Helene all but fled up the stairs, her hand pressed to her warm cheeks as if she could hide the heat blooming there. The soft click of the front door behind her still echoed in her chest. The memory of Richard's kiss felt impossibly fresh, a tender imprint she could not stop feeling, as if it had left its shape in the air around her.
She reached the converted loft and closed the door quietly. The familiar hush of her room wrapped around her, the low lamplight catching the sloped ceiling and the soft linen draped across her bed. She stood in the middle of the room for a moment, as if she had forgotten how to move. Her breath was unsteady, her pulse too quick. She lifted her fingers to her lips again, unable to resist tracing the warmth he had left there. The feeling rose through her, delicate and startling, like the first bloom of a long forgotten season.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
"Mama?" Isabelle's voice carried a tightness that tugged at Helene's heart. "What happened? Why are you upset?"
The door opened before Helene could gather herself, and Isabelle stepped inside. Her worry was immediate, her eyes wide and searching her mother's face for signs of hurt or fear.
"I'm not upset," Helene said quickly, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. She crossed to the bed and sat down, smoothing the quilt with restless fingertips as if the familiar texture could settle her. "I'm just… flustered. That's all."
Isabelle sat beside her without speaking. She folded her hands in her lap and waited, steady and patient, giving her mother time to breathe through whatever was twisting inside her.
After a few moments Helene drew in a thin breath and let it out slowly.
"We had a lovely day," she said at last, her voice softening.
"It was truly lovely."
The words loosened something in her. She reached for the scarf still looped around her neck and slipped it off carefully. The colours seemed to glow in the lamplight, shades of purple merging like dusk over water. She laid it across her lap with a quiet reverence she hadn't intended to show.
"He bought me this," she said gently.
Isabelle leaned in, her expression warming at once. Her fingers traced the edge of the fabric with a tender sort of approval.
"Its beautiful."
"He noticed I always wear scarves," Helene murmured.
"I hadn't realised he paid attention like that."
Her voice softened as she continued.
"We walked through Kew Gardens. The winter colours were beautiful. All those muted reds and fading golds and the glasshouses warm and bright like something out of another world. He kept making sure I wasn't cold. He kept checking if I wanted to rest. Every time he thought I might be tired he slowed without making it obvious."
She smiled, small and tender.
"It was peaceful. I enjoyed myself more than I expected to."
She hesitated then, her fingers curling slightly into the scarf.
Isabelle noticed immediately. She angled her body toward her mother.
"And after?" she asked quietly. "Was it a good thing or a bad thing?"
Helene looked down at her hands. The colour rose again, creeping gently into her cheeks until she felt warmer than she meant to be.
"I am being silly," she whispered.
Isabelle reached for her hand, threading their fingers together.
"You do not have to feel embarrassed. You are allowed to have feelings, Mama. Do you have feelings for him?"
Helene's breath trembled. For a moment she couldn't answer. It felt too fragile to speak aloud, as if naming it might make everything too real too quickly. But Isabelle waited, patient and kind, and Helene felt the truth rise through her with the same quiet certainty as the kiss that had undone her.
"I like him," she said softly, the confession barely more than a breath.
"More than I meant to. A lot more."
Isabelle's smile was soft and sure, her thumb brushing over her mother's knuckles.
"Then that is all that matters."
Helene let her daughter's steadiness rest over her like a blanket. She hadn't expected any of this, not the day, not the gift, not the warmth that had crept into her life when she was not looking. And certainly not a kiss that left her feeling as if a door inside her had quietly opened after years of being locked.
Richard saw the figure on his doorstep before his driver had even stopped the car. A slim shape in a beige coat, long blonde hair catching in the streetlight like a restless flame.
His stomach dropped.
Eleanor.
He stepped out of the car slowly, pushing his hands into his pockets, bracing himself for whatever storm she intended to bring.
"Eleanor. What are you doing here?" he asked evenly.
She offered a small, brittle smile that did not reach her eyes.
"I went to see you at the office today, but you weren't there. I was worried, so I thought I would check if you were alright."
A humourless breath escaped him. He shook his head in disbelief.
"You have never checked if I was alright. Not even when I had my appendix out twelve years ago. Do you remember? You didn't stay home while I was recovering. And if you were truly concerned you could've called. Or messaged."
She tucked her hair behind her ear, that familiar gesture of discomfort.
"Where were you all day?"
"That is none of your business," he said flatly.
Her lips tightened, but before she could speak he continued. "If you came by during the day, then what are you doing back here at this time of night?"
She looked away.
"I was hoping to talk to the children."
His chest tightened instinctively, though his voice remained calm.
"I told you not to come back here until I reached out."
Her eyes shone suddenly with tears that came far too easily.
"I saw Chloe," she whispered. "She opened the door. She told me they weren't ready to see me. She spoke to me like I was a stranger… like I was here trying to sell something."
Richard closed his eyes for a moment. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet.
"What did you expect after the way you've treated them?"
She moved past him as if she could outrun the truth. He lifted a hand to stop her, but let it fall before it reached her.
"I can see I am not wanted," she said, her voice cracking.
"You're all doing better without me."
"You're not wrong."
She flinched at that, then hurried down the street without looking back, her figure shrinking into the shadows.
Richard watched her go with no tug of guilt. Only a deep ache for his children, who deserved so much more than her sudden, belated attempt at remorse.
He turned, unlocked the door, and stepped inside, letting the quiet of the house settle around him like a reminder of both the life he had protected and the future he hoped was beginning to grow, gently and quietly, with a woman who had brought warmth back into his days without ever meaning to.