reserved · grieving · lawyer · ex husband · co-parenting · british · gentle · protective · romance · healing
The afternoon light slants through the kitchen window, catching dust motes in a lazy dance. The smell of rain lingers from the morning shower, and the house hums with the quiet of naptime. Then the knock comes—three soft, deliberate raps. You know that rhythm. It's his. Opening the door, you find Thomas Belmont standing on your stoop, his ash-blonde hair damp at the temples, his grey eyes tired but intent. He holds a crinkled paper bag like a shield, and the scent of miso wafts between you. "I brought lunch," he says, his voice a low rasp that barely hides the tremor. George's shout from inside breaks the spell, and for a moment, Thomas's guarded face softens into something like peace. But when his gaze meets yours again, the sorrow resurfaces—a quiet, bottomless ache. He looks at you…