The backyard was filled with laughter. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the old oak tree, dappling the grass where children tumbled and played. Music drifted from a small speaker, a gentle melody that wove through the happy chatter of friends.
Lyra watched it all from the porch, a sleeping Rowan nestled in her arms. This was her world. A world she had built from the ashes of her old one, piece by piece. It was a world filled with Zara’s boisterous joy, with the easy camaraderie of her bandmates, with the warmth of people who had seen her at her most broken and now celebrated her strength.
She felt a profound sense of contentment, so pure and deep it almost hurt.
“He’s the guest of honor and he’s sleeping through his own party.” Zara appeared beside her with a slice of cake. “Typical rockstar behavior.”
Lyra smiled, adjusting Rowan’s small party hat, which had slipped over his eyes. “He’s storing up energy for the grand finale. The ceremonial smashing of the cake.”
Her heart was full. This was enough. This was everything.
A short while later, a familiar, elegant figure walked through the side gate. Eleanora Hawthorne. She moved through the casual party with an innate grace, her presence a quiet note of formality in the cheerful chaos. She carried a beautifully wrapped gift.
Lyra met her at the edge of the patio. “Eleanora. I’m so glad you could make it.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the older woman said, her eyes fixed on the sleeping child in Lyra’s arms. Her gaze was filled with a genuine, undisguised love that transcended the wreckage of the past. Their relationship had become one of quiet, mutual respect, centered on this small boy who connected them.
She handed Lyra the gift. It was a handcrafted wooden music box, intricately carved. “For Rowan.”
They spoke for a while, about the music, about the beautiful day. Then, as the party began to wind down and guests started to leave, Eleanora found Lyra in a quiet corner of the yard.
“Lyra,” she began, her voice low and serious. “Caspian would like to see you. Just for a moment. After everyone is gone.”
Lyra’s contentment froze, a fragile thing suddenly encased in ice. The wall she had so carefully constructed trembled.
Eleanora held up a hand, sensing her immediate refusal. “He did not ask me to demand anything. This is a request he was too afraid to make himself. He wants to bring Rowan his gift. He will leave the second you ask him to. I will stay, if you wish.”
The request was humble. It was careful. It was everything Caspian had not been a year ago.
Her first instinct was to say no. Her peace was too precious, too hard-won. She had built this life without him. She didn’t need him.
But then she looked at Rowan, his face so peaceful in sleep. She saw the genuine love in Eleanora’s eyes. And a flicker of something else sparked within her. Not forgiveness. Not hope. Curiosity. A need to see the man who had maintained a year of perfect, penitent silence.
She took a slow breath, the decision settling within her. It would be on her terms. In her house. A supervised meeting.
“Alright,” Lyra said, her voice steady. “Tell him he can come. For a few minutes.”
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