The boxes were stacked badly.
Uneven.
Unlabelled.
Jay sat on the floor, surrounded by half-opened cartons and soft chaos, holding a mug that had already gone cold.
"This is definitely not how organised people move to another country," she muttered.
Keifer, standing on a chair and fighting with a curtain rod, glanced down.
"We're not organised people."
She smiled.
That felt right.
Their new apartment was smaller.
Quieter.
No marble floors.
No long corridors.
No staff.
Just sunlight through tall windows and the faint sound of the street below.
Jay stood and walked to him.
"You're doing it wrong."
He sighed.
"I knew this would happen."
She took the rod from his hands and fixed it in two simple movements.
He stared.
"…When did you become competent?"
She grinned.
"Marriage."
He laughed and hopped down.
Later, they sat on the floor again, backs against the couch that hadn't been unpacked yet.
Jay rested her head on his shoulder.
"Do you miss it?" she asked softly.
He knew what she meant.
The mansion.
The noise.
The power.
The life they had left behind.
Keifer shook his head.
"I miss nothing that made you smaller."
Her throat tightened.
She turned slightly to look at him.
"I don't feel small anymore."
He brushed his thumb over her knuckles.
"I know."
That evening, they walked through the narrow streets near their apartment, still learning the city.
Still learning their way.
Jay held his hand openly.
Not because anyone was watching.
Because she wanted to.
They stopped at a tiny bakery.
She pointed at something she couldn't pronounce.
Keifer tried anyway.
The woman laughed.
They both laughed with her.
Outside, Jay took a bite and closed her eyes.
"Oh. This is dangerous."
He smiled.
"You say that about everything that makes you happy."
She looked at him.
Soft.
Unafraid.
"You're included."
He didn't tease her.
He only leaned down and kissed her gently.
In the middle of the street.
In a city that didn't know them.
And didn't need to.
That night, as they lay on the mattress on the floor, curtains half-hung, lights of a new world blinking through the window, Jay whispered into the quiet—
"I think this is my favourite version of my life."
Keifer turned toward her.
Tucked her closer.
"This is my only version now."
Jay closed her eyes.
Not as someone who had finally escaped her past.
But as someone who had built something better.
With the man who taught her that happiness wasn't something to earn.
It was something to share.
And in that small apartment, far away from the life that once owned her,
Jay and Keifer didn't just find a future.
They learned how to live inside it.
Together.