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OURS || a harry styles x original character story

cw: infertility/fertility struggles, emotional distress, themes of grief and uncertainty, declining mental health, graphic sexual content, language, alcohol-use, depression, medical intervention for pregnancy word count: 20,355

summary: harry and thea are looking to grow their family. over seasons of trying, their lives look a little bit different; emotions run high, their limits are tested, but if there's one thing for sure: it's their love for one another.

authors note: this is a story that's been on my mind for a while - this took me a full day to write, it just kept flowing out. it's loosely inspired by certain inspirations from landslide by fleetwood mac; following the seasons of our lives, and understanding where who we are when we disappoint ourselves for who we think we should be. it's about the pressures we put on ourselves, even when we have everything we want.

this is a really really special one to me & this is one that I don't think it's one for everyone because it's very emotional, but I hope you give it a chance <3

without further ado; I hope you enjoy <3

_______________________________________________

Spring

The house was quiet in the early blush of morning; a hush wrapped in the pale gray-blue light of spring. Rain ticked gently at the windowpane, not enough to storm, just a soft percussion against the silence. The early spring showers were comforting to them; they always had been.

Thea sat on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn together, fingers knotted in the hem of Harry’s old T-shirt that she had been wearing the past few nights; it was the t-shirt that she had found out she was pregnant in both other times. It still smelled faintly of him—laundry linen and cedar from the left-over cologne that rubbed from his skin. Her bare toes curled against the tile of the cool floor, the cold seeping through as she counted down the seconds.

The test lay on the edge of the sink, face-down, unread and pending a result.

Outside the door, she could hear the occasional creak of the floorboards and the distant thrum of a car passing on the wet road. But inside, time had paused even when it needed to move faster than ever. Thea closed her eyes, inhaling sharply, willing her heart to slow. It felt too fast, too eager, too much like something was about to break open with joy or sadness.

When the timer on her phone buzzed, it startled her. She reached out with trembling fingers, turned it off quickly. She didn’t want Harry to hear it; she didn’t want to make this a big deal. Making it a big deal meant that there would be disappointment if things didn’t go the way she needed it to go.

When she flipped the test, her eyes focused on the words:

Not Pregnant.

The breath left her lungs in a soundless sigh. Not devastation—not yet, no, it was more a bit of confusion, if she was honest. This was only the second test she had taken, they were only on month two of actively trying. It wasn’t supposed to happen overnight, she knew that. Her doctor had said it could take time, and she may have just been lucky with the ease of it with Teddy and Niko. Thea and Harry got pregnant practically on command with their two boys – no scheduling, no ovulation testing, just the pure love and admiration that was bundled up when they tried.

Then, it was like her body had known what to do— fate had simply reached down and tucked new life into her with a gentle sort of magic that only expecting mothers could understand.

This time felt different. She was reaching for something she couldn't quite catch, and she was frustrated with the waiting process.

She sat there for a few more minutes, test in hand, until the world beyond the bathroom began to stir and she had been broken from her thoughts. She heard the boy’s bedroom door creak open and the soft shuffle of little feet padding down the hall—this early, it had to be Niko.

Thea quickly slid the test back into its foil wrapper and tucked it into the bottom of the drawer beneath the sink, under a pile of spare toothbrushes and half-used tubes of ointment. She washed her hands in cold water, splashed her face to feel something, and forced her shoulders to soften before she stepped into the hall and preparing herself for the weekend morning.

When she entered the kitchen, Harry was already up. He stood at the stove, barefoot in sweatpants and an old band t-shirt that had fraying on the edges, flipping pancakes with Niko perched on the counter beside him. Niko’s cheeks were pink with sleep and joy in helping his dad cook breakfast, his curls tousled as he watched the batter bubble.

“Mornin’, gorgeous,” Harry said over his shoulder, his voice warm and a little husky with sleep as he watched Thea enter. He moved over to kiss her temple as she entered. “Coffee’s on. Teddy’s still out like a log.”

“Thanks,” she said, and smiled as she reached for a mug. It didn’t quite reach her eyes—the smile, but Harry was too focused on preventing Niko from sticking a finger into the skillet to notice that.

“Mummy, Daddy said I can do the blueberries,” Niko announced proudly; his legs swinging along the countertop.

“Did he?” Thea poured her coffee, watching her son beam. She moved over to kiss the top of his head, feeling her son’s warmth and certainty made her feel just a bit better. His little arms wrapped around her as she stood and watched Harry grab the small bowl of berries for Niko to help with.

“He’s on berry duty,” Harry confirmed with Niko, watching the little boy nod incessantly. “But only after the pancakes are on the griddle. No sabotage this time, huh?”

“Right!” Niko stated, unwrapping himself from Thea and taking the bowl in his hand.

Thea moved to settle at the table, curling her hands around the mug for warmth and grounding. She took in the scene before her—Harry humming the music he had put on under his breath, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon wafting through the kitchen, Niko swinging his feet and singing a made-up song about blueberries as he of course enjoyed a few straight from the bowl.

It was beautiful, their life. Full of small, golden joys. But then there was a quiet space in her heart that had begun to echo; the loneliness of knowing that she wasn’t pregnant, and how she was starting to question her own capabilities.

Her attention had been taken as they started to hear Teddy stumbling down a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes and dragging his worn fleece blanket behind him like a cape. He crawled into Thea's lap without a word, nuzzling into her shoulder. She wrapped both arms around him, burying her face in his hair, breathing him in.

“You okay, Mum?” he mumbled into her collarbone. Teddy was so inquisitive and sensitive and understood emotions much more than any six-year-old should; it gave her such confidence in not only their parenting but knowing she had procreated with such a wonderful human being.

“Yeah, baby. Just tired.” She ran her fingers through his hair, managing the bedhead that he sported.

He accepted the answer easily, already half-asleep again in her arms. After a few incidents of too-early blueberrying the pancakes, Harry brought over a plate stacked high with pancakes, blueberries dotting the surface like constellations. Teddy got everyone a cup, Niko brought the juice to the table. They ate as a family, passing syrup and discussing the prehistoric period of dinosaurs, laughter blending with the rain pattering outside. And for a little while, Thea let herself pretend the weight in her chest wasn’t there—this was too important not to soak up.

After breakfast was finished and the boys had run upstairs to get dressed for the day, she lingered in the kitchen, washing the dishes and putting everything into the dishwasher. Harry came up behind her, slipping his hands around her waist in a moment that felt intimate, but also made her still.

“Go get dressed,” he said, voice low against her ear. “We’re taking a walk.”

Thea turned towards the window, noticing that the rain had slowed, but just to a small shower, “In the rain?”

Harry nodded, kissing her cheek before her backed away, giving her a small pat on her behind and walking towards the stairs, “The slow kind. The gentle kind. You like that.”

And he was right—he was always right.

After they had managed to get everyone dressed and ready for a walk in the weather, they walked to the park with umbrellas and wellies, the boys splashing in puddles, laughing so loud it startled a pair of geese. There was something magical about holding her husband’s hand and watching the way that their boys loved one another, and life itself.

Thea watched them from a bench under cover as they grabbed onto the wet monkey bars, Harry beside her with a hand on her knee.

“You’ve been quiet this morning” he murmured into her hair, pulling her into him

She let herself melt into him. “Just tired.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment; she could feel that he was wanting to ask a question. She didn’t make eye contact because she didn’t want to upset him or make him think that she was upset. She wasn’t. She was just…

“Any news?”

Thea stilled at his question, and Harry felt it immediately. His fingertips ran against her shoulder, as his head turned towards her, watching her profile.

“I took one this morning,” she told him quietly. “Negative.”

His arms tightened around her. Not in frustration or pity. Just presence.

“It’s only the second month,” he said, shrugging it off. “We’re okay, right? I mean, you’re doing okay with it?”

She nodded, but it wasn’t confident. “Yeah. I know—I’m fine. It’s just—it’s different this time.”

Harry turned her around to face him. His eyes searched hers, soft and steady.

“Well, I want you to know,” he said softly, holding her hands in his, “there’s no pressure from me. None. I don’t want this to weigh on you.”

“I know.” She reached for his hand. “But I want it. It’s just... harder to admit that when it’s not happening, especially because Teddy and Niko were so quick—I mean, I don’t even know that we really planned Niko.”

Harry nodded; a possible smirk trying to cross his face as he remembered the night that Niko was conceived—or the trip they had taken where Niko was conceived. It was unclear the actual date, but he knew that on the fourth day of the trip, he could barely move from how busy they had gotten with one another after being able to be alone for a week.

His eyes turned towards the boys. “Still feels early, doesn’t it? Like we just opened the gate, and maybe the timing is just… not right, right now.”

Thea could tell that Harry was trying to keep the positive mindset, which she appreciated to some degree. Everything he said was true, but she didn’t want to be hopeful right now—she would later, but not right now. Now, she just wanted a moment to feel sorry for herself; she wasn’t sure why.

“Yeah,” she said. “But I feel like I’m already behind, or that something is wrong.”

The wind tugged at her coat. He squeezed her hand, shaking his head.

“We’re not behind,” He told her confidently, “We have so many options if this is really what we want, and we’ll give it a year. If nothing happens, we’ll make sure that nothing is wrong and go another route. There’s no reason to give up on it when everything before has been fine.”

Everything he said was true, she knew that. She felt that—she felt him.

“Mum, look!” Teddy yelled, the boys ran towards them, breaking them out of their bubble before Thea and Harry put their façade back on. Teddy barreled towards them with a black obsidian rock, shiny and wet from the rain, Niko following behind with his wellies sloshing around the puddles.

“Wow!” Thea gave him exaggerated surprise and wide eyes as she looked at it, “Very beautiful, Bear.”

“You think that the dinosaurs saw this rock?” Teddy asked, rolling it around in his hands.

Thea breathed in, “Probably, are we bringing that home with us?”

Teddy nodded, setting the rock between Harry and Thea before the boys ran back out to the playground—they had been loving to pretend that they were knights with armor and swords, sticks in their hands as they let their imagination run wild. It was one of the best parts of parenting: watching their children have imaginations that grew and grew to the point of magical fantasy.

Thea felt the ping in her chest: it was guilt. Guilt that she had been feeling sorry for herself all morning and not taking in these small moments with her boys while they were in such a beautiful age; they were giggling and talkative, so brilliant, and completely independent on so many levels.

She bit her lip as she felt Harry pull her shoulders towards him, kissing her temple.

“Our life is so beautiful,” Harry reassured her quietly, “It can only get more beautiful.”

She nodded, licking over her lips as she felt a sting behind her eye. It could only get more beautiful.

That evening, after they had made, eaten, and cleaned up dinner, while the boys painted paper butterflies at the table, Thea watched them and wondered how long she would carry this mix of gratitude and longing.

Their boys were loud and beautiful and messy. There was so much love here, in the chaos. Still, she wondered what a third would look like seated between them.

Would they look more like Harry? Would they have her quiet streak, or be another storm of joy like Niko? Would they be inquisitive like Teddy?

Harry noticed her staring and smiled from across the table. He mouthed, "Still hopeful?" and she gave him a slow nod. It wasn’t all sadness. It wasn’t even grief yet. But it was something between the lines of waiting and wanting, and she didn’t know how to carry it except with both hands open.

Later, while the boys built a fort out of couch cushions and old blankets to wind the night down with a film, Thea went upstairs to get their nighttime routines started. She wasn’t avoiding Harry—not really. She just needed a few moments to herself, to sort through the dull ache of disappointment that clung to her ribs like cobwebs.

She remembered when they'd first talked about a third baby, curled up together after one of Niko’s rare full nights of sleeping in his own bed. They had made such a deal of it; letting their own thoughts merge back together as a couple and not just as mum and dad.

"What if we went for three?" Harry had murmured, his hand tracing lazy shapes on her bare back.

She'd laughed, breathless and stunned. "Three? You sure?"

"I'm sure," he'd whispered into the darkness, still being able to see her eyes at their proximity. "I could do this forever with you."

And she’d wanted it too. Another little voice in the house, another pair of chubby arms flung around her neck. They had waited until things settled—until Teddy was in school, until Niko was potty-trained, until her work schedule became more flexible. They had waited for the perfect time.

But the body doesn’t always follow the calendar.

She walked slowly through the boys' shared room, straightening rumpled blankets and stepping over LEGO mines on the carpet. On the shelf above Niko's bed was a framed photo of their family from last summer—Teddy with an ice cream mustache, Niko in Harry's sunglasses, and Thea squinting from the sun, her arms draped around them all.

She touched the frame gently. A pang tightened in her chest. How could there be so much fullness, and still, something missing?

Harry found her folding laundry at the end of the small bed. She was tucking one of Teddy’s dinosaur T-shirts into a drawer when she noticed that he had been standing in the doorway.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said. “We don’t need a test to tell us we’re doing something right. Look at those two tornados’ downstairs.”

Thea laughed through a tight throat. “They are a bit much.”

“You gave them to me,” he said, crossing the room now. He bent down in front of her, taking her hands into his as he looked up and saw her—really saw her. “And you’ll give us what we need now. However that looks. We just have to keep loving each other through it.”

She bit her lip before she leaned down and kissed him then, grateful. He always knew how to hold her together.

That night, once the boys were in bed and the house had gone still again, Harry lit the candle on her nightstand—the one that smelled like peonies and old books and really took in the scents of spring. Thea curled into him under the duvet; her head tucked beneath his chin as he rubbed her back, letting the silence of the room speak for a few moments.

He whispered stories about what summer looked like. Imagined their children running wild through a garden they hadn’t planted yet. He spoke as if it was already true, every detail vivid.

“And the baby?” she asked softly.

“They’ll be the loudest one of all,” Harry said softly. “Just like you.”

She smiled, even as her chest ached. Even as the rain began again against the windows.

The following morning, she woke to birdsong and the smell of coffee. Sunlight streamed in pale ribbons across the sheets. She rolled over to find Harry already dressed, hair damp from a shower, a mug in each hand as he gave her a tight smile. He knew she needed to be loved the most and doused in hope.

Hope, she thought again, is a kind of love. And today, they still had both.

+++

A few days later, the house cracked open at the seams more than either of them could handle in the moment. It was just before dinner, everyone home—Harry had gotten home from work just an hour prior, and things spiraled in the way only families with small children could truly understand.

Thea had spent the day with the boys; her part-time job at the library was helpful, allowing their childcare needs to be kept to a minimum. Harry was standing by the stove now, shirt sleeves rolled up as he prepared dinner, letting Thea handle the rest of the days chores—laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, and currently, vacuuming upstairs.

Niko had refused to wear pants, again. This had been ongoing for quite a while, and Harry and Thea just let it go. But, he was currently screaming from the hallway floor, red-faced and sweaty, because Teddy had told him all the dinosaurs had died. Teddy, now sulking and having emotional turbulence himself, crossed his arms at the kitchen table and shouted back at his brother that he was just telling the truth, and if Niko didn’t like it, he could go play with someone else.

Niko screeched loudly, tears staining his cheeks as he threw a toy truck at Teddy—who matched in the screeching.

Harry, elbow-deep in a boiling pot of pasta, turned sharply to the table. "Enough, both of you! That is not how we talk to each other,” He pointed his finger, “No hitting, Nikolai.”

His voice cracked like a whip across the room. The sound was sharper than usual—too loud, too angry, almost like he was at the end of his tolerance.

“Theodore, go to your room, now.”

Teddy’s face crumpled at the suddenness of his dad’s words; it was more of the shock that scared him. He shoved his chair back with a screech and bolted down the hallway, up the stairs, and slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Niko hiccupped once, startled out of his tantrum, and stared at the kitchen doorway. Thea stood there, her expression hard to read.

“Harry,” she said softly. Too softly—it was the kind of tone that meant trouble. He shut his eyes for a moment. He turned, already sighing.

“I didn’t mean to shout like that, but—”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “But they’re kids. And you scared them. You scared me a little, too,” She shook her head, “You don’t talk like that.”

He blinked, chest rising and falling, guilt rising fast as he looked down the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, running a hand down his face. “I just—I’m tired. And everything was loud, and it’s been a long day and—”

She crossed the room, touched his hand gently. “I know. I really do. But we have to be better than that. We’ve always said we would be.”

He looked at her, eyes tired, shoulders slumped. There was such a growth about Harry that she couldn’t pinpoint; he looked older, hair shorter but mature, the softness of his features was starting to fade from the young memories that she held of him.

He wasn’t just a young, cocky boy who she fell in love with anymore. She knew there were aspects of him that would come out every once in a while; she loved the way he spoke to her in their intimate moments that reminded her of their youth.

But then there was this Harry. The father she had made of him; the husband she had turned him into. There was a softness to him now, one she couldn’t explain.

“I just don’t want them to think they can’t make mistakes. I want them to feel safe. I messed that up—I’m sorry.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he shook his head.

Thea leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Then go fix it.”

He nodded and set the spoon down, brushing his hands on a towel to dry them before heading up towards the boy’s room.

Moments later, she heard him knock on Teddy’s door. It didn’t open right away. But then it did; she heard the softness of the words, not the specifics. Harry got down on one knee next to the boy’s bed where he had been hiding under the covers, and apologized like he meant it, arms open, heart wide.

Teddy didn’t say much, but he hugged him tight.

Down in the kitchen, Thea scooped Niko into her arms and held him close, murmuring quietly that she was sorry he was sad, that daddy mean to yell. Her eyes met Harry’s over their boys’ heads as he returned.

It hadn’t been a perfect way to handle a situation, but it had been real. And sometimes, that was the kind of love that mattered most. The real moments.

That same night, after the boys had gone to bed and the house had fallen into a rare quiet, Thea and Harry curled up together in their bedroom. It wasn’t a scheduled night—it was just a night to them. There was something about the hush that made everything feel closer, more tender. The soft lights of the lamp on the bedside table illuminated around the headboard, a glow of amber giving the room a romanticism.

Thea shifted beneath him, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw as he kissed a slow, familiar path down her neck, his knee guiding her thighs apart. It had been weeks since they’d had a night like this—no interruptions, no exhaustion that overtook them first. It was just time; it was just them together.

The boys had gone to sleep quite quickly, which allowed this to be sought after time.

He moved with care, every touch reverent, as if reacquainting himself with every inch of her skin. Her shirt had long since been discarded, his hands beneath her thighs, mouth brushing over her breastbone as he let his hands wander to the edge of her shorts.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he whispered against her, and she hummed in agreement, arching toward him. Her hands knitted through his hair as she giggles just a bit at the softness of his kisses.

Just as he began to slide his hands down the waistband of her pajamas, a soft whimper echoed through the hallway. They both froze.

Another cry, a sniffle. It was closer now, but then there was a tiny knock, then the creak of the door opening.

“Mummy?”

Niko stood there, hair mussed, clutching his favorite stuffed monkey. His bottom lip wobbled, and tears were filled in his eyes like earlier, but he looked completely broken and needing like a hurt puppy.

“I had bad dream.”

Thea blinked, chest rising with a silent, exasperated laugh. Harry rolled off her, falling back against the pillows with a groan muffled by a grin as he pulled the blanket around himself.

Thea had the blanket thrown against her chest as she sat up a bit and took in a deep breath, calling the smaller boy over, “Come here, love.”

Niko climbed into the bed without hesitation, crawling right between them. He snuggled into Thea’s side on top of the blanket as she held him close, and sighed dramatically; his warm cheek pressed to her arm.

Harry turned onto his side, gently brushing the boy’s hair back. “Scary dream? Loud dream?”

“There was a shark in the garden,” Niko murmured, thumb moving to his mouth, but Thea moved it away gently; they had been trying to break the thumb sucking habit.

Thea kissed his head, letting him fall into her touch. “That’s terrifying. We’ll make sure it doesn’t come back tomorrow, okay?”

Niko nodded sleepily, snuggling into his stuffed monkey, just a soft voice speaking out. “Thanks.”

Within minutes of having his hair brushed, he was out again, breathing soft and even.

Harry met Thea’s gaze over Niko’s head. She was laughing silently now, face buried in the crook of her elbow.

Harry sighed and mouthed, “We were so close.”

Thea reached out, lacing her fingers through his. “Rain check.”

He squeezed her hand, smiling at the ceiling. “I guess you’re worth the wait.”

And somehow, even with a squirming toddler wedged between them and desire shelved for another night—it still felt like everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

Like Harry had mentioned before, they weren’t on a ticking clock. These small moments reminded them of that; to enjoy what they had in front of them. And while the night would be full of toddler kicks, and no space in the bed, Thea would soak in every single minute.

Summer

Thea felt the change in the air before she marked it on a calendar. The lilacs were gone, replaced by the buzz of bees in lavender and the tang of sunscreen on small shoulders as she prepared the boys for another day swimming in the blow-up pool in their backyard.

Summer had arrived quietly, not with a bang but with a sigh, and the long, warm days brought with them a particular kind of expectation.

The ovulation calendar on the fridge had more marks on it now, just a few months later. Little hearts, red dots, their hopeful stars in the corners. Thea had begun logging symptoms in her phone, charting basal temperatures, listening to podcasts about fertility over breakfast while the boys painted at the kitchen table.

Even Teddy had started calling the stickers on the calendar her "wish stars," not knowing the weight each one carried. Niko tried to peel one off and stick it to his forehead once, giggling until she laughed too hard to stop him.

She didn’t want it to consume her. But it had begun to trickle into everything they did.

Every cramp, every headache, every mood swing felt like a message from her body she couldn’t quite translate; it was always a reminder that she was failing. Hope made her hyper-aware. Disappointment made her mute.

And in between it all, she clung to the gentle routines of motherhood, wiping sticky fingers and tying shoelaces, brushing crumbs from the table and kissing Niko's knees after falls. Folding laundry while Harry read to the boys in the next room, making grocery lists while thinking about due dates that never appeared.

But then there was the aspect of being a wife; being a partner. Harry was there through it all, and she knew that every movement, every word spoken between them had been calculated to what had been going on behind the scenes of it all.

It was as if there were two tracks in her mind—the life she was living, and the one she was waiting for.

She couldn’t have been more grateful for Harry if she tried; Harry tried to keep things light. He cracked jokes during scheduled intimacy by letting her know that her that she was late to her appointment with the love doctor, teased her gently about their shared Google calendar reminders, cooked elaborate meals to distract her when the test was negative again in early June.

He even baked a lemon cake from scratch. He picked peonies from the neighbor’s yard because he knew she loved them and wanted her to smile when she woke up. He made a playlist titled "Hopeful and Horny" and played it while they folded laundry, wiggling his hips until she finally cracked a laugh. He wore ridiculous boxer shorts with tiny hearts on them one morning and strutted around like a runway model just to get a smile.

She loved him for it; she did. But she could see the worry in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. In the way his hand lingered on her lower back, as if he could soothe something inside her just by touch. The way he watched her when she wasn't watching him.

"Maybe it’s the timing," she offered one night, their limbs tangled under the ceiling fan, sweat glistening between them after their scheduled session. "Maybe we’re just missing it by a day or two."

"Or maybe we’re just tired right now," Harry said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her temple. "And this is going to happen when we’re not looking."

But they were always looking. Every cycle was a countdown; every day was crossed off the calendar waiting for a new one. Every month another chance, another test, another quiet ache of disappointment when she got her period. And underneath it all, there was the pressure to stay soft with each other and to not let the want harden them.

It wasn’t helpful that they were both stressed; there were many arguments—stupid ones, nitpicking and petty. Ones about milk left out or who forgot to switch the laundry from the day before, so they had to run it again. But they weren’t really about the left-out milk or undone laundry. They were about pressure, unspoken and constant. A weight pressing down even on the days that felt easy.

Harry and Thea weren’t like this; they had never fought about anything. But now, they got under each other’s skin.

One afternoon, Thea snapped at Harry for letting Niko eat too many popsicles before lunch.

It wasn’t a big thing, really, just one of those tired, half-hungry moments where words came out too sharp and fast. She had been unloading the dishwasher, the sink still full from after breakfast, when she noticed the empty plastic wrappers tossed on the counter.

She counted three of them when she held them out to Harry.

“Seriously?” she said, eyes narrowing. “You let him eat all of those? He’s not going to touch his lunch now.”

Harry had barely looked up from where he was drying off a sippy cup. “He’s three. He wanted something cold.”

“That’s not the point.” Thea narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head.

Harry shrugged, placing the cups back in the cabinet. “Well, I didn’t think it’d ruin his entire appetite.”

“It’s not about ruining his appetite, it’s about boundaries. You can’t just give in because it’s easier,” She didn’t want to raise her voice, “I also told him no.”

That was when Harry set the cup down with a little too much force, the clatter echoing through the kitchen; Thea stilled. “You know what?” he said quietly, and then louder—“Sorry I’m so fucking incompetent.”

He didn’t slam the door when he left, but the silence that followed was louder than anything he could have said. Thea didn’t follow right away, almost shocked by the way that he spoke. She stayed in the kitchen, breathing through the heat rising in her chest. She knew she’d been too harsh. It wasn’t really about the popsicles.

It never was.

Ten minutes later, she stepped outside with the screen door creaking behind her.

The sun was high and bright, hanging heavy in the sky like it couldn’t be bothered to move. The air was thick with honeysuckle, warm and heady, the scent curling lazily in the breeze. Cicadas droned in the background. Somewhere, a lawnmower hummed distantly; the boys were in the small pool in the back, one that Harry had set up for them that morning and they never left in the summer.

She found him at the edge of the yard, shirtless, knee-deep in the garden bed. He was yanking weeds with tight, angry fists, tearing them straight from the roots like they’d wronged him personally. His back glistened with sweat, the muscles beneath his shoulder blades shifting with each pull. His hair clung damp to the back of his neck.

The flower beds were a mess now; half-dug up, soil scattered in uneven mounds across the grass. Clumps of earth clung to his forearms, his knees. One of the tomato cages was bent at an awkward angle, shoved aside in his frenzy.

It was like something had needed breaking, and this was the only thing he could break without consequence. She stood quietly for a moment, arms crossed over her chest, watching him. He didn’t acknowledge her; he just kept pulling.

“I didn’t mean to snap,” she said eventually, squinting in the warm June sun, her voice softer than it had been in the kitchen. “It’s just… I get overwhelmed, you know.”

Harry paused, breath caught in his throat. He didn’t turn around, and just let the weeds fall from his hand and dropped back on his heels.

“I know,” he said, voice low and rough, nodding. “Me too.”

Thea took a step forward, the grass warm beneath her bare feet. She crouched beside him, not touching him yet. Just sitting in the wreckage of their backyard garden, the heat of the day pressing against their skin like a held breath.

“Let’s not fight about popsicles,” she murmured, grabbing at some of the weeds he had been throwing.

Harry gave a tired, huffed-out laugh, rubbing his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Then stop talking to me like I’m the fucking babysitter.”

Thea’s heart dropped; shaking her head as she tries to explain, “I wasn’t. I’m just tired. And you’re—”

“I’m tired too.”

They sat there, side by side, the dirt between their fingers and the silence between their breaths. Thea looked over at him—really looked this time. His jaw was tight, his hands raw from pulling, but his eyes were soft. Hurt. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at feeling like he couldn’t get it right.

And she understood that. God, she really did.

She reached out, brushed her fingertips lightly over the curve of his knuckles, dusted with soil and sweat that was caking it on. “You’re a good dad,” she said. “I wouldn’t be wanting you to have my third if I didn’t think that.”

Harry looked at her then, finally, and something in his shoulders released. Not fully, but enough for her.

“Yeah?” he asked.

She nodded with a confirmation. “Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m sorry.”

Their boys shrieked in the kiddie pool nearby, splashing and laughing as if the world were simple. For a moment, they just sat there, watching their children and breathing through the quiet. Then Harry reached for her hand. Their fingers were dirty and warm, and neither of them let go.

They didn’t really talk again until dinner; just letting their moods mellow out. And even then, it was just about what movie the boys wanted to watch afterwards. But something had eased in the silence. +++

A few weeks later, they decided that they needed to leave the house.

One of their ideas involved taking the boys to the beach for a weekend. It was a last-minute, summer escape to breathe something saltier than their house. Thea wore a white sundress, her hair braided back in a pretty French braid, and she smiled more that day than she had in weeks.

They built sandcastles, of course. Harry was the king at building sandcastles, being very articulate and being patient with the boys. Teddy buried Harry’s legs in the sand. Niko collected shells and gave Thea each one with a kiss to the back of her hand as they laid in the sun. They let the boys stay up past bedtime and ate fish and chips on the boardwalk, salt on their fingers and the sound of crashing waves in their ears.

Harry watched her splash in the surf with Teddy while Niko dozed on a towel. She looked radiant, so alive in the heat and wind, her laugh carried by the sea breeze. Something about being in the ocean and letting her hair down made even the tensest moment feel like it could be washed away by the salt water. Teddy clung to his mum’s side as they waded in the water, laughing when a big wave would come around.

To Harry, it felt like falling in love again. But not new love—deeper love, an earned love. A love that had been through the ringer.

That night, back at the rental house, she curled into him in bed, the scent of saltwater still clinging to her skin that had turned a darker shade of tan. The windows were open, the air warm and slow, cicadas humming outside along with the sounds of the water hitting the shores. She wore one of his old T-shirts and nothing else, and he knew without asking that she just wanted to be held.

A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, not doing much except moving the warm air around the room.

Harry had one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting against the dip of her waist. He was half-asleep, lulled by the sound of water and the sticky, slow rhythm of summer nights. His fingers idly traced the hem of the shirt she wore.

“You know what I miss?” she whispered into the darkness.

“Hmm?” He echoed; his eyes were closed as he just listened.

“Us. Just being us. Not planners or hopefuls or testers. Just... you and me.”

He rolled to face her fully. “Then let’s just be us tonight, huh?"

There was no rush. No sense of calculation or looking at the schedule and trying to understand how to track temperatures.

He leaned in and kissed her, slow and warm, like she imagined the ocean at night would feel if it washed up on her body. Her hand slid into his curls, and his fingers moved under the hem of the shirt to find her bare hip, the curve of her ass. Her breath hitched when he squeezed gently, and the kiss deepened, their mouths opening like they were starving for something that had been waiting just beneath the surface.

Thea shifted beneath him, rolling to her back, pulling him over her. The old mattress dipped with their weight, and the air between them sparked like a struck match.

Harry pushed the shirt up her torso, dragging it slowly so it bunched beneath her arms. He leaned down, kissed her sternum, her ribs, the underside of her breast, pausing to suck and mark her where tan lines had formed. She gasped softly, threading her fingers through his hair and holding him there, encouraging him to take more.

They weren’t in their heads tonight. There was no "should we" or "what if." Just a slow burn of want that felt familiar and feral and organically them.

He pulled her underwear down, slow, one side at a time as he shimmied them down her legs, letting his knuckles brush along the inside of her thighs. When she was bare, he sat back on his heels and looked at her with her legs spread open for him, chest rising and falling, flushed and already wet for him.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmured back at her, like it was something he hadn’t said to her in a while but had never stopped thinking.

She pulled him back down with a smile, one hand sliding into the waistband of his boxers. He gasped at the feeling of her hand around him as she helped him out of his own underwear, eyes fluttering as she pumped him; something dirty, something that didn’t happen very often nowadays. “So are you. Especially when you look at me like that, Styles.”

Their mouths met again, messier this time, hungrier with a need that neither of them had realized was built up. Her thighs wrapped around his hips, heels pressing into the backs of his legs. He slid into her with one slow, grounding thrust, and they both gasped at the sensation—how familiar and electric it still was, even after all this time.

They didn’t rush. His hips rocked into hers in long, rolling waves, her back arching to meet him. The headboard tapped softly against the wall, the rhythm of their bodies syncing with the pulse of summer outside. She clawed at his back, left little half-moon indents in his skin. He kissed her jaw, her throat, her collarbone—every place he used to know by heart.

At one point, he pulled out and flipped her over, hands gripping her hips as she buried her face into the pillow, muffling a moan when he slid back in. It was a little dirtier now, a little grittier—like how they used to do it on those college nights when they couldn’t get enough of each other. She smiled into the pillow at the familiarity that hadn’t been so frequent.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he grunted, his voice low and wrecked against the back of her neck. His hips snapped forward again, a little rougher this time, and he bit down on her shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her gasp and clutch the pillow tighter.

Every thrust dragged a moan from her throat, high and broken, her body rocking with the force of his pace. Her knees were wide, pressed into the mattress, back arched in offering. She was dripping around him, so wet he could feel it slick and hot down his thighs, the way her body gripped him like it didn’t want to let go.

His fingers dug into her hips, bruising almost, pulling her back to meet him as he drove into her, deeper each time. Skin slapped, wet and obscene, and the only sounds in the room were her panting, his groans, the creak of the bed, and the soft lapping of waves through the open window.

“Fuck—baby,” he growled, breath catching as she tightened around him; he knew the game she played. “Your pussy is so fucking good… always taking me so good.”

She whimpered, her voice gone high and desperate. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he panted, then leaned over her again, chest flush to her back, his hand sliding between her legs. He found her clit easily, fingers slick, and began circling it in slow, filthy little strokes. “Gonna come for me?” he murmured into her ear. “Let me feel you fall apart? Hm?”

Her reply was a choked cry, her hips stuttering, thighs beginning to shake as the pleasure built fast and sharp. His name spilled from her mouth again and again like prayer, like surrender to his dirty games, and then she shattered with a sob, pulsing around him in waves that made his own climax slam into him like a freight train.

He groaned deep in his throat, fucking her through it, losing rhythm, and finally buried himself one last time, spilling into her with a curse and a tremble. His whole body seized, mouth open against her damp skin, like the force of it had knocked the breath from his lungs.

He stayed inside her for a moment, pressed to her back, their bodies sticky with sweat, tangled in the sheets and each other.

Eventually, he slid out with a groan and collapsed beside her, chest heaving, arm falling heavy across her as she fell onto her side. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her breath still unsteady, a small, satisfied smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

The fan whirred around them. The waves kept rolling outside the open window. And the two of them lay there, ruined and warm and absolutely right, the scent of sex thick in the air and his cum slowly leaking down her thighs. Familiarly.

Then she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together, still catching her breath.

“That,” she whispered, smiling into the dark, “felt like us.”

Harry leaned over, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered back, “Still got it in us, apparently.”

Afterward, she cried. It was not loud, but it was after they had gotten ready for bed and everything got quiet again. Just tears that came from some tender place she hadn’t touched in a while. Harry didn’t ask her to explain; he didn’t need her to. He just held her tighter and let her soak the pillow with her fallen tears.

And in the dark, between breaths, they remembered how to feel like home.

+++

July crept in, hot and thick and with unnamed emotion. Their bedroom became a haven of fans and quiet music, a retreat from the weight of wanting. Even their kisses grew quieter, slower. Grief didn’t always roar, sometimes it was just a sigh.

Still, the tests stayed negative. Today was a difficult one; they were all difficult, but this seemed to rock Thea harder.

One evening, Harry came home with a bouquet of yellow roses, a new stack of books from a few authors that he knew that Thea liked, a bar of dark chocolate tucked in the bag, along with a new small bullet vibrator—that was just to be cheeky, but also to remind her.

“Just because,” he said, placing them beside her on the couch.

She looked up from the TV she had been watching in the quietness of the boys playing in their room, her eyes shining. “You always know what I need.”

“You need reminding that you’re loved. Not just on the two days a month we cross our fingers." He moved over to where she was sitting, flopping down next to her.

She leaned into him, head resting against his chest. The TV played some old movie neither of them were watching. His fingers threaded through her hair. Thea closed her eyes and let herself exist without expectation for a moment.

“Do you think it’ll happen?” she asked quietly.

He kissed the top of her head, speechless for a moment before he felt her settle into him. “I don’t know,” He told her truthfully, “But I hope.”

She nodded, but her throat caught.

+++

One Saturday morning in July, Thea met her sister Erika at their usual coffee shop—a small, airy place tucked beside the library, with ivy growing up the brick and mismatched mugs. Erika was already seated at their usual corner table, two iced lattes in front of her, a pair of sunglasses propped in her hair.

“You look tired,” Erika said bluntly, handing Thea a straw as she squinted up at her.

“Wow, thanks,” Thea replied dryly. She stirred her drink and took a long, needed sip. “You always know how to flatter a girl, huh?”

Erika grinned, unapologetic as she leaned forward. "It’s what sisters are for. So... how’s everything?"

Thea hesitated. She hadn't meant to bring it up. But something in her chest cracked the moment she saw her sister's familiar eyes—the ones that had known her before marriage, before babies, before grief had a name in her repertoire.

“We’ve… actually been trying,” she said finally, voice low. “For a third. But it’s not happening.”

Erika blinked almost blankly, like she hadn’t heard her at first. She reached across the table and squeezed Thea’s hand. “Oh, hon. How long?”

Thea nodded, swallowing hard, remembering the last few months. “It’s only been a few months. But it was so easy before. And now I’m doing everything—temping, tracking, testing. I feel like I’m on a timer all the time."

Erika was quiet for a beat. Then she said, “You remember how I got pregnant with the twins?”

Thea blinked, sighing. “By accident. On a cruise.”

“Exactly. Drunk on overpriced wine coolers and not a single ovulation app in sight. There may have even been a bit of ass play—”

Thea barked a surprised laugh to interrupt her sister, “Okay! I get it.”

“Point is,” Erika continued, “even when we’re doing all the ‘right’ things, bodies are weird. Mine decided to double down for no reason and yours is just... taking its sweet time. Doesn’t mean it won’t get there.”

Thea thought for a moment, nodding. “It’s just hard. I feel like I’m failing at something that should come naturally.”

Erika leaned back, holding her cold cup in her hands. “Thea, you’re raising two actual tiny humans who think you hung the moon. You’re not failing at anything. You’re human. And honestly, sometimes I think the people who try the hardest are the ones who love the deepest."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching a little girl chase a pigeon across the patio.

Erika added, more lightly, “Besides, you really want to be outnumbered? My twins colored on the cat last week. In Sharpie,” She took another sip, “Marshmallow has a green ass.”

Thea snorted into her coffee. “That helps. A lot."

“Good. Because even though I know you want three, it may not be happening for a reason beyond you.”

Thea gave her sister a soft smile, “So, how is being a mum of twins going?”

“I’m wearing yesterday’s dry shampoo and a shirt I stole from my husband, and a diaper."

They both laughed until tears prickled Thea’s eyes.

She reached for her sister’s hand again. “Thank you. Really. I just needed to say it out loud."

“Say it as many times as you need. You’re not alone. And if your uterus needs a pep talk, I have wine and several colorful metaphors ready."

“Deal,” Thea said, smiling genuinely now. “Big deal."

Her sister tipped her cup toward her with a smirk, eyebrows raised. “So. You and Harry, then. Still good?”

Thea lifted a brow herself, glancing at Erika for a moment before shaking her head. “What does that mean?”

Her sister grinned wickedly, leaning back in her chair. “Is he still as good in the sack as he was when you were younger? I was a little worried that’s why you stayed—don’t get me wrong, very glad he’s been the best dad to the boys, but you know.”

Thea laughed, covering her face with her hand. “Oh my god, stop.”

“What? I’m just saying—it was the only thing I couldn’t argue with. You two had that thing. Like, walls-shaking, might-die-of-lust kind of thing. Remember that holiday that we went on as a family and Harry came for the first time?”

Of course, Thea remembered that trip. It was when they were nineteen and full of love and lust and completely unbothered by the world around them. They had to be touching at all hours of the day, and she could barely walk through a doorway without Harry’s eyes trailing her. They had sex on every surface, anytime they were alone. She knew that her family could sense the glow that they both had. It wasn’t just the holiday tan.

“Yes,” Thea pulled her lips into her mouth, “I do remember.”

“Course you do, you were animals.” Erika joked. “Either way, I hope you still want each other like that.”

Thea rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. She swirled the latte, and stared out at the patio of the café, the warm breeze playing with the hem of her shirt.

There was a pause before she bit on the straw. “But… yeah. We still have that.”

Erika’s teasing faded a little, her tone softening. “Then maybe that counts for something. That you still want each other, after everything.”

Thea nodded slowly. “It does. Especially now. It’s like—when the rest of life feels too big, he’s still the only person I want touching me. Still the one who knows how.”

Erika touched her cup with her sister’s, this time in something like sisterly solidarity. “To good sex with the same person for a decade. Miracles do happen.”

Thea clinked her cup against hers and smiled back at her. “Cheers to that.”

As she drove home, the sun pouring in through the windshield and the iced latte sweating in her cupholder, Thea felt lighter. It wasn’t that anything had changed.

But the weight had shifted. Just enough for her to understand that. And for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was holding it alone.

Later that same weekend, Harry found himself at his mum’s for lunch—just him and his sister, Maeve, and the smell of roast chicken filling the kitchen like childhood. It wasn’t planned, not really. He’d dropped the boys off for a few hours to play with their cousins and stayed for tea, and then Maeve had shown up with a box of old books she wanted to donate.

They sat around the kitchen table, sunlight pooling on the floor, windows wide open to let in the breeze. His mum passed around plates of food while Maeve poured some water, chatting about her work and her daughter’s obsession with glitter glue.

“So,” his mum said after a lull in conversation, eyeing him over her glasses, “how’s Thea? She looked a little run-down last time I saw her.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, not sure if he was wanting to bring up in conversation what had been going on at their house. He figured that between his mum and sister, they should have an opinion on it—he didn’t really know if he wanted them to, but he figured he could test it anyways.

“She’s fine, tired,” Harry said gingerly, tentative before he smirked upwards, “We’ve been trying again. For a third.”

Maeve nearly choked on the sip of her water. “You mad bastard.”

“Thanks for the support,” Harry muttered, smirking. He picked at the corner of his plate, reluctant to look either of them in the eye.

His mum reached across and touched his wrist. “You don’t have to tell us, love.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just... not going the way it did before. Not as quick. And it’s hitting Thea a bit hard.”

Maeve softened immediately seeing her brother’s reaction. “That’s rough. I get it. It’s not just a want, is it? It becomes this... ache.”

Harry nodded, taking in a large inhale. “She’s doing everything right. Temping, charts, the apps, all of it. And I can’t do anything but show up when the calendar tells me to. I feel like... I don’t know. Useless.”

His mum gave a sad little smile, tilting her head. “That’s because you love her. Watching someone you love carry something heavy—especially something you can’t fix… it’s awful.”

Maeve leaned forward towards him. “You’re not useless, H. You’re the anchor. You’ve always been the one people lean on. Just keep being that. And for God’s sake, let her cry without fixing it. That’s the trick.”

Harry cracked a grin. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“I have three, so I know how it feels—it feels like when there’s a gaggle of geese and one is chasing you, the other is squawking, and the other is flapping its wings.”

They all laughed, low but communal, the kind of laugh that came from knowing too much.

His mum let her hands rest on his wrist as he stared at the table, wondering if he wanted to talk about it—or why he felt so lonely talking about it. “Three’s a lot. But if anyone can do it, it’s you two. Just don’t forget to be kind to each other while you wait.”

He nodded again, quietly grateful.

As he packed up to leave, Maeve slipped a chocolate bar into his pocket.

“For Thea,” she said. “And maybe a bit for you.”

When he got back to the house, the boys were still napping, and Thea was on the couch with a book he had gotten her. He kissed her forehead and tucked the chocolate beside her without a word. She looked up, surprised, and he just shrugged.

+++

In late August, a heat wave struck. They abandoned the oven in favor of cold pasta salads and watermelon slices. The boys ran shirtless through the sprinkler all day. Harry built blanket forts and read them stories by flashlight. They ate dinner on the floor, drank lemonade by the pitcher, and left chores undone.

Thea wandered the garden barefoot, letting the dirt cool her skin. Sometimes she stood at the edge of the tomato patch and whispered prayers into the wind. Not always to a god, most of the times, sometimes just to the universe, or to the cells in her body.

Once, she found a ladybug on her finger and cried like it was a sign. She cried more often now. In the car. In the shower. When she saw a stranger with three kids at the grocery store. When Niko asked, innocently, if their next baby could have red hair like the doll in the book she had been reading for bedtime.

But she still laughed, too. Still found Harry in the doorway of a room and thought how lucky she was.

Thea didn’t stop hoping—not yet. But she began to ask new questions:

What if this was it? Could she be happy with two? Was she less if her body didn’t give them another?

She didn’t voice them aloud—not yet. But the questions lived in the quiet.

And Harry, he was always there. A constant hand on her back. A note left in her coat pocket. An extra strawberry on her plate because he knew she’d give the first to Niko when he asked. He didn’t push her. He didn’t rush her. He just stayed. And loved her. They hadn’t given up. Not yet.

But something had shifted between them all. The heat of wanting had become something heavier; something deeper. It wasn’t desperation, no, it was devotion.

Autumn

September arrived with a crispness in the air and a hush that seemed to stretch out across the days. The trees began to tinge with color—burnt oranges, golds, and rusts—and the evenings came earlier, curling into their home like a familiar guest. Thea loved autumn, always had. But this year, it felt different. Like the world was letting go of something she was still trying to hold.

One thing that had hit her the hardest was Teddy starting school. Being six, he was starting his first year of primary and there was such a hole in her heart that she hadn’t even been paying attention to.

He wore his new shoes with pride, his backpack bouncing behind him as he ran ahead to his classroom. Harry helped him pack his small backpack the night before, giving him his bath, his pep talks on how to meet new friends.

Thea stayed strong until the car door closed, and then she cried—harder than she expected. Not because she was sad, exactly, but because she felt too many things at once: pride, joy, loss, and that quiet ache that never quite went away with a child growing up. She sat in the driver’s seat with the radio off, her coffee growing cold, remembering the way his hand had slipped from hers without hesitation.

The silence in the house that afternoon was its own kind of heartbreak. Niko played quietly on the rug with his trucks, not asking where his brother was, as if he instinctively knew this was something that would happen now—or he didn’t want to upset Thea. Thea folded Teddy’s little uniform shirts from the drying rack, smoothing them flat with shaking hands, and felt the shape of his growing up press against her chest like a bruise.

She didn’t regret it. She was proud, of course, but she missed him terribly.

Niko turned four the following week—another moment that hit her harder than expected. They threw a party in the backyard with blue balloons and a dinosaur cake with kids and parents from Niko’s play group.

She was smiling, but her eyes were far away—watching Teddy grow too fast, Niko turn another year older, and herself fall behind in a race she never meant to enter. She wanted to freeze this moment: Harry rolling in the grass with Nerf guns, Niko roaring with cake on his face, Teddy trying to explain paleontology to a three-year-old. But time didn’t freeze; it only marched on, quicker.

And that ache in her chest stayed right where it was, nestled between joy and longing.

+++

One evening, after the boys were asleep and the dishes were done, Thea joined Harry on the front porch. In the evenings, he had been sitting out here and reading his books; she let him sit in silence for a bit, he deserved it after working all day. The air was sharp with the scent of fallen leaves, and she wrapped herself in a blanket as she settled beside him. Today, she wanted to distract him.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the crickets before he looked up from his book when she went to speak.

“I keep thinking,” she said softly, “what if this is it? What if it doesn’t happen?”

Harry didn’t answer right away; they sat on the swing that hung from their porch. He reached over, took her hand and took in a deep breath.

“Then we’ll raise two incredible kids and be grateful every day of that. And we’ll still build a life full of love and adventure. You and me,” He swallowed, clearing his throat, “It will take time to… move on from. But we’re the story, remember? We get to write it how we want it.”

She blinked fast, nodding. “I just thought... I don’t know. That I’d feel it. That I’d know when I’m done trying."

“You don’t have to know,” he said. “We don’t ever really have to stop, if you don’t want. We just have to come peace with the results.”

There had been a moment when Harry watched her carefully, seeing the sunken in features of her that looked like a ghost of who she was. Harry was never one to push; pushing her to do something never worked. But this wasn’t the woman he loved sitting next to him. This was a shell of her.

For the first time, Harry felt scared.

Then he asked, gently, “Are you okay?”

She blinked again, surprised by the softness in his voice, how close the question landed to the ache inside her. It took her a moment to answer him, because she tried to settle on an answer that felt correct.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think I keep saying I’m fine, so I don’t have to explain how tired I really am. It’s like my hope is a thread I’ve been holding too tightly. My hands hurt from it.”

He nodded, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Would it help to talk to someone? Like, someone besides me?”

She looked over at him, eyebrows drawing slightly together. Harry worried that he overstepped but then shook his thoughts about that away. He was doing the right thing.

“I mean it,” he added quickly, turning towards her. “Not because I think something’s wrong with you. But because I love you. And because sometimes the strong ones—”

“—need help too,” she finished his sentence, voice breaking a little.

Harry squeezed her hand at the break in her voice, noticing the tears in her eyes. “Yeah.”

She was quiet for a while, just listening to the crickets and the rustle of dry leaves across the porch steps.

“Maybe,” she said finally, nodding. “Maybe I do—maybe I need to.”

“Okay,” he said, quietly letting the word fill the space. “Then we’ll figure that out together.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, blanket tucked up to her chin.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t thank me for loving you,” he replied. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”

They stayed there until the air grew cold and the stars came out from behind the soft clouds that had come over the autumn sky, a shared silence between them that was heavy, but healing.

Later that night, after Thea had fallen asleep curled on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket from the porch, Harry stared at her for a moment before he grabbed his keys and drove across town to his mum’s house.

It was a quiet drive there, a thoughtful one. But his thoughts were so jumbled he wasn’t sure where to place them. After he had knocked on her door, she opened the door in slippers, eyebrows lifting at the sight of him.

“Harry?” she asked gently. “What is it?”

It was then that he realized he didn’t have an answer to the question. He didn’t know why he was there.

He just stepped inside and shook his head. “Sorry. I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

She didn’t ask questions right away, knowing that something was eating him up. As a mother, she just ushered him to the kitchen and turned on the kettle They sat at the table in silence, the low hum of the heat filling the room until the water boiled.

When she finally placed a cup of tea in front of him, he wrapped his hands around it but didn’t drink any of it.

“I don’t think Thea’s okay,” he said at last, voice low and rough. “She says she’s managing. And I know she wants to be. But I can see it eating her up. The waiting. The pressure. The heartbreak.”

His mum nodded, waiting.

“I feel so useless,” he went on. “Like I’m holding everything with frayed hands. Trying to be strong for her and for the boys, and at the same time, I’m terrified I’m doing it all wrong. I want to fix it. But I can’t. And it’s driving me mad.”

She reached across the table, laid a hand over his.

“Sweetheart,” she said softly, “you’re not supposed to fix her. You’re supposed to love her.”

“I do,” he whispered, eyes wet. “More than anything.”

“Then that’s what you do. You love her through this. And when she breaks down, you let her. You be the steady one—not the perfect one. The present one.”

Harry looked down, shoulders sagging with the weight of it. “I’m just scared.”

“I know,” she said. “But love is still worth being scared for.”

He let out a long breath, blinking fast at the way that he could feel the tears prickling the back of his eyes. Then nodded.

And for the first time in weeks, he let himself cry—quiet and unguarded. Not because he was weak. But because he loved so deeply, he didn’t know where to put it all.

He covered his eyes with his hands, feeling the sob catch up to him before he shook his head. His mum jumped from her seat to move towards him, letting him fall into a hug with her.

“Oh, Harry,” She held him as he cried; it wasn’t something that happened often enough for her to know how to handle. Her eyes shut as she rubs his back to quiet him. He let himself be someone’s son for a moment, not a father or a husband or a man trying to hold up the sky. “She’s going to be okay.”

Harry had come to the conclusion that he just didn’t know how to love anyone as much as he loved her. And he didn’t know how to handle the sadness that overcome her; it didn’t just affect her, it affected him. Everything that was happening to her was happening to him, and he didn’t know how to stop it—how to make it better.

She pulled back to look at him, brushing his hair out of his face the way she always had. “You keep showing up by staying soft, even when the world makes you want to harden. You keep kissing her forehead. You keep making the boys laugh. You keep doing the little things. That’s how we hold the people we love when they’re slipping.”

Harry wiped at his face with his sleeve, laughing under his breath. “I used to think I’d have it all figured out by now.”

“No one does,” she told him, definitely. “We just figure it out in pieces. And when the pieces don’t fit, we make room.”

They sat together in the quiet for a while, drinking tea that had long gone lukewarm.

Before he left, she packed him a container of stew and an old photo from when Teddy was born—Thea asleep in a chair with the baby on her chest, Harry bent over them, his face lit with awe.

“Just in case you forget what you’ve already done right,” she said, handing it to him.

By the time he pulled into the driveway at home, the lights were low in the living room. He walked inside to find the blanket had slipped off Thea’s shoulders. He tucked it back around her, brushing a kiss over her forehead.

She stirred just a little at the movement.

“You okay?” she mumbled, eyes still closed.

He settled beside her on the couch. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I am now.”

They fell asleep like that, tangled together, not knowing what tomorrow would bring—only that they’d face it side by side.

+++

At the end of October, Harry planned something small—just for them. He booked a night at a bed-and-breakfast two towns over, close enough that his mum could watch the boys.

They drove with the windows down, music playing softly, whatever Thea wanted. The trees were truly at their peak, fiery and full, and Thea let her hand drift through the air outside the car like a ribbon.

The inn was old and smelled a bit musty but had character that couldn’t be replicated, with creaky floors and quilts folded at the foot of the bed. They walked through a pumpkin patch that afternoon, laughing at the absurd shapes. They drank cider from paper cups. They touched fingers in the car like teenagers. All of it being a reminder of what they were, who they had been.

That night, after a dinner near the pier where they both had a little too much wine that they had to walk home, Harry gave her a small box.

Inside was a necklace: a delicate silver chain with three small stars—simple and shining like something made of quiet wishes.

“Two for the boys,” he said softly, pointing to it, “One for what we’ve hoped for. No matter what happens next, that part is ours too.”

Thea’s fingers trembled slightly as she pressed the stars to her chest. The gesture, the thought, undid her.

She didn’t speak. She just looked at him with eyes that had loved him through seasons of waiting, and kissed him, so slow and so sure.

It started gentle, it always did. The kind of kiss that said: I remember you. I still want you.

His hands were reverent, moving slowly over her arms, her sides, the curve of her back. She leaned into him, into the warmth of his chest, into the certainty of his touch. His mouth trailed down her jaw, his breath hot against her skin, and when she whispered his name, it was with a need that had nothing to do with making a baby—and everything to do with being seen as his wife. His partner.

He undressed her with care, as if it were something sacred. And when his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her underwear, she gasped, head tipping back. He murmured something quiet against her collarbone—something that sounded like “God, you’re everything”—and she felt her heart swell too big for her body.

They made love that night like it was a beginning instead of an end.

Like it wasn’t about schedules or trying for two lines on a test. It was just skin and breath and the kind of intimacy that comes from years of knowing someone in both silence and chaos.

She guided his hands, showed him where it ached and where it healed. He moved inside her with something close to awe. It was slow, deep, full of reverence and restraint, until restraint gave way to something hungrier. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders. Every kiss felt like a question of her sanity, every sigh an answer.

And when they came, it was together—trembling and breathless, her name on his lips like a promise.

Afterward, they laid tangled together, her head on his chest, the windows open to the rustle of leaves and the hum of crickets outside. The necklace still hung between her breasts, the stars catching faint moonlight.

Thea stared at the ceiling, letting herself feel all of it—the weight, the want, the wonder. The ache that had dulled, the love that hadn’t.

For once, she didn’t try to name the feeling. She just let it be.

The next morning, they lingered around the small room. Breakfast was warm cinnamon rolls and strong coffee, served in chipped floral China. Harry pulled a chair close to hers on the porch of the inn, both of them bundled in oversized sweaters. The sky was blue with the hint of winter in it; she could smell snow if she tried hard enough.

“We could do this more,” she said, watching the wind ruffle the bare branches of the trees that had lost all of it’s leaves.

“Get away?” He asked softly.

“Just... remember who we are. When we’re not parents. When we’re not hoping. Just us.”

Harry nodded, finishing his sip. “Let’s remember, then. Even when it gets hard.”

She reached for his hand, fingers cold but sure. “Let’s promise.”

They drove home in silence and song, windows down, the air biting but invigorating. When they returned home later that day, the boys barreled into their arms with sticky hands and glitter in their hair. Maeve reported bedtime disasters and cereal for dinner but said it with a smile.

As Harry carried their bags upstairs in the house, Thea lingered in the hallway, watching the boys chase each other down the stairs. She touched the star necklace at her throat.

Something about Thea had started to feel… happier. More put together. Maybe more alive than before. She had her ups and downs, but she knew the person who was there for them all.

Even in her darkest hour, she knew who was there.

+++

A few days later, they went out to dinner with friends—Ben and Lila, college friends who now lived two neighborhoods over, who had one baby and another on the way. Harry and Thea hadn’t been very good about meeting with friends, so they decided to reach out.

They met at a cozy Italian place downtown, the kind with candles stuck in old wine bottles and menus written on chalkboards.

Thea wore her favorite dress, the green one with the sleeves that made her feel pretty, and Harry had shaved and put on cologne. For a little while, it felt easy. They ordered drinks, shared appetizers, laughed over stories from years ago and what had been going on in their lives so far.

Thea wanted to be a good friend and ask about how the pregnancy was going, how excited they were. She tried to push herself to ask questions, to keep herself engaged. It wasn’t always about her, after all.

But then, halfway through dessert, Lila leaned in with a fond smile and said, "You guys are so good with your boys—I love seeing your posts online, they’re always so handsome and smart. Honestly, if anyone should have a big family, it’s you two."

Ben chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You’re the ones we looked up to when we started having kids," He took a sip of his whiskey, “Thinking of having more?”

Harry laughed softly, polite and tight-lipped. Thea managed a smile, knowing it was coming from a place of love. She reached for her wine glass to buy herself a second. "We’re... figuring things out."

“Of course you guys will,” Lila smiled, “Wouldn’t surprise me if it was sooner than later.”

In the moment, she watched Harry shift in his seat; it wasn’t really just an uncomfortable look, it was a bit of a… frustrated one.

The moment passed. Lila started talking about baby names, about the ones that she loved and was thinking of using—they were having a girl. Harry changed the subject, nonchalantly taking it back to asking about if they were putting their son in sports.

After dessert, they paid the bill. Said goodbye on the sidewalk with hugs and promises to do it again soon. The car was mostly quiet on the drive home. It wasn’t until they hit the main road that Thea spoke.

"Well, that was fun."

Harry kept his eyes on the road, lips tight as he tried to not say anything else. "Yeah. It was."

Another pause, the sound of the car on the road was the only silence they had. Then she whispered, "That comment didn’t bother you?"

He exhaled slowly. "Yep."

"I know they meant well," she said quickly, defending the moment. "I know. But—"

"It still hurt."

She turned her head to the window. "I felt like a defective doll. Like, 'Oh, of course they’ll have another soon.' Like it’s that easy."

Harry gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I wanted to say something. I just didn’t want to ruin the night."

"I get it. I do. But I’m so tired of pretending. Of laughing it off and then crying in the bathroom."

Harry reached for her hand. "You don’t have to pretend with me."

She looked at him then, eyes full.

"I know. But I feel like I have to pretend with everyone else. Like it’s shameful. Like I’m not doing my job as a woman or a mother or a wife—like I’m missing something."

He pulled the car into their driveway and shut off the engine. They sat in the quiet hum of the evening.

"You are doing everything," he said, turning toward her. "You are carrying the weight of hope and heartbreak every day. And I hate that people don’t see that. But I do. I see all of it."

She wiped a tear from her cheek and gave him a small smile. "Maybe next time I’ll just say, 'We’re infertile, but thanks for the vote of confidence.'"

Harry laughed, surprised. "Honestly, I’d pay to see that."

They walked inside together, not lighter exactly, but together. And that made all the difference.

+++

One evening in early November, over dinner with the four of them sitting at the table, Teddy put down his fork mid-bite and looked up at them with serious eyes.

“Where do babies come from?” he asked, as serious as he could be.

Thea nearly choked on her water, coughing into her napkin as Harry stopped chewing midbite as he stared straight ahead at his son.

“Wow,” Thea said, eyes wide as she looked at Harry, raising her brows at the suddenness of the question.

“Um,” Harry said, blinking fast, trying to understand where that had come from. “That’s... a great question, mate. Why are you curious?”

“Eli from school says his mummy has a baby in her tummy,” Teddy continued, completely serious, shrugging as he stabbed a bite of chicken. “He said it grew there because she kissed his dad a lot. And they got extra married. Like, twice or something.”

Niko laughed so hard milk came out of his nose. “Extra married!” he howled, pointing at his brother like it was the best joke he’d ever heard.

Harry pressed his lips together, trying not to grin. Thea, still red from her coughing fit, let the smile grow over her face.

“Oh my God,” she whispered to Harry. “Extra married.”

“I mean, I guess we’ve been slacking,” Harry said under his breath. “Only got married once.”

Thea nudged him beneath the table, still laughing. She wiped her mouth, took a deep breath, and met Teddy’s gaze.

“Well, that’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?” she said. “And not entirely wrong. Babies do grow in their mummy’s tummy, but it’s a bit more... complicated than kissing.”

“Like how complicated?” Teddy asked, squinting like he was gearing up for a quiz.

Harry jumped in, biting at his lip. “It’s like gardening, I think,” he said. “You need a seed and a place for it to grow, and lots of love and time.”

“Like when we plant tomatoes?”

“Exactly like that,” Thea said, thankful for the metaphor. “Except instead of dirt, the seed goes into the mummy’s tummy, and if it sticks and grows, then you get a baby.”

Teddy mulled this over. “Where do you get the seeds to grow babies?”

Thea's breath caught, eyes glancing at Harry before he clicked his tongue and shook his head to try and manage an answer for him.

“Eli’s dad probably bought them at the store.” Harry nodded before he took another bite. “They kissed a lot, got married again, and then put the seeds in his mum’s tummy. Boom. Baby.”

Thea smirked at his answer, nodding a few times before she caught his glance; his foot caught hers under the table.

“Do you want another baby?” Teddy asked suddenly, turning his wide, curious eyes on her.

She paused, looked at Harry before turning back to Teddy—glancing at Niko.

“We’d love another one,” she said honestly. “But we love what we already have. You, Niko. You both are everything to us, you know that?”

Harry leaned forward towards Teddy. “Sometimes we dream about one. That’s all.”

Teddy seemed satisfied with this; it was a moment that warmed Thea’s heart. He nodded and picked up his fork again. “Well, I hope the seed works. I want someone littler than Niko. He keeps sitting on my bed when I’m reading.”

“I do not!” Niko yelled at him.

“Yes, you do!” Teddy nodded.

Niko scrunched his nose, looking a little too much like Harry, “I’m guarding you!”

“From what? My books?!”

Dinner dissolved into giggles and squabbling and a heated debate about who had more green beans on their plate left. Thea leaned back in her chair, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Later that night, as they washed the dishes, Thea turned to Harry, elbow deep in suds.

“You were really good with that,” she told him, leaning her cheek against him.

“I blacked out a little,” he replied, drying a plate. “Pretty sure I compared conception to salad.”

She laughed again, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for planting your seeds in my garden.”

+++

A week later, they sat in the doctor’s office, Thea clutching a clipboard of intake forms, Harry bouncing his knee up and down like a drumbeat.

It had taken months to admit it was time to ask for help. Something about the dinner with Teddy had set a moment in Thea’s heart; maybe it was time. Now they were here— blue walls, waiting room magazines, a tray of paper cups in the corner.

They were there for testing, making sure that everything was normal. The tests weren’t painful, just drawn out and took a lot of energy between the two of them.

Blood work, hormone panels, and ultrasounds. Harry gave his sample in a room with posters that made him blush and a nurse with a very professional tone; something very demeaning that he couldn’t think too much about. Thea tried to make him laugh about it, but she could only get a smile.

Thea had never felt so clinical in her own body. She smiled politely, and she thanked people too much each time they came in and out of the room. She counted the tiles on the ceiling and avoided making eye contact with herself in the mirror afterward.

When they returned to the office for all their results two weeks later, Thea felt her stomach twist into a thousand little knots at the answers. The doctor, kind-eyed and composed, sat across from them and cleared her throat with her clipboard—their fate sitting in her hands, literally.

"I want to start off by telling you that everything looks normal," she said. "Which, in a way, is good news.” The doctor gave them a smile, Harry side-eyed Thea for a moment as he watched her shoulders loosen from the news. “But it also means we don’t have a clear answer. This happens sometimes. We call it unexplained infertility."

Thea stared at the table, fingers twisting in her lap. Harry reached over, squeezed her knee.

"So, what does that mean?" he asked, shaking his head, “Or where do we go from here?”

"It means your bodies are doing what they should—all of Thea’s numbers are correct, your sperm count is at perfect levels for conception. But for some reason, conception isn’t happening naturally. You’re still young, and there are options. There are many paths to growing a family, and we obviously want to make sure that you are able to grow that family."

They nodded, dazed.

Thea swallowed hard. She wanted to say something, to ask the right question, to be the kind of person who knew how to advocate for herself in moments like this. But her mouth felt dry, and her thoughts were tangled. She glanced sideways at Harry, who was still staring at the doctor, brow furrowed, jaw tight.

“So, what now?” he asked again, this time more softly.

The doctor leaned forward, her voice calm and measured as she could tell that there may have been some frustration. “There are several options. We can begin with intrauterine insemination—less invasive than IVF, and sometimes successful after just a few rounds. If that doesn’t work, IVF is the next step. And of course, there’s also the path of adoption, if you’d prefer to pursue something non-medical. None of these are easy, but all are valid.”

Thea looked down at her hands. She hadn’t realized her nails were digging into her palm.

“Is it… is it my fault?” she whispered, not meaning to say it aloud.

The doctor’s face softened at her, shaking her head. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s no one’s fault. Please hear me when I say that—this isn’t about blame. It’s about biology, timing, and sometimes things we don’t fully understand yet,” The doctor licked her lips and gave her a pressing smile, “But we have modern medicine, and we have ways to help you.”

Harry turned to her, his expression suddenly raw.

“Thea,” he said quietly, trying to grasp where she was.

“But we did everything,” she murmured, her voice cracking, almost unsure of the uncertainty of the unexplained. “All the right things. The tracking, the testing. The vitamins. The no caffeine. The waiting. The prayers. And still…”

The doctor tried to meet her eyes, “Sweetie, you’re not a failure.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t cry in front of this woman in a lab coat who was holding all their quiet heartbreak in a manila folder. After a moment, Harry looked at the doctor and she gave him a tight smile.

“I’m going to give you both some space,” the doctor said gently, “Take your time. When you’re ready, I’ll have my nurse bring in a referral packet, and we can walk you through what the next steps might look like—if and when you're ready,” She held the file close to her, “If it’s not today, that’s okay. We’re here for when you are.”

The door clicked shut behind her. Thea stared at the floor.

Harry exhaled. “We’re still us,” he said, as if that mattered more than anything else. “We still have our boys. We still have each other.”

“I know,” she said. “But it’s just not how I pictured it. I thought it would be… like, what the fuck? Unexplained infertility? How is it unexplained? How—it just feels like I’m failing.”

He shook his head, unable to come up with an explanation of the unexplained. “You’re not failing, baby.”

She looked at him finally. Really looked. His face had softened, but there was a heaviness around his eyes. He was trying to be strong, for her, for them. She could see it.

“Can we not tell anyone yet?” she asked, grabbing her purse. “About the results. About this appointment. I just want to keep it… between us. For a little while.”

“Of course,” he said. “For as long as you need.”

She squeezed his hand. It didn’t feel like closure. Not yet. But it felt like something real. A place to start from. Or start all over again.

But life went on, and being a mum and dad went on.

That night, after dinner, the house felt unusually quiet. Thea was wiping down the counters while Teddy and Niko chased each other through the living room in socked feet, their laughter echoing off the walls. She looked up when she realized Harry wasn’t with them—he was usually the one dragging out bedtime with tickle fights and extra storybooks.

But the boys said he’d gone to “get something from the garage.”

Thea was a bit confused by Teddy’s statement, but she shook her head as she continued the nighttime chores. She finished loading the dishwasher, washing the dishes in the sink. She waited for a while—noticing that the time went from 7 to 7:30. Five more minutes. Then, ten. Twenty. She checked the bathroom. His office. He hadn’t come back.

Nothing.

Her heart started to thrum uneasily as she saw the light on in the unattached garage. Her heart stopped for a moment before she decided to make her way out there. The temperatures had dropped significantly from October to November, and it was quite chilly.

She slipped outside of the door, telling the boys to get upstairs to their room before she got back. The night cool against her skin and padded barefoot across the stone path toward the garage. She pushed open the side door slowly, it was ajar, and there he was.

Harry stood by the workbench, shoulders slumped, head bowed, a bottle of whiskey next to a half-empty glass. He swayed slightly where he stood, like gravity had become a little heavier. There was a second glass beside the first—unused, forgotten. The scent of alcohol lingered in the room, sharp and earthy, cut with motor oil and sawdust.

“Harry?” Thea said softly. He didn’t turn around; didn’t show any signs of acknowledgement before.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, which of course meant he wasn’t.

She stepped closer, a step at a time. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He gave a hollow laugh, but it was short-lived. “Yeah. Sorry. I just—couldn’t do bedtime tonight. I—I couldn’t.”

She looked at the bottle. Then at him.

“Are you drunk?” she asked him gently, taking in a breath. Her hands dug into her back pockets of her jeans as she approached him.

He exhaled sharply, like he wasn’t sure whether to lie to her. She could tell that tried to come back to the world, he swallowed and responded with raspy breath. “A little.”

Thea’s heart thumped louder. “The boys asked for you.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I know, and I hate that I wasn’t there.”

He turned around then—his eyes bloodshot, lips parted, flushed in a way that wasn’t just from the whiskey. He looked like someone unraveling at the seams.

“I hate this,” he said again, his words slurred but sharp with feeling. “I hate that you have to go through all this, and I’m just standing on the sidelines. I hate that I can’t take the pain or the tests or the pressure off your shoulders. I hate how small I feel in all of it. How powerless.”

Thea moved to him quickly, her hands finding his arms, grounding him.

“You don’t have to do it all,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be the answer. You’re supposed to be with me. That’s it.”

He leaned into her like a man giving up the last of his weight. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling how unsteady he was—physically, emotionally.

“I wanted to be the easy part,” he murmured into her hair. “I wanted to be the one thing in your life that didn’t feel like a fight.”

She pulled back enough to cup his cheeks, her thumbs brushing the warmth of his tear-stained skin. “You are, Harry. You are the easy part. This? This is just life. And I’d rather live it with you falling apart than pretending to hold it all together until you snap—we will figure this out.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead resting against hers. “I’m scared I’m going to lose you.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m scared I’m going to lose me too.”

They stood like that, swaying gently, in the soft, alcohol-sweet air of the garage. He was shaky and tired, and a little drunk, but present—and for Thea, that was enough.

“Please don’t turn to this.” She told him, pleading, begging as she pushed the glasses and the whiskey bottle away. “This—we aren’t going to do this, okay?”

Harry’s jaw was tight as he nodded into her. Tears burned in his eyes; he felt like shit, he looked like shit. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry, and he couldn’t think of a better way to make the pain go away.

Eventually, she guided him back into the house, one arm around his waist, the other holding his hand. The boys were in their room, the house dim and quiet—she tried to make it unknown that he was in the house, she didn’t want the boys seeing him like that.

She helped him sit on the edge of their bed, pulled his shirt off over his head, and kissed the top of his shoulder.

“Just go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll take care of bedtime.”

Harry nodded, his hand still clasped in hers. “Thanks for finding me.”

“Always,” she whispered back to him. “Loving you is my favorite thing to do.”

Winter

December came with a stillness, as if the world was holding its breath.

Frost clung to the windows each morning, and Thea found herself waking earlier than usual, just to sit in the silence before the boys filled the house with their usual noise. She would wrap herself in Harry's sweatshirt, sip her tea by the window, and watch the steam dance.

They hadn’t made a decision yet. Not about IVF. Not about adoption. Not even about stopping. It was a liminal space—a pause that felt both peaceful and terrifying. But the urgency had eased. The need to solve something had softened into something quieter.

Thea no longer tracked every temperature or symptom. The ovulation stickers were gone from the fridge. Her body, for the first time in a long while, belonged only to her.

The holidays were noisy and sweet in all the best ways. The house constantly smelled like cinnamon and pine, and the stereo kept skipping halfway through Harry’s White Christmas CD because Niko had jammed a raisin into the CD slot.

Teddy made lopsided ornaments at school out of popsicle sticks and sequins, proudly hanging them in clumps on the same branch until it sagged under their weight. Niko got caught chewing on the corner of a salt dough snowman craft that Thea had sat down to do with the boys, the white paint smudged on his lips like frosting and cried when Thea took it away.

There were snowball fights in the front yard until the boys’ cheeks turned pink and Thea had to coax them back inside with promises of marshmallows. There were flannel pajamas all around and matching socks that never stayed on. Harry read The Polar Express by the glow of the Christmas tree while the boys curled into their parents’ sides, eyes heavy with sleep.

Every night ended in drinking cocoa—thick and too sweet, with whipped cream mustaches and sugar highs that led to pajama dance parties in the living room. It was chaos, sticky and warm, and somehow it felt like magic, even with the mess, even with the exhaustion. Especially because of it.

Thea wanted her boys to feel that magic that had been so drained from them for so long.

One night, just a few days before Christmas, the house finally stilled.

The boys were asleep upstairs, their soft snores crackling faintly through the baby monitor on the side table. Outside, snow drifted in lazy spirals beneath the porch light, collecting in hushed white piles. The tree lights glowed dimly in the corner, casting golden halos against the walls. A fire popped in the grate, low and comforting.

Thea lay stretched along the couch, her socked feet tucked beneath Harry’s thigh. A half-finished cup of tea rested on the coffee table, steam no longer rising. Harry’s arm was draped behind her, his hand lazily curling through the ends of her hair. They didn’t need to talk. The silence had a weight to it that felt intimate, not empty. Safe.

“I love you more now than I ever have,” Thea said softly, her voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

Harry turned to look at her. His brows furrowed slightly, not from confusion but from the intensity of hearing something he didn’t know he needed.

“I mean it,” she added, her voice steady now. “Not just in the easy moments. But in the ones where we don’t know what comes next. You make the not-knowing feel okay.”

His throat worked around the emotion building there. He didn’t speak at first. Just studied her face like he wanted to remember it exactly how it looked—soft and honest in the glow of the lights, with her sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder and her fingers curled near her chin.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead—slow, reverent, lingering.

“That’s all I want, Thea,” he murmured. “For us to feel okay. However this looks.”

She blinked up at him, eyes shimmering slightly.

“It’s not always going to be glitter and gingerbread,” she said; her eyes felt the burn of a few tears as she stared at the Christmas tree. “I just… I just have these moments where I get sad that this is what I was made for, and I—I feel like I don’t know how to feel.”

He smiled faintly, rubbing hands through her hair. “I know.”

“But I’m so lucky.”

Harry let out a quiet breath and pulled her closer into his chest. Her hand settled over his heart, and he covered it with his own. Through the window, the snow kept falling. The tree lights blinked on, then off again, a quiet rhythm in the stillness. And in the space between heartbeats, between the mess and the magic, they chose each other again.

Not just in the easy moments. But in all of them.

+++

The living room smelled like cinnamon and roast potatoes and a large roast chicken that could feed a hundred people, and it was about ten degrees too warm from the oven working overtime.

The wrapping paper littered the floor, clinging to socks and bare feet. Teddy and Niko were in the corner with Maeve’s youngest, building a leaning tower of wooden blocks while the older two took turns flying a paper plane dangerously close to the Christmas tree.

Harry’s mum moved through the kitchen like a practiced orchestra conductor, towel thrown over one shoulder, cheeks flushed from heat and champagne. She opened the oven, checked the parsnips, then closed it again with a decisive nod. “Gravy’s done,” she called, even though no one had asked.

Harry had disappeared somewhere with Maeve’s oldest to assemble a toy castle, and Thea found herself alone in the kitchen for the first time that day, standing by the sink with a glass of cranberry juice and flushed cheeks of her own—not from the warmth, but from watching Harry with the kids.

He was in his element here, his hands always full. His heart was wide open.

Maeve leaned her hip against the counter beside her, stealing a segment of clementine from the charcuterie in front of Thea.

“Been a minute since we’ve all been under one roof,” she said casually.

Thea smiled, taking a sip of her juice. “I’m still full of breakfast, too,” She turned towards the dinner being prepared, “Feel like I may explode.”

“She lives for this,” Maeve replied, her voice fond as she gestured to her mum. “You alright, though? You’ve been a bit… floaty today.”

Thea hesitated. She looked at the frosted kitchen window, where snow dusted the garden wall. “Yeah. I’m good. Just… tired.”

Maeve didn’t push. But Harry’s mum came around the corner just then, holding a tray of pigs in blankets, and she caught the tail end of the exchange.

“She’s not just tired,” Harry’s mum said gently, setting the tray down. “She’s been carrying a lot. I see it.”

Thea felt her shoulders stiffen slightly. “It’s okay, really—”

Maeve shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t shrink it. You can say it.”

Thea looked between them; two women who loved Harry fiercely, who had welcomed her without condition—and slowly set her glass down as she thought about telling them everything that had been going on.

“We’ve been… thinking,” she said, hesitating as she licked over her lips. “About other options. For trying. To get pregnant, I mean. Not today. Not tomorrow. But... soon, maybe.”

Maeve reached for her hand instantly, grounding her. She didn’t want to say anything until she let Thea finish.

Thea’s throat worked. “Sometimes it feels like maybe we’re pushing something that just... isn’t going to happen again. And other times it feels like I’m giving up too soon.”

Harry’s mum wiped her hands on her apron and stepped forward, “Darling,” she said softly, “you have never done anything wrong in my son’s eyes. You know that, don’t you?”

Thea blinked a few times, parted lips closing as she glanced at the floor.

“He’s been head-over-heels for you since he came home from uni one Christmas break,” she said, turning to Maeve who was smirking at the remembrance of the day. “Walked through that door beaming, like someone had handed him the sun and he couldn’t believe he got to keep it.”

Maeve let out a quiet, knowing laugh. “You should’ve seen him. Wouldn’t shut up. All we heard about was this girl, Thea,” She tilted her head, “And he’s never lost that stupid smile when he talks about you, either.”

Thea looked down, overwhelmed for a moment by how much love they gave her. How much space they made for her to just exist in the gray areas—without judgment, without needing to perform gratitude.

Harry’s mum gave her arms a squeeze. “Whatever you two decide, it’s already the right choice. Because you’re making it together.”

From the other room, there was a loud crash and the unmistakable sound of Harry laughing as one of the kids shouted, “It was his idea!”

Maeve turned and grinned. “Well. Sounds like your sun is being a menace.”

Thea wiped her eyes quickly and laughed, her heart aching and full at once. “Yeah,” she said. “But he’s mine.”

Harry’s mum smiled, eyes crinkling back at her. “Yes, love. He always was.”

+++

On New Year’s Eve, they stayed in.

There was no glitter, no clinking glasses or crowded parties. Just a blanket fort made from sofa cushions and old sheets, lit with the warm glow of fairy lights clipped to laundry pins. The boys had helped build it with the kind of serious concentration only kids could muster—Teddy determined to engineer “roof support beams” out of broomsticks, while Niko insisted they needed two flashlights “in case one gets scared.”

They ordered pizzas and ate them cross-legged on the rug, slices greasy and hot in their hands, laughter echoing off the walls with each melted cheese pull and story about their favorite parts of the year. Harry wore flannel pajama pants and one of Thea’s old university sweatshirts. She wore thick socks and no makeup, her hair up in a messy twist. It was imperfect and quiet and theirs.

By ten-thirty, Niko was fast asleep on Harry’s chest, his little fists tucked beneath his chin. Teddy drifted off moments later with his head on Thea’s arm, his breathing slow and steady, his long limbs flopped across her like he had no idea he was growing so fast.

The TV still played in the background—some countdown special in Times Square, the noise muffled and irrelevant. Outside, snow had begun to fall again, blanketing the neighborhood in a hush.

At some point before midnight, Thea blinked awake. Her arm was numb beneath Teddy, and the lights of the fort cast soft shadows across the ceiling. She slowly untangled herself and stood, stretching her legs as quietly as she could. Padding into the kitchen in her pajamas, she poured herself a mug of warm spiced cider from the slow cooker they’d forgotten to turn off, its sweet scent still lingering in the air like comfort.

She didn’t need noise or fanfare. She just wanted a minute of stillness. The clock on the microwave read 11:53. Only seven more minutes of the year.

A moment later, Harry appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. His hair stuck out in all directions, flattened on one side, and he still had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. He looked like the grown-up version of the boy he must’ve been—sleepy, kind, quietly wonderful.

“Hey,” he murmured, crossing the tile floor barefoot. “You left me.”

“You were snoring,” she teased gently, handing him a mug of his own.

“Rude.” He took it anyway, standing close beside her as they both leaned back against the counter, watching the snow fall through the window above the sink. The silence between them was comfortable—easy. It didn’t need to be filled.

“We didn’t make any resolutions,” he said after a while, sipping the cider.

Thea glanced over at him, shrugging. “I don’t want to make promises we can’t control.”

He nodded slowly, understanding completely what she meant. “Then let’s not make promises. Just... intentions.”

She considered that for a moment and nodded, then smiled softly. “I intend to find joy. Even when it’s not obvious. Even when I have to really, really look for it.”

Harry looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the low light. Then: “I intend to keep kissing you in the pantry when the boys aren’t looking.”

A breathy laugh escaped her, unexpected and warm as she thought about the way he looked at her.

“I intend to hold your hand,” she whispered, “no matter what happens.”

Harry didn’t reply right away. He reached out and laced his fingers through hers. The kitchen was quiet but full—with everything they’d shared, everything they hadn’t said aloud, everything they were still building together.

When Thea turned her head, she watched as the clock ticked to midnight.

Somewhere in the distance, a few scattered fireworks cracked through the air—soft and distant behind the snowfall. Niko stirred in the next room, but didn’t wake. Teddy muttered something incoherent and rolled over; both of them sleeping into the new year.

They clinked their mugs together—porcelain meeting in the smallest toast.

“Happy New Year,” Thea said, her voice thick with something close to wonder.

Harry leaned down and kissed her softly. It was just a small kiss; a knowing one that made her hum in acknowledgement as they stared at each other for a moment.

“It will be,” he said, putting the intention into the universe to be caught. “It will be.”

And outside, beneath a sky that didn’t ask anything of them, the snow fell softer than ever.

+++

January was cold in the way only the start of a new year could be—bright skies, brittle winds, and mornings where the frost stretched across the windows like lace. Life had fallen into a rhythm again. School runs, lukewarm coffee, wool socks, and Lego landmines scattered across the hallway. The holidays had passed, but their softness lingered. There was a quiet steadiness to the days now, like everything had settled just slightly into place.

There was a letter that arrived on a Wednesday.

Thea found it among a small pile of post on the kitchen counter tucked between a bank statement and a coupon flyer for carpet cleaning. The envelope was clinical and white, the logo of the fertility clinic embossed in the corner.

She stood there for a moment with her thumb beneath the seal, the kettle starting to hum behind her. When she finally opened it, her eyes scanned the page once, then again, before she set it gently on the counter.

Consultation appointment offered: February 12th, 10:30 AM.

There was no rush of dread, no panic. No buzzing in her ears from being overwhelmed. Just a quiet hum in her chest, like something long held had found its place to rest.

She didn’t call Harry right away at work. She didn’t need to. Instead, she folded the letter in half and slid it into the drawer beside the sink, where she kept the extra birthday candles and takeaway menus and the measuring spoons she always forgot were there.

Not out of avoidance. But out of peace.

That afternoon, while wrangling Niko into his boots to go pick Teddy up from school, she slipped on her long gray coat—the one with the deep inside pocket where she kept tissues and receipts. As her hand brushed the lining, she felt something crinkled and unfamiliar.

It was a small square of folded paper. It was cream-colored, soft at the edges. Harry’s handwriting on the outside in blue ink from the pen that sat by the sink to write notes for groceries.

She opened it slowly, the sounds of the boys echoing in the hallway, snow boots thudding against tile.

whatever path we take, I’m already home.

Her breath caught. Not in that cinematic way, but in the real, aching way where your chest pulls tight before the tears ever come.

He must’ve tucked it there days ago. Maybe even weeks. He hadn’t asked if she’d found it; hadn’t drawn any attention to it. That was how Harry loved her—quietly, consistently. With notes she didn’t know to look for until she needed them most.

She folded it again with careful fingers, pressed it against her chest just beneath her scarf. She didn’t cry—not really. Just stood there for a moment, eyes shut, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

There were decisions ahead that would come with possibility and risks. But standing in the front hall, coat half-zipped, her child laughing behind her, she knew something with absolute certainty:

Whatever came next, their family would be walking into it together.

And she was no longer afraid.

Spring

Three months later. The snow had melted, the times had changed.

Thea stood in the bathroom again.

She’d been feeling off all week. It was nothing really dramatic—just a lingering nausea in the mornings, a strange fatigue that had her yawning before dinner, a faint sensitivity to smells that made her gag when she opened the fridge and saw the left-over chicken from dinner. She’d chalked it up to something going around; Teddy had brought home three colds from school since winter break, and Niko had a habit of sharing his sneezes with open-mouthed affection.

There wasn’t a reason to feel the hope. Not now, not when peace had finally settled into her like snow on a quiet morning. But the nagging feeling had stayed, curling in her belly like a whisper. That hope was always just there.

Thea was still rubbing her temples when Harry walked into their bedroom, carrying a mug of peppermint tea.

“Still feeling sick?” he asked gently, setting the mug on her nightstand. Thea had been under the covers, trying to let her mind relax.

She nodded, holding onto the blanket as she shrugged. “It’s probably just a bug. I’ve just been so tired.”

Harry hesitated, then gave her a look that was part teasing, part hopeful. For the first time in a while, his eyes had a gleam in them that she found to be optimistically cautious.

“Would it be crazy if I suggested taking a test?”

Thea blinked at him, biting the inside of her lip as she spoke quietly. “Really?”

He shrugged, smiling. “Just to rule it out. Humor me.”

There was a hesitancy about it this time. Not dread—just a deep quiet, like her body already knew the answer and was waiting for her mind to catch up.

She opened the drawer beneath the sink, hand brushing past a half-used box of band-aids and a faded bottle of nail polish. There, near the back, was the last test. She paused, held it in her hand for a moment. The foil wrapper crinkled faintly as she turned it over.

They’d nearly forgotten they still had one.

By now, the ritual was muscle memory. She didn’t overthink it. Just followed the motions, her limbs moving like she was outside her body—automatic, practiced, steady. She took the test, washed her hands, and set it down on the counter, screen faced up, untouched.

The phone timer ticked to life beside it: five minutes.

She exhaled and leaned forward, both palms on the counter, head bowed.

Harry stepped beside her, brushing her hand with his fingers. They stood next to one another in silence, watching the screen like it might explode.

The first line appeared. And then another.

Two.

Thea’s breath hitched, her body stiffening as if trying to resist what her eyes were already telling her. Her hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling the quiet gasp that escaped. Her eyes whipped to Harry’s face, searching for confirmation, for disbelief, for shared understanding.

He was staring at the test like it might vanish, his brow furrowed, mouth slightly open. “Is that…?”

She nodded once, then again, her throat too tight to speak. The tears came fast—not the kind that poured, but the kind that welled so thick and full she couldn’t blink them away. “Harry…”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, wide and shining, as if seeing her for the very first time. He moved slowly, as though afraid he might spook the moment. Like she was something breakable. Like this was something sacred.

Then he wrapped his arms around her, tight and sure, drawing her into his chest. His face pressed into the curve of her neck, and she felt his breath catch. They stood like that for a long time—silent, swaying slightly, the hum of the world around them softening into nothing. It felt like holding something invisible but real. Like they were comforting someone already here.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered, his voice rough and filled with wonder.

She let out a breathy, tear-laced laugh against his shoulder. “I thought I had the flu.”

Harry pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing his knuckles against her damp cheek.

Thea laughed again, chest shaking, heart racing. His hand stayed on her face, thumb stroking just beneath her eye. Her hands were on his ribs, her forehead resting against his. Behind them, on the counter, the test sat in the gentle light of the morning—two clear lines glowing like a secret they could finally keep.

The waiting was over: their garden had suddenly begun to bloom.

Nine Months Later – Autumn

The house was louder now.

Not in a bad way—never that. Just in the way a home grows louder when it’s full of life and happiness and joyful moments that may have been chaotic to some, but necessary to others. When the walls know every laugh, every cry, every set of socked feet thudding down the hall.

It was a crisp October morning. Wind scratched at the windows, and golden leaves danced across the porch as they did every year. The air inside was warm, the scent of bergamot and maple lingering from breakfast and someone’s forgotten apple slice browning on the counter.

In the corner of the living room, the baby stirred, letting out a cry that sounded far too fierce for such a tiny chest to produce. Thea rose slowly from the couch, moving with the practiced sway of a mother whose body remembered the rhythm even when her mind was fogged. She wore leggings, wool socks, and one of Harry’s old university sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Her hair was in a lopsided twist, and she had that early-motherhood glow—equal parts sleep deprivation and sacred softness; her body hurt, but in an aching way that felt natural.

She lifted their newborn daughter from the bassinet with a quiet hum, settling her gently against her shoulder. The way the baby scrunched when lifted made her smile, kissing her soft face as she held her close. The baby calmed almost immediately, cheek squished against Thea’s collarbone, making those tiny, contented grunts that felt like the most private song.

From the hallway, Niko barreled in wearing one rain boot and holding an orange crayon like a sword. “Teddy took my sock! He’s gonna use it as a flag!”

Teddy, already in his school jumper and wearing a makeshift crown made of pipe cleaners and paper leaves, charged past them, waving the sock like a victory banner. “Long live the Sock Kingdom!”

Thea sat back on the couch with a sigh that was equal parts tired and amused. “It’s not even eight-thirty.”

Harry emerged from the kitchen like a man who’d lived three lives in the past hour. His curls were a bit wild from wrangling school bags, his flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he had that look—part joy, part exasperation—that only came from parenthood on a weekday morning.

“Alright, you two,” he said, stepping over a pile of acorns someone had collected and dumped on the rug—for who knows what. “Teddy, backpack. Niko, you need both socks to fight dragons. That’s just science.”

He herded them toward the front door, multitasking like a pro—finding missing mittens, buttering toast, and handing out gentle warnings not to jump from the stairs again. When the chaos calmed momentarily—Teddy put on his own shoes, Niko pulling his arms into his shirt sleeves as he circled the door, ready for primary.

Their daughter had dozed off against her chest, mouth open slightly, one tiny fist curled in the fabric of Thea’s sweatshirt.

“Let me take her,” Harry said softly.

He moved with quiet reverence, unfastening the baby wrap from where it hung on the chair and securing her to his chest. His hands were steady, careful, practiced. When he was done, he gave her the softest bounce, his lips brushing her temple as he began humming a familiar lullaby—half tune, half breath, something only their daughter knew.

Thea leaned back into the cushions, eyes on him.

Harry looked up at her at the same moment. For a second, the noise dulled. The boys were still yelling from the front door, the wind still scraped the windowpanes, the kettle began to whistle again—but between them, it was quiet.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

His eyes asked, You okay?

Hers answered, I am now.

He smiled, soft and crooked. She exhaled, the weight of the morning easing just slightly.

He shifted the baby higher on his chest, wrapping a hand around her tiny back. “She’s got your nose,” he said.

“She’s got your lungs.”

They both laughed quietly. Outside, a gust of wind knocked a small pumpkin off the porch step, and Teddy’s muffled voice called out, “Dad! The pumpkin made a run for it!”

Harry pressed one more kiss to their daughter’s head before heading out to wrangle the boys into the car.

“Let’s go, out to the car.” Harry held the small baby against him, as he prepared to take the boys to class and take the baby with them—giving Thea some time to herself, to shower, to clean the kitchen if she so chose.

Thea watched them as she leaned against the doorframe—her boys in their too-big coats, Harry bent to tie a shoelace, their daughter curled against his chest like she’d always belonged there.

This wasn’t the dream she’d once imagined. It was louder, messier, and constantly in motion.

But it was golden like the leaves outside, fleeting and brilliant. It was mugs left half-full, jackets never hung up, freckles on sleepy cheeks.

It was real. And all she could think as she saw Harry look back at her with a love that she couldn’t have believed was so real, so complete.

All she could think: ours.

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