Wyatt Benson and Evie Mcpherson’s Apartment
 

Wyatt and Evie hadn't been together that long, but when he moved back home and Evie followed, he felt obligated to let her stay with him. Unfortunately, they were slowly fading out of their new relationship honeymoon phase, so they were bickering a lot. When they initially moved in together, they were only three months into their relationship. To be honest, Wyatt was still unsure how he felt about Evie. Yes, she was great and made his heart skip a beat, but there was a ten-year age gap between the two of them, and it was beginning to show.

His parents had retired a few years ago and moved to Florida. This year was the first time they came back for Christmas, and that's when Evie met everyone. His sister could've been a bit more welcoming, but other than that, everything went fine. Unfortunately, Evie didn't think so, and that caused them to fight for a few days. He didn't condone his sister's behavior, but he didn't do anything to defend Evie. Michaela never liked any of his girlfriends, so Wyatt didn't see the issue.

Wyatt was working his way out of the dog house. He'd been sleeping in the guest bedroom the last few nights and was hoping to convince Evie to let him back in their bed tonight. However, that wasn't going as planned. She'd been giving him the silent treatment since she got home. He wasn't trying to get worked up before his phone call with work, so he ignored her until afterward, and apparently, that was not the right thing to do.

"I don't know what the fuck you want from me anymore?" Wyatt threw his arms up in the air, trying not to raise his voice, but Evie was working on his last nerve. "You weren't talking to me, and I had a phone call I needed to be on..." Wyatt thought it was apparent why he didn't engage further after she didn't respond to him the first time. "You want me to constantly ask you what's wrong and coddle you, and I'm not fucking doing it. So stop with the immature shit." It wasn't until he saw her face that he knew he had gone too far. He wasn't trying to hurt her feelings.

Evie was starting to wonder if she had made a huge mistake in following Wyatt here. Admittedly, it wasn't the first time she'd moved in with a boyfriend after being together for such a short time - probably a side effect from her time spent in foster care - but she'd really hoped that things would be different this time. That maybe, just maybe, things would actually out for once.

Unfortunately, meeting Wyatt's family hadn't gone quite as she'd hoped it would. No one outright said anything about their age gap but, if Wyatt had any nieces or nephews, Evie felt like they might have tried to stick her with them at the kid's table for dinner. And maybe Michaela was just in a bad mood, like Wyatt suggested, but it just felt like so many of her snide comments were directly aimed right at her. The fact that Wyatt either didn't notice or chose not to do anything about it, that was what was driving her most crazy about the whole thing.

It had been a shitty day at work, she had spilled a drink all over a customer and they'd complained to her boss; now she was on thin ice and one mistake away from being fired. When Evie got home, all she wanted to do was snuggle with Wyatt but things were still awkward and her pride caused her to give him the silent treatment instead. The Chinese food she'd ordered had arrived while he was on the phone and rather than wait for him, she dug right in.

"Dinner's here, if you can tear yourself away from your phone long enough," she said in a nastier tone than he deserved. Dropping her chopsticks into the container, she looked up at him as he went off on her; her eyes widening and beginning to water as he spoke. Evie didn't want to cry but she couldn't help it and before long a couple tears rolled down her cheeks. Did he think of her like a child, like the rest of them?

"Immature shit? Really? Nice. Real nice." she responded, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Unable to look him in the eye any longer, Evie's eyes darted around for a moment before landing on the wall across from her. "Sorry that my problems aren't adult enough for you."

That's everything he wanted to say, but he knew he should've articulated it better and less aggressively. "All I'm saying is I wish you understood that I can't drop everything and pay attention to you," he told his girlfriend. "I tried talking to you when you came home, and you gave me the silent treatment," Wyatt reminded her. "And now I'm the bad guy?" He rolled his eyes. "It's essential I'm available because my company is in Los Angeles. I have to stay updated with information and deadlines, Evie," he continued to explain. But, in a much calmer tone, it was still stern enough for her to know he was serious.

He hated to see her cry, especially when he was the reason. It wasn't that Wyatt was an asshole, but he was oblivious and neglectful of his girlfriend's needs most of the time. "Don't cry. I'm sorry I'm a dick," he frowned, making his way toward her.

"I understand. Yeah, work is more important than me. Trust me, I get it." Evie rolled her eyes. Part of her knew that she was being a stubborn brat but she also couldn't help it. Her minimum wage barista job certainly wasn't bringing in the big money; no, he was the one doing that. His job was important, and it was necessary that he gave it his all, but she still couldn't help but feel as though she was disposable to him. Like he could easily just find someone else who didn't come with as much baggage as she did. "I gave you the silent treatment because I'm still pissed. Pissed that you came home trying to pretend as though everything is okay, in hopes of what? That we'll have make up sex and then go on acting as if you hadn't totally let your sister insult me while you didn't even bother to try and defend me at all?"

As much as she didn't want to cry, she could no longer control and the tears started streaming down her face. "It just feels like you only want me when it's convenient for you!" She shouted, standing up and pushing him away as he tried to get closer. "No! Don't don't that. Not this time. I'm not done!" She didn't want to cave and fall into his arms again, she had more she had to say.

"Yes, you have been a dick lately. You haven't bothered to ask me how I'm doing or why I'm mad. Not have you even tried to make it better. You've ignored it and hoped that it would go away with time." Evie was finally able to stop the crying as she let off all the stuff she'd been keeping buried. "And yeah, maybe I could have just told you what was bugging me but every time I tried, you dismissed it like I was making a bigger deal of it than it was. Guess what, it is a big deal to me and having you act like it's beneath you, that hurts!"

"I never said my job was more important than you," he shot back. "But also, if it weren't for my job, I wouldn't be able to take care of you the way I have been," Wyatt added. He appreciated Evie trying to contribute, but her minimum wage job didn't do much compared to his salary.

He rolled his eyes when Evie mentioned his sister again. "My sister..." Wyatt paused, scratching his beard as he thought about how to word the trials and tribulations his sister was currently experiencing. "My sister has always been a bitch, and yes, I should've said something. It would've made matters worse for all of us, and, I wasn't trying to ruin Christmas. I don't condone what she did, and I'm sorry I kept my mouth shut." Wyatt wasn't trying to put Michaela's business out there because if she found out he told Evie, she would be mad at Wyatt and Jeremy for telling him in the first place. But he wanted Evie to at least try and see it from Michaela's side. "My sister and her husband have been trying for a baby. But, unfortunately, she can't get pregnant. She's had like four miscarriages in the last two years." He finally opened up. "Michaela had just found out a few days prior she couldn't have babies at all. She'd been drinking and arguing with my brother-in-law before we got there," Wyatt explained. "My family is a lot more dysfunctional than I led you to believe. I should've told you sooner."

Wyatt sighed when Evie pushed passed him and started crying harder. He pulled the beanie off and scratched the back of his head. "That's not it, Evie!" Wyatt yelled back. "If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have invited you to stay with me!" Evie was right, though. He hadn't asked about her days or how she was. "I'm a fucking terrible boyfriend! I'm sorry!" Wyatt didn't mean to be. His father was always the one to gaslight his mother, and as much as he hoped he hadn't inherited that trait, Wyatt had. Sometimes, he didn't even know he was doing it; when Wyatt did, he rolled with it.

Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest while looking at her from across the room. She was expecting him to say something else, but what could he say? Evie was calling him out on all his bullshit. "You're right. I do downplay your feelings," he agreed, leaning back on the arm of the couch. It wasn't because he thought her feelings weren't important enough, but because of her age, she made things a bigger deal than what they had to be. "I'll try not to dismiss your feelings anymore because I should be making sure you're being heard."

Evie stared at the wall mostly as she listened to him explain, only occasionally darting over to look at him. Mostly to make sure he knew she was listening but she feared that looking at him too much would make it harder to stop crying. Maybe he was right, maybe she was overreacting to all this. Like the crying, if she really thought about it, she didn't want to be crying. She'd just been feeling extra emotional lately and usually that meant her period was right around the corner. She had meant what she said, and she'd needed to let him know but maybe she hadn't gone about it in the best way. She was far too wrapped in her emotions and stubborn to realize that yet.

"You're not a shitty boyfriend." She mumbled. Was he the perfect boyfriend? No. But no one was perfect and he was far better than most of her exes. None of them would have even had the balls to admit when they were wrong nor apologize for it. "Thank you. And I'm sorry for yelling and calling you a dick. And while I'm still not happy your sister took out some of her anger out on me, it makes more sense now why she did." Evie couldn't imagine what Michaela was going through, to want a baby but not be able to have one. She couldn't even imagine what it was like to want a baby, she was no where near ready for that.

Moving to the opposite end of the couch, Evie sat back down and looked over at him. "I don't want us to fight anymore tonight. I'm going to try to not take things so personally anymore." She wiped away the remaining wetness from her cheeks and smiled slightly when he shifted closer to her on the couch. "The chow mein is really good this time. I don't know what was going on with them last time." She grabbed the container, picked up some noodles with her chopsticks and held it up for him to try.

“Yes. I am,” Wyatt disagreed. “It's why I don't usually do relationships. I don't always have the patience,” he admitted. “Then they get fed up, and it becomes a whole ordeal, and then they break up with me,” he shrugged his shoulders. “The thing is, though, I don't want that to happen with you,” he told her. “I don't want to run you off. I want to keep you.” Wyatt was genuinely trying to express his emotions without having to say the three little words he wasn't ready to speak.

Wyatt felt relieved hearing Evie’s tone shift. It wasn't as hostile, nor was she no longer yelling. “I know,” he agreed when she mentioned she still wasn't happy with how his sister treated her. “I'll talk to her. Okay?” Wyatt assured his girlfriend, and he wasn't just telling her to make her shut up. He was going to do it, and if he didn't, Jeremy was. Wyatt’s brother-in-law could always get through to Michaela when others couldn't.

“I want to try and not fight at all,” he clarified, sliding off the arm and onto the couch. Wyatt watched her from the other end for a few moments before getting up and moving down next to her. He took her food from her and sat it on the coffee table before turning back to her and cupping her hands between his. “I suck at showing the ones I care about that I care. I promise to work on it, okay?” Wyatt didn’t want Evie to think this was just another dead-end conversation where he wasn’t listening. He didn’t know if he was going to succeed, but he was going to try and be a better boyfriend and man for her. Evie came all this way for him, so he owed her and their relationship a fair shot.

It felt good knowing that Wyatt was actually listening to her and willing to try. Actions spoked louder than words though and they could both sit here saying all the right things but they both were going to have to work on their issues if they ever planned on this working. Evie would have liked to not have to fight at all but that was something she was used to. She'd never had a relationship where fighting didn't happen so that seemed nearly impossible to her.

Evie stared down at her hands in his before looking up to meet his gaze. His eyes were softer now, less intense than when he yelled. These were the eyes she loved staring into for hours. "Okay." Evie had spent enough time in retail and people pleasing that she knew how to make people believe she was okay even when she wasn't. She wanted to believe him and believe that everything would work out, but it hadn't worked out so many times before that she couldn't help but worry. Evie scooted in closer to Wyatt and placed a kiss on his lips.

"Now, please eat. Because tell me honestly, when did you last remember to feed yourself?" she teased as she pulled her hands away from his and turned her body to the coffee table. "I got all of our favorites. And I was thinking after we eat, we can try and watch that show you were talking about. The one that was a game about fungus zombies." She didn't really have any interest in the show but he'd been mentioning it for a while and she figured now was better than ever. Her eyes felt hot and slightly swollen from the crying so if she hated the show then she could easily use that as an excuse to close her eyes if she hated the show.

His heart fluttered as she stared back at him. It was moments like this that clouded his brain. “I just want you to know I’m sorry,” Wyatt said, placing it on her cheek and creasing it with his thumb. “I swear I’m going to try and do better,” he kissed her forehead before pulling back and giving her a proper kiss on the lips.

Wyatt perked up when Evie shifted into girlfriend mode, questioning whether or not he had eaten today. That was a good sign. It meant they were on the right track. “Well, you already know the answer to that one,” he said, reaching for his food. Wyatt could go all-day surviving on Red Bulls and Slim Jim’s, and today had been no different. If it weren’t for Evie, he’d never have a proper meal. “Thank you,” he smiled, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

He was mid-bite when Evie mentioned she was interested in watching The Last of Us, an adaptation of one of his favorite video games. He thought about it briefly and shook his head as he finished chewing. Wyatt smiled, “Or, hear me out; you can tell me about your day instead? I mean, do you even like your job, babe?” He may not have asked, but Wyatt could always tell when she had a bad day. “You know you don’t need to work, right?” He questioned, reaching out for his drink and taking a sip. They never had a chance to talk about the expectation he may have had when they moved to his hometown. As soon as they got there, Evie insisted on working. He thought it was because she didn’t want to seem like a mooch. “I can afford to take care of you,” he added.

Evie desperately wanted to believe him, and she was ready to move forward, but she had been burned enough times. Most guys her age were only looking to have fun and she couldn't trust them to actually mean what they said, it was still too early in their relationship to be sure that he meant what he said. They had needed that time in separate bedrooms for a couple of nights, to make sure they could truly think about everything without distracting each other with kisses or soft glances, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't missed having him next to her at night; the bed felt so cold and empty without him.

Evie was a little shocked when he'd rather ask her about her day than watch the show he'd been excited about for a while now, but then of course he had to suggest that she didn't need to work. It was sensitive subject for her, and she was trying to keep the mood positive. They'd just finished fighting, she really didn't want to start another one. "No. I don't really like it per say." she started. It was true, she wasn't exactly the best barista and she'd grown a little jaded from working in customer service for so long but she wasn't like her peers, she had no desire on becoming TikTok famous. He may have had the means to support her better than she could support herself, but she felt like she had to at least try contribute always. "I know you can. It's just..."

Taking a sip of her own drink to buy a little more time while she pondered what she wanted to say next. "I might not need to work but I want to work." she knew he would understand that but she used this opportunity to her advantage anyway. "Maybe... I can take a break and try to find something I actually like instead?" It might have just been because she'd had a shitty day but she certainly wouldn't mind telling her boss to shove it before he had a chance to fire her. So far, making friends in this tight knit small town had proven quite difficult and Wyatt was the only person she had who she could spend time with. If she spent too much time at home, she feared he'd get annoyed with her and then she'd have nobody and would have to start all over again. Maybe she could try and find herself some friends while she looked for a job.

"Also, I totally spilled a coffee on someone today, thankfully it was iced. Who drinks iced coffee when it's snowing outside anyway? That's beside the point but yeah, they weren't happy, and it probably might be a real good idea to find something else." she admitted with a soft chuckle and a smile.

“If you want to work, fine.” He shrugged, having no problem with Evie wanting to earn her own money. “I want you to be happy, and I know you’re not.” Wyatt looked down at his food and mixed around the noodles, listening to her. “There are so many places in this town where you can work. You can even go up the mountain and see who’s hiring there,” he informed her. “I used to work at the resort before moving to Los Angeles. I can make some calls if you’d like?”

Wyatt frowned as Evie continued talking about her day and how she spilled an iced coffee. She finished it with a chuckle, but he didn’t. Wyatt sat his food on the coffee table before wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close. “People are jackasses. I’m sorry he was a dick to you.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head.

“Tomorrow, I think you should quit and spend the entire day with me,” he pulled back to look at her. “I’ll take off, like really take off, no phones, emails, nothing, and we can do something fun. How’s that sound?” Part of Wyatt’s problem is that he does all this work in the beginning to get the girl, and when he finally has her, he gets way too comfortable. He’d been aware of this; he just never tried to change it. Today was that day, though.

"Thanks for the offer but I'm going to need to find a new job on my own." she admitted. Spare their recent relationship issues, this was all seeming for too easy and 'fairy tale' for her liking. Evie wasn't used to having someone so willing to help her; he had already had them set up with a nice apartment to live in, he made enough money to support the both of them, and now he was offering to get her a job. It was honestly making her feel a little out of control and she desperately needed something to be strictly her own thing, but she did want him to know she appreciated the effort so she added with a smile, "But, if I can't find anything on my own, I'll keep that in mind."

Evie smiled even more as he wrapped his arm around her in pulled her in closer and apologized for the jerk. It was the sweet little moments like this that she'd missed having with him. "Really?" she asked excitedly at the thought of them having a whole day together. Part of her worried that his phone would still find a way to make its way into their day, but she remained hopeful. "That sounds amazing!"

Deciding that the best way to move forward, was to not dwell on the past. The evening may have started one way, but she intended on it ending on a much happier note. Wyatt was going to still have to prove himself by actually following through, but she figured she could reward him a little now anyway. Shrugging his arm off her shoulder so that she could reposition herself onto his lap with a leg on either side and a mischievous look on her face. "Dinner can wait."

FADE TO BLACK

[PS. I decided to end it, hope that's cool. Also, I'm gonna add here that maybe your muse would like to play in Hawaii? We could switch anywhere and see if that helps.]

The sliding glass door is cracked open just enough to let in the soft sounds of spring—birdsong, a breeze rustling the newly green trees outside, and the faint hum of life from the town below. Sunlight streams through sheer curtains, casting soft golden shapes onto the rug where Arlo, now one year and two months old, sits in a patch of warmth surrounded by blocks and picture books.

He babbles to himself, occasionally looking up at Evie, who sits cross-legged nearby in a worn hoodie and soft joggers, a cup of lukewarm coffee forgotten beside her. She watches him with that quiet awe only new mothers truly understand—equal parts exhaustion, amusement, and overwhelming love.

Arlo picks up a plush fox and waves it at her.

“Is that Mr. Foxy?” Evie smiles, her voice soft and warm. “You gonna read him a story today?”

Arlo responds by flopping backward onto his diapered butt and giggling. Evie laughs too and crawls over to tickle his belly, earning a peal of delighted toddler squeals.

The apartment smells faintly of lavender and toast, the kitchen counter cluttered with the morning’s chaos—half-eaten banana slices, a baby bottle, and one lonely sock Arlo had triumphantly pulled off and thrown somewhere. A gentle mess. A lived-in joy.

Evie rests on her side beside him, chin propped in her hand as she watches him stack two blocks—then immediately knock them over.

“You’re a menace,” she murmurs affectionately, brushing a curl off his forehead. “And way too proud of it.”

Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock cuts through the stillness. Arlo’s head whips toward the door, eyes lighting up.

“Dada?” he says, voice small but hopeful.

The door opens and Wyatt steps in, grocery bags in both arms, hair slightly windblown from the spring breeze.

The key turned in the lock with a soft click, and the door eased open just enough to let the spring breeze follow Wyatt inside. He stepped over the threshold with both arms full—grocery bags dangling from his hands, the sleeves of his hoodie shoved up, wind-blown hair brushing his brow. The scent of lavender and warm toast hit him instantly, wrapping around his senses like a memory he hadn’t realised he missed until it was back again.

“Dada?” The small voice, fragile but full of light, came from the living room.

His heart gave a familiar stutter at the sound. Wyatt’s gaze lifted to the sight that waited for him—sunlight pouring through sheer curtains, dust motes dancing in the beam, and their son sitting smack in the centre of it all. Arlo, one year and two months old, cheeks flushed and curls wild, surrounded by toppled blocks and scattered board books, his tiny face bright with anticipation.

Wyatt’s chest tightened. “Hey, buddy,” he said, voice low and warm. “You holding the fort down?”

He crossed the room to the kitchen, stepping over a lone baby sock and the soft thump of Mr. Foxy, who had been unceremoniously tossed aside. The counter was a soft mess of morning chaos—half-eaten banana slices, a bottle tilted on its side, Evie’s forgotten coffee cooling near the sink. It was imperfect and real and entirely theirs.

He placed the grocery bags down gently, careful not to crush the strawberries Evie liked. His eyes found her a moment later.

She was on the rug beside Arlo, sitting cross-legged in an old hoodie and faded joggers, her expression tired but golden in the sunlight, her laughter still hanging in the air. Her hair was pulled up in a loose knot, wisps falling around her face in the most beautiful, unintentional way. She looked up at him, and Wyatt forgot about everything for a second.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said, his voice softer now.

Evie smiled—just enough to make him feel like he hadn’t completely screwed everything up lately. She reached for Arlo as the toddler squealed, already trying to scramble to his feet.

Wyatt crouched beside them, reaching out to ruffle Arlo’s curls before kissing Evie’s cheek. “You two been running wild without me?”

Wyatt let out a low chuckle and scooped Arlo into his arms, lifting him high overhead as the toddler shrieked in glee. “I leave for forty-five minutes, and the house descends into toddler chaos. Unbelievable.”

He dropped a kiss on top of Arlo’s head, then looked at Evie again—really looked. Her eyes were a little tired, maybe still carrying some weight from the night before, but there was light in them, too. The kind that made him want to be better.

“Eat anything yet?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face with the back of his knuckles.

Evie’s smile tugged wider as Wyatt knelt beside them, the warmth in his voice grounding her more than the morning sun ever could. She leaned into the brush of his knuckles on her cheek, eyes fluttering closed for just a second. It wasn’t a grand gesture. Just a small, steady one. But after the weeks they’d had, it meant everything.

“I had half a banana and cold coffee,” she said with a dry laugh, her voice still low from the hush of the morning. “So, you know. Living the dream.”

Arlo squirmed in Wyatt’s arms, reaching for her with one chubby hand and a squeaky “Mamaaa,” like the moment wouldn’t be complete without her too. Evie leaned in and kissed his tiny fingers, then looked back at Wyatt.

“But we were doing okay,” she added softly, her eyes finding his. “Missed you, though.”

It came out quieter than she meant, edged with more truth than she usually let show during the daylight hours. There were still things between them—unspoken worries, long nights, the slow ache of learning how to be a family and not lose themselves in the process—but right now, none of that asked to be solved.

Right now, she just wanted this.

She reached out and gently touched Wyatt’s knee, grounding herself in him, in the sight of Arlo’s head tipped back with joy, in the smell of fresh strawberries and spring air and lavender that clung to their little home like hope.

“You got the good yogurt?” she asked, tilting her head, teasing now, because the softness in her chest was too big to hold all at once. “Or am I about to pretend to like plain Greek again?”

Her smile curved, a little more playful now. “I’ll forgive you either way, since you kissed me before asking.”

Wyatt felt the shift in the air the moment Evie leaned into his touch, her eyes falling shut for just a breath as his knuckles grazed her cheek. It wasn’t a grand moment—not the kind they used to chase when everything was still new and untested—but it was solid. Real. After the late nights, the missteps, the slow unravelling and rethreading of what it meant to be them, that quiet mattered more than he could say.

She joked about cold coffee and half a banana, but he didn’t miss the edge of fatigue under her teasing. He could see it in the slope of her shoulders, the way she lingered close to Arlo, how she hadn’t quite moved since he walked in. She was running low, and he hated knowing she felt like she had to.

Wyatt adjusted Arlo against his chest, the toddler’s warm little body fitting perfectly in the crook of his arm. Arlo had a death grip on Mr. Foxy and kept babbling softly, still half-distracted by the rustle of leaves through the cracked door. When he reached out again toward Evie, murmuring “Mama,” it tugged at something deep inside Wyatt. They were his whole world, both of them.

Her voice had softened when she told him they were doing okay, but she missed him. That part stuck. The vulnerability in it, her eyes held him like she needed him to know it wasn’t just a passing thought—it was a quiet plea for him to stay present—present, not just in body.

He offered a small smile, brushing his thumb over Arlo’s arm, then leaned forward and kissed the crown of Evie’s head again, slower this time. Then he pulled back and looked toward the kitchen, thinking of what was still in the grocery bag.

“I’ll make you something,” he said gently, already half-standing with Arlo tucked against his hip. “Whatever you want. Eggs, toast… and yeah, the good yoghurt. I wasn’t about to leave without it and get roasted before breakfast.”

He chuckled under his breath, but it didn’t take the softness out of his tone. He looked down at her again—at the hoodie, the messy bun, the way she looked like she belonged there on the rug, glowing in the early spring light—and reached to brush a loose curl from her forehead.

“If you want,” he added, nodding toward the hallway, “I can take him to the park after breakfast. Let you lie down. Take a real nap. Not the kind where you’re listening for him the whole time.”

Arlo let out a loud babble in agreement, not knowing what they were planning, but Wyatt laughed anyway and kissed his son’s cheek.

“Sounds like someone’s already on board,” he said, shifting his weight with a small grunt. “So, that’s two votes. You gonna make it three?”

He hadn’t waited for an answer just yet. He just stood there, taking in the way she looked at him and thinking—this, right here, was the life he wanted to show up for—every single day.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she just sat there, legs curled beneath her, watching him like she was memorizing the moment—the way Arlo clung to him, the way Wyatt's voice had gentled, the way his eyes held something that hadn’t always been there. Not lately, at least. Something rooted. Intentional.

And it undid her a little.

Because she was tired. Bone-deep. Not just from the sleepless nights or the endless to-dos, but from the quiet ache of carrying it all—this life they’d built in fast-forward. The weight of being needed, constantly. Of trying so hard not to need back.

But then there he was, offering breakfast and a nap and some small, golden piece of normal. Not just offering it—wanting to. She could hear it in his voice. Feel it in that kiss to her forehead that lingered longer than usual. And maybe that’s what cracked something open in her—because God, she missed being taken care of, even in small, silly ways like toast and the good yogurt.

She blinked, and her throat tightened.

“I vote yes,” she whispered, voice barely above the rustle of Arlo’s fidgeting. “But only if you sit with me for five more minutes.”

Her hand slid toward his, fingers brushing his wrist before curling loosely around it. It wasn’t a grip—more like a tether. A wordless way of saying don’t go just yet.

“I don’t need a nap as much as I need this,” she added quietly, her eyes lifting to meet his, soft and open. “Just… us. For a minute.”

She didn’t say thank you. Not yet. But it hung there, quiet and certain, between the warmth of their hands and the soft light pooling across the rug.

Wyatt let his forehead rest against hers for a few still seconds, breathing her in—lavender, coffee, something distinctly her—before pulling back just enough to look at her. The quiet between them felt heavier now, but not badly. It felt full, like it was carrying something important.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and careful, “I missed this. You. Him. Us.”

Evie’s fingers tightened slightly around his.

He glanced down at Arlo, who was now methodically trying to shove a block into Mr. Foxy’s face like it might fit if he just willed it hard enough.

“You think he’d be mad if we paused the destruction for pancakes?” Wyatt asked, cracking a soft smile. “I grabbed that oat milk you like, by the way. And strawberries. Not those sad ones either—the good kind. Smell like fruit and not disappointment.”

Evie’s lips twitched at that, enough to make his chest loosen slightly.

“I was thinking,” he continued, brushing his thumb gently over the back of her hand, “we eat, and then I take little man to the park for a couple of hours. Give you some quiet. Nap, shower, stare at the ceiling in blessed silence… whatever sounds good.”

He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “You haven’t had that in a while. And I can handle him. Promise I won’t let him start a toddler coup at the swing set.”

As if on cue, Arlo let out a loud squeal and threw a block directly into Wyatt’s shin.

“Okay, maybe he’ll start a coup,” Wyatt winced, laughing. “But I’ll go down swinging.”

He leaned in again, kissing her temple—soft and lingering. “You do everything, Evie. You carry all of it. Let me take some of the weight today.”

His voice dropped as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“Let me show you I can.”

She didn’t argue. Not this time.

The old version of her—the one who’d spent years learning how to survive by doing it all herself—might have. Might’ve waved him off with a tired smile and a “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Might’ve picked up Arlo, made the pancakes herself, worn the exhaustion like armor just to prove she could.

But this version? The one sitting cross-legged on the rug with her heart cracking wide open? She just nodded.

And when Wyatt kissed her temple and stood to head toward the kitchen, Arlo trailing behind him with Mr. Foxy dragging on the floor, she let herself sink back against the couch cushions. She exhaled. For real this time. Like she was finally giving her lungs permission to stop holding everything in.

The sounds of the kitchen started up—fridge opening, the soft clatter of a pan, Wyatt humming under his breath like he always did when he cooked. Arlo babbled a steady commentary from his spot on the floor, half playing, half supervising. It was ordinary. It was nothing big.

But it felt like everything.

Evie tilted her head, watching them through the doorway, her chest aching with something sweet and sharp all at once. Because he was trying. Not just saying the words, not just kissing her like a promise—actually stepping into the space she used to guard so tightly.

She could hear the sizzle of the pan, the low scrape of a spatula. She could smell the oat milk heating, strawberries being sliced. And with every small, domestic sound, something inside her unclenched.

She didn’t have to do it all.

Not today.

And maybe not tomorrow either.

That thought hit her harder than expected, her throat thickening as she sank a little deeper into the cushions. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let her body relax. Not pretend-relax. Not the kind you do when you're still listening for the baby to cry or mentally writing a to-do list. Real stillness.

She let Wyatt take the reins.

And the quiet that filled the house wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of trust. Of love, even when it was messy. Of hope that maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay.

Wyatt didn’t look back as he headed into the kitchen—but he didn’t need to. He felt it. The shift. The surrender. Not weakness, not even close—but trust. Real, quiet trust that felt heavier than any argument and softer than any kiss. It sat in his chest like something sacred.

He set Arlo down near the pantry where a small mountain of toys kept him busy, Mr. Foxy trailing like a loyal sidekick, and Wyatt smiled faintly as he rolled up his sleeves. The fridge door opened with a soft thunk, and he grabbed the eggs, the oat milk, the strawberries she liked best. He’d watched her pick through them at the store before, nose wrinkling in that cute way when they were too mushy or not red enough. So yeah—he made sure they were perfect this time.

The pan hit the stove. Butter hissed. Arlo babbled out something unintelligible that sounded like praise, and Wyatt hummed back, slipping into the rhythm of the moment like he’d never stepped out of it. There was peace here, tucked into the corners of a messy kitchen and a tired Sunday morning. Peace, he didn’t realize he had been starving until now.

He glanced toward the living room just once.

She was still there—curled up on the couch, her face tilted toward the light, lashes casting faint shadows over her cheeks. Her body had softened into the cushions like she was finally letting herself rest, and damn if that didn’t wreck him a little. Not in the way pain does. In the way grace does.

She trusted him.

Not with everything. Not yet. But with this. The moment. The morning. The weight she’d been carrying alone.

He turned back to the stove, flipping the pancake with a practiced motion, jaw tightening slightly—not with frustration, but with focus. Because of this? This was where he could show up, not with grand gestures or pretty promises, but with small things done right. With strawberries sliced just the way she liked them. With breakfast ready before she even asked. With his son giggling at the way, he flipped the second pancake too high and almost missed the pan.

With love in the quiet.

He didn't say a word when he finally plated everything and brought it to her—warm, golden pancakes, sweet fruit, and a mug of freshly reheated coffee. He just sat beside her on the couch, close but unassuming, his thigh brushing hers as he placed the tray on her lap.

Arlo waddled over and immediately tugged at Wyatt’s hoodie, babbling for a bite.

Wyatt smiled and leaned in just a little, his voice low, steady.

“You don’t have to say it,” he said quietly, watching her more carefully than she was used to. “I see it. I’ve got you.”

And for once, he didn’t just mean it.

He lived it.

The hum of the fridge. The muffled clatter of a pan. The sound of Arlo’s babble echoing off the tile like birdsong in a house too used to silence. These were the sounds Evie had learned not to trust—too often they came before a crash, a slammed door, a voice raised just a little too sharp. But not this morning.

This morning, the air held something different.

She sat still on the couch, legs tucked under her, hands curled in the sleeves of Wyatt’s old hoodie—half on purpose, half because it was the only thing that still felt like armor. The fabric smelled like soap and boy and maybe something steadier than either of them had been in a while. Her eyes traced the golden morning light pooling through the blinds, softening everything it touched. Even her. Especially her.

Evie didn’t remember the exact moment she stopped trying to leave. Only that her breath had finally slowed.

She’d been so damn tired of fighting. Of trying to explain the thousand invisible ways she needed to be held. Of flinching at kindness because it never stayed. But now… the quiet didn’t feel empty.

It felt chosen.

She heard the way Wyatt moved—intentional, almost careful. Like he was learning her language one mundane gesture at a time. Eggs. Strawberries. Pancakes. It wasn’t the food. It was that he remembered. The kind of remembering you can’t fake. The kind that cracks something open inside a girl who’s spent her life building walls with reinforced steel.

Her gaze flicked toward the kitchen.

There he was. Shirt sleeves rolled, hair a little messy, brow furrowed like he was concentrating on a symphony and not flipping batter. And Arlo, their little chaos magnet, babbling like every word mattered. It should’ve made her anxious. But instead, her ribs felt looser. Her hands didn’t shake.

Maybe that’s what healing actually looked like. Not fireworks. Not apologies shouted into the void. Just a morning like this. Just a man trying. Just a heart that hadn’t stopped beating, even when she thought it had.

She didn’t look up when he placed the tray on her lap. She couldn’t—not right away. If she did, she was scared he’d see the way her eyes were already burning. Not with sadness. With relief. With want. With the quiet kind of love that doesn’t ask to be said, only shown.

And then he said it anyway.

> “You don’t have to say it. I see it. I’ve got you.”



Her breath hitched.

God, how long had she waited to be seen like that?

She didn’t answer right away. Just reached for a slice of strawberry, held it between her fingers like it might vanish. And then, without looking at him, she whispered the only thing her voice could manage:

“Don’t stop.”

Not just the breakfast. Not just the stillness.
This.
The showing up. The softness. The staying.

And for the first time in a long time, she believed maybe he wouldn’t.

Wyatt didn’t move when she said it. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe too loud. He just sat there with his thigh pressed lightly against hers, his hand resting palm-up between them on the couch—not asking for hers, not demanding anything. Just there. Waiting.

He didn’t need her to look at him. He didn’t need a grand reaction or some Hallmark moment. That whisper—Don’t stop—hit harder than anything loud ever could.

Because he heard what she meant.

Don’t stop remembering how she takes her coffee.
Don’t stop making space when the weight gets too heavy.
Don’t stop being the man who flips pancakes like it matters.
Don’t stop being the man who stays.

And he wasn’t planning to.

Wyatt looked down at Arlo, now pressed against his leg, happily gnawing on Mr. Foxy’s ear with a face full of mischief. He could feel the softness of the moment settle over them like a well-worn blanket—the kind you don’t question; you wrap around you tighter.

This was their life. A little cracked, a little quiet, but theirs.
For the first time, he didn’t want to fix it; he just wanted to be in it.

He leaned back against the couch, letting his head tip toward hers, not quite touching but close enough that she’d feel it. His voice was low when it finally came.

“I won’t.”

Not a promise out of guilt. Not a vow he wasn’t ready to keep. Just the truth. Simple. Solid. The kind of words you only speak when you mean them.

Outside, the wind rustled the new leaves. The house smelled like pancakes and strawberries and home. And inside, Wyatt stayed still beside the girl who once flinched at softness, the boy who once didn’t know how to show it, and the baby who made them both want to try harder than they ever had before.

He didn’t need to be perfect. He just needed to keep showing up.

And he would.

Every damn day.

The tray was warm against her legs, the scent of butter and strawberries curling up into the quiet between them like a balm. Evie didn’t say anything when Wyatt answered—just a quiet I won’t, like a stone dropped into still water—but it rippled through her anyway. She felt it settle somewhere beneath her ribs.

She picked up the fork with fingers that still trembled faintly. Muscle memory kicked in before her doubt could: cut the pancake into neat little triangles, the way Arlo liked them. It was easier to move than to speak. So she did.

One bite for herself—sweet, warm, tender. Like something soft she didn’t realize she’d missed. Then one for Arlo, who had already waddled up, tugging at her knee with that mischievous little smirk that always knocked the breath out of her chest. She didn’t wait for Wyatt to move. Just scooped a strawberry and pressed it gently to Arlo’s lips, watching as he bit down, juice smearing across his chin.

“Messy boy,” she murmured, voice low, affectionate. Her thumb wiped the corner of his mouth before she realized what she was doing.

Arlo giggled. Full belly, full heart. Like he knew the world was good just because they were sitting still and no one was yelling and someone remembered the fruit this time.

Evie fed him another piece, then took one for herself.

The silence was thick but not heavy. Not like it used to be. This wasn’t the quiet of things unspoken—this was the quiet of being held. Of being seen without having to spell it out. She could feel Wyatt beside her—not reaching, not retreating—just there. His presence like gravity. His warmth like permission.

And God, she wanted to believe him.
Wanted to believe that I won’t meant something more than just this morning.
That he wouldn’t stop seeing her.
That he wouldn’t stop choosing this version of them—the raw, real, recklessly honest one.

She fed Arlo another bite and let the moment stretch.

And then, quietly, almost to herself:

“Okay.”

Okay, I believe you.
Okay, I’ll try too.
Okay, let’s see if this time is different.
Okay, I’ll stay.

She didn’t look at him when she said it. She didn’t need to.

Her body had already curled a little closer, shoulder brushing his. Not clinging. Just leaning.

Arlo made a delighted noise and flung Mr. Foxy onto Wyatt’s lap with dramatic flair.

Evie laughed softly, low in her throat.

The kind of laugh that sounded like hope.

Home.

It wasn’t loud or sharp. It didn’t rise with performance or fall away too quickly. It was warm. Lived-in. The kind of sound that filled a space slowly, like sunlight creeping across the floorboards in the early morning. Wyatt felt it in his chest before processing it with his ears—that soft laugh that said I’m here. I’m okay. We’re okay.

Mr. Foxy landed squarely in his lap, and Wyatt blinked, startled, before lifting the plush toy with a dramatic gasp.

“Well, look who decided to join the table,” he murmured, lifting the fox-like it was royalty. “Didn’t know we were hosting royalty this morning.”

Arlo let out another high-pitched squeal of glee, his tiny hands clapping together as if he’d orchestrated the whole thing. Wyatt chuckled and gave Mr. Foxy a slight bow, grinning when Arlo hugged it tight like a prized possession.

And beside him, Evie leaned in—not obviously, not urgently, just… enough. Enough to close the last inch between them. Enough to make him feel the curve of her shoulder against his arm. It was subtle. Gentle. But he noticed.

He always noticed.

Especially now.

The tray shifted slightly as she reached for another piece of pancake, and he instinctively steadied it with one hand. She didn’t thank him; she didn’t need to. It was another silent exchange in a morning built on them.

The kind of quiet that once would’ve gutted him with everything they weren’t saying now felt like a sanctuary. A space she let him into: one bite, one breath, one small inch of trust at a time.

He looked at her—not demanding anything, just memorizing the line of her jaw as she fed Arlo again, the crinkle at the corner of her eyes when she smiled without thinking, and the way her hand brushed the tray like she was grounding herself in something real.

And then, without breaking the spell, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear it:

“Okay.”

It wasn’t a reply. Not entirely.

It was a mirror.

A matching truth.

Okay, I believe you too.
Okay, I’ll keep trying.
Okay, we’re not broken.
Okay, we’re still here.

The hum of the fridge carried on. The pan cooled behind them. The blinds danced in the breeze, light flickering like gold across the carpet. And for once, there was nothing left to fix. There was nothing that needed explaining. Just a messy toddler, a lukewarm breakfast, a woman who hadn’t fled, and a man finally learning how to stay.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was theirs.

And it was enough.

Wyatt reached over and gently plucked a strawberry from the tray, holding it up like a sacred offering. He wiggled it between his fingers, leaning closer to her shoulder.

“Alright, confession,” he said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I didn’t just get the good strawberries for you.”

He popped the berry into his mouth, exaggeratedly chewing like savoring the best bite of his life. “I mean, yeah, you deserve luxury produce. But also… I like when your nose crinkles when you’re trying to pretend you don’t care about overpriced fruit.”

He peeked sideways at her, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And let’s be honest—if these were squishy, you would’ve tossed them at my head.”

Arlo, now happily munching on a pancake triangle, mostly syrup, looked up at Wyatt wide-eyed and offered him a sticky hand. Wyatt blinked down at it, then grinned and took it gently.

“Sir, it is an honor,” he said solemnly. “Sticky diplomacy at its finest.”

He pressed a mock-serious kiss to Arlo’s fingers before grabbing a napkin to clean them off. Evie was trying not to laugh; he could tell. Her mouth twitched, her eyes sparkling in the way they used to be before things got so heavy. And God, he missed that look. I missed earning that look.

Wyatt leaned back slightly and stretched his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing her shoulder without pushing, without asking for anything, just being there.

Because if this soft, sleepy, syrupy morning were the start of something new between them, he would meet it with every piece of warmth he had left. He’d be silly for her. Sweet for her. Steady.

Whatever she needed—every damn day.

Evie could feel it—settling into her bones like something remembered.

Not the ache of survival.
Not the dizzy spin of always trying to catch up.
But this. This little, laugh-warmed lull of a morning.

The kind of morning she used to watch through coffee shop windows and wonder if it was real.
The kind of morning she never thought she’d be allowed to keep.

And now it was sticky fingers and stolen strawberries and Wyatt being a complete idiot with a plush fox like it mattered. Like she mattered.

Her eyes flicked toward him as he leaned back, arm loose along the couch, fingers brushing her shoulder like punctuation. Not a demand. Just... presence. And it made her want to fold into it.

Instead, she picked up the tray.

“Alright, His Royal Stickiness,” she said to Arlo, sweeping a piece of pancake off his lap with a practiced swipe, “time to get this syrup off before you glue yourself to the couch.”

Arlo squealed and immediately squirmed away, delighted by the idea of being sticky on purpose. Evie wrangled him gently, tugging his shirt over his head and wiping down his face while he giggled and tried to escape her grasp. It was chaotic, but easy. Familiar. Her hands knew what to do even while her heart felt too full.

She caught Wyatt watching them—softly, quietly—and her voice came out quieter, too. Less armor, more truth.

“I’m gonna get him cleaned up. You get the dishes?”

It wasn’t a test. It wasn’t loaded.

It was trust, handed over like a dishcloth and a to-do list.

Wyatt nodded once, no theatrics, and started clearing the plates without comment. The clink of forks, the hum of running water. It felt weirdly... grounding. Like watching someone sweep the floor of a house you weren’t sure you were allowed to live in, and realizing maybe you’d already been moved in for a while.

Evie took Arlo down the hall, his sticky hands clinging to her thumb. She wiped him down, swapped his syrup-drenched onesie for a little hoodie and joggers, and brushed his fine curls into something resembling order.

“There,” she whispered, smoothing his hair. “Handsome chaos.”

Arlo beamed up at her, cheeks still faintly pink from all the giggling. Her throat tightened.

When she carried him back out, Wyatt was drying the last plate, sleeves pushed up, a dish towel slung over his shoulder like he’d been doing this forever.

“Park, right?” he asked, glancing at her like she was still the one with the final say. “I’ll take him. You nap.”

Evie blinked, surprised by how much those words hit her. Not an offer. Not a bribe. Just… care. Offered like it was ordinary.

“You sure?”

Wyatt didn’t hesitate. His eyes met hers—steadier now, not full of apology, not grasping at some unspoken need for redemption. Just present. Solid. There.

“I’m sure,” he said, drying his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “You’ve been on since sunrise. You’ve earned a break. Let me clock in for a while.”

He crossed the room to her, hand automatically reaching for Arlo, who immediately lunged into his arms like it was a game. Wyatt caught him with practiced ease, lifting him high enough to earn a delighted shriek before settling him on his hip.

“You ready to go boss the ducks around?” he asked Arlo, who babbled something suspiciously like “ducks” but could’ve just as easily been gibberish. Wyatt grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He glanced back at Evie, his voice gentling again. “We’ll be gone a bit. Long enough for you to rest. Like… rest. Not the kind where you keep one ear open for disaster.”

He shifted Arlo on his hip, adjusting Mr. Foxy under one arm like they were gearing up for a mission. “Text me if you need anything. But only if it’s important. No laundry questions allowed.”

That earned him the tiniest smile, the kind that crept in like it didn’t want to be caught.

He stepped closer, dipping his head to press a quick kiss to her temple, just like earlier—but this one felt different. It's not a peace offering. Not a promise. Just a moment. Quiet and warm.

“You’ve got me,” he said against her skin. “Even when you’re not looking.”

Then he pulled back, flashed a wink at Arlo, and headed toward the door with their son babbling excitedly in his arms.

Evie watched them go, the soft scuff of sneakers and the click of the door closing behind them, leaving the apartment wrapped in golden quiet again.

For the first time in a long time, she let herself sit down—really sit—and breathe in that silence not as absence but as proof.

She wasn’t alone.

Not today.

Maybe not anymore