Noah said simply, raising his arms toward the bed.

I felt Alex shift behind me, finally opening his eyes. "I've got him," he said, his voice still gravelly but more alert now. He sat up, leaning over me to scoop Noah into his arms. Noah went willingly, burying his face in Alex's neck with the kind of trust that still made my chest tighten.

Ethan stretched beside me, groaning again before he finally pushed himself upright. "Alright, Lily-bean. Let's go see what kind of mess Mason made in the kitchen this time."

"It's not a mess!" Lily protested, already climbing onto the bed to jump on Ethan's lap. "It's beautiful! He put chocolate chips in mine!"

Ethan caught her easily, tickling her sides until she dissolved into giggles. "Chocolate chips for breakfast? What kind of operation is Mason running down there?"

I watched them for a moment, the way Ethan's hands were so careful with her even when he was playing rough, the way Lily's whole face lit up when she laughed. She was his in every visible way—the hair, the eyes, the easy physicality that came from growing up with an athlete for a father. But she was mine too, in the stubborn set of her jaw and the way she refused to take no for an answer.

Alex shifted Noah to his other arm, leaning down to press a kiss to my temple. "You should go shower," he said quietly. "I'll get Noah changed and meet you downstairs."

It was a directive disguised as a suggestion, which was classic Alex. But I didn't argue. Instead, I slid out of bed, pausing to run my fingers through Ethan's hair as I passed. He caught my hand, pressing a quick kiss to my knuckles before letting me go.

The house was great. There was a backyard with a swing set, a kitchen that actually fit all of us at once, and enough room for everyone to breathe without constantly bumping into each other. It still felt surreal sometimes—the normalcy of it, the way we'd built something functional and even beautiful out of what should have been impossible.

When I got downstairs, Mason was at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of focused attention he brought to everything. He'd taken on most of the household management over the past few years—not because anyone asked him to, but because it was what made him feel useful, what gave him purpose when he wasn't sure where else he fit. I'd set up a joint account for him years ago, one that was linked directly to mine with his name on it. He had full access, could use it however he wanted, enough that he'd never have to think twice about buying groceries or picking up something the kids needed or getting himself new clothes when his wore out.

He always protested, said it wasn't necessary, and then turned around and used the money to buy me things—flowers, books, that ridiculously expensive coffee maker I'd mentioned wanting once. But I kept doing it anyway, making sure the account never ran low, because I never wanted him to feel like he had to ask permission, never wanted him to hesitate before buying something because he was worried about overstepping or being a burden.

"You didn't have to wake up this early," I said, leaning against the counter.

He glanced over his shoulder, smiling in that soft way that still made something in my chest settle. "I wanted to. Besides, someone has to make sure this house doesn't fall apart on weekends."

I moved closer, slipping one arm around his waist. He was taller than me, but he still leaned into my touch like he was afraid I might disappear if he didn't.

"You know you're not the help, right?" I said quietly. "You're family."

He turned, setting the spatula down, and pressed his forehead against mine. "I know. But taking care of you—all of you—still makes me feel like I'm doing something that matters."

I pulled back just enough to look at him. "You matter because you're here. Not because of what you do."

Noah's voice cut through the moment, his small hand patting my leg. "Mama. Hungry."

Mason laughed, reaching down to lift Noah into his arms. "See? The little boss agrees. Let's feed him before Alex comes down and accuses me of kidnapping his son again."