Dad pointed the tip of the knife at Thomas, eyes narrowed in playful warning.
"One scorched kettle and you're buying me a new set, son."
"Deal," Thomas shot back without missing a beat, still watching me as though he couldn't quite believe I was here, smiling back at him. Mom shook her head, chuckling as she reached for the sugar jar.
"Honestly, it's like living in a sitcom," she murmured under her breath, but there was warmth in every syllable.
...and for a heartbeat, with the smell of apples and cinnamon in the air, Thomas's hand brushing mine as he passed the slice, and my father's mock complaints filling the kitchen, the world felt gently, beautifully whole again.

Dinner was louder than the morning had been, full of clatter and chaos in the best possible way. Alice banged her spoon on the table with single-minded determination, splattering mashed vegetables everywhere. Each time someone tried to clean her up, she squealed and slapped her chubby hands on the tray, triumphant in her tiny rebellion.

Lola, nestled in her high chair nearby, watched with wide eyes and occasionally reached out to grab a piece of bread or a napkin, her little fingers sticky from curiosity more than hunger.
Jimmy, halfway through a forkful of pasta, launched into his superhero 온라인카지노게임 for the second time, voice pitched with excitement as if none of us had heard it before.
"And then Captain America throws his shield, but Spider-Man jumps in and—"
"We know, Jimmy," I teased gently, though I couldn't help smiling at how animated he was.
Dad, carving slices of roast chicken, pretended to grumble under his breath.
"If this 온라인카지노게임 gets any longer, dinner'll be tomorrow morning."
"Grandpa!" Jimmy protested, giggling.
Through it all, Thomas moved around the table almost silently: refilling water glasses, cutting Alice's food into toddler-friendly pieces, wiping a spill Jimmy didn't even notice he made. Every time he passed behind me, I felt the faint warmth of his hand just brushing my shoulder, a quiet reassurance he didn't say out loud.
Then Jimmy's grin sharpened into mischief. "Remember that time Dad burned the barbecue?"
Thomas groaned, dropping his head for dramatic effect, "One burger," he insisted, voice muffled. "It was one burger."
Dad raised his fork like a judge delivering a sentence, "It was charcoal," he declared solemnly. "Your mother banned him from the grill for a month."
Mom, laughter already in her voice, added, "and we still bring it up every summer." 
Thomas let out an exaggerated sigh, but the corners of his mouth curved up in defeat, "You lot are ruthless," he muttered, shaking his head, though his eyes flicked over to me for half a heartbeat.
Alice let out a shriek of delight, flinging a piece of broccoli directly onto Dad's plate. Without missing a beat, Dad speared it on his fork, held it up like a trophy, and announced,
"Thank you, Your Majesty. Fresh from the royal hand."
Mom swatted his arm lightly, and Thomas ducked his head, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.
Between Jimmy's endless retelling, Dad's teasing, Mom's soft laughter, and Thomas's gentle, unseen care, I felt the walls inside me loosen. As if maybe love, real love, wasn't always in grand declarations but in shared stories, burnt burgers, messy toddlers, and a hand brushing your shoulder...
After dinner, we got the girls ready for bed first. Alice, sticky with banana and jam, needed a full wipe-down that turned into squeals and giggles; Lola was easier, already half-asleep against my chest before I even set her down.
Mom and Dad were gathering their things to go upstairs. She pressed a hand to her knee, grimacing. "These knees," she muttered. "They've survived two kids, three dogs, and that disastrous attempt at Zumba, but they won't survive another late night."
Dad patted her back gently. "Come on, love, I'll rub some cream on them if you promise not to kick me when it stings."
"I make no promises," she sniffed, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Don't let your father's heroics fool you," Mom added, glancing at me. "He'll complain about it for twice as long as the massage lasts."
Dad threw his hands up. "She wounds me daily," he declared to the ceiling, then winked at me before they shuffled off together, still bickering gently in that soft, familiar way that made the house feel like home.
Few minutes later, I was watching Thomas and Jimmy untangling a mountain of blankets on the couch for movie night.
"Dad, the corners go under, not over," Jimmy scolded, fighting with a stubborn fold.
"You sound like your mother," Thomas teased, trying (and failing) to look offended.
"Well she's right about everything," Jimmy shot back, grinning.
"Well, almost everything," Thomas said, plopping down heavily onto the couch. "Except about which superhero could beat the others."
"Don't start," Jimmy warned, but Thomas only raised his brows, deadpan:
"I still say Batman could totally take Thor if he had enough prep time."
Jimmy's jaw dropped. "He's literally a god, Dad."
"A god, yes," Thomas nodded solemnly, "but with terrible armor design."
Jimmy groaned into a pillow, muttering something about "I can't believe this man raised me," while Thomas just grinned at me, completely pleased with himself.
The movie ended, the last notes of the soundtrack trailing off into the quiet room. Jimmy stretched, half-yawned, then mumbled a quick "Night, Mum. Night, Dad," before disappearing upstairs, leaving the living room hushed and a little golden in the lamplight. Thomas sat beside me on the couch, his shoulder warm against mine, the empty popcorn bowl between us. He looked down at his hands for a moment before speaking, his voice low, almost shy.
"Do you remember," he began, "the first time we ever watched a movie together? We must've been, what, fifteen?"
I smiled, the memory already blooming in my chest.
"You were so excited," he continued, chuckling softly. "You kept talking through half of it, pointing out lines, guessing what would happen next... God, I barely saw the movie at all. I just kept thinking how close your shoulder was. How wonderful you smelled and how my heart was beating so stupidly fast I was sure you'd hear it."
He hesitated, then met my eyes, his gaze open and raw in that way it only ever was with me.
"I was terrified, you know," he admitted. "Terrified you'd look over and see how badly I already liked you."
My breath caught, and warmth rose up my neck so quickly it almost stung. For a second, I couldn't speak—then the words slipped out, soft and certain, barely louder than a breath:
« Je t'aimais déjà à ce moment-là... »
Thomas froze, eyes widening just slightly, the words sinking in.
"What did you say?," he whispered, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard me right.
"I already loved you then," I repeated, voice shaking a little. His mouth curved into a smile that was almost heartbreakingly tender, eyes shining, laughter and wonder caught in the same breath.
Then he kissed me. Slow at first, uncertain, reverent, as though he was asking permission even now. His lips were warm and familiar, yet the gentleness made it feel almost new: like rediscovering each other in a language we thought we'd forgotten. His hand cupped my jaw, thumb brushing a tear away before it could fall, and I leaned into him, heart pounding so loudly I wondered if he could feel it too.
Outside, the night stayed quiet, just the hush of leaves shifting beyond the window, the soft hum of distant traffic, but in that small circle of lamplight, it felt like the world had folded itself around us.