Page 160 of ICED
“That’s good,” he says.
I rest my head on his shoulder. “It feels like breathing again. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You don’t have to anymore.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. But they’re not fromfear. Not this time. They’re from the weight that’s lifted. The peace I never thought I’d get.
“I didn’t think I’d get to have this,” I whisper. “A real home. Someone who stays. Who makes me coffee and shares croissants and builds a bed with a slide.”
Owen turns to face me fully. “You deserve all of it, Maya. Every last bit. And if it takes a thousand more croissants to convince you, I’ll do it.”
I smile through the sting in my eyes. “You’re ridiculously good at this.”
He grins. “I’ve been practicing. Every day since I met you.”
We walk home hand in hand. Lila chatters about her day and Owen listens like it’s the most important thing in the world. I walk beside them, heart full to bursting, thinking, this is the life I never thought I could have.
This is the soft landing.
This is love.
EPILOGUE
MAYA
The oven hums in the background, and the kitchen smells like sugar and warm apples. Dave the starter is bubbling contentedly in his jar on the counter, wearing the tiny crocheted beanie Lila insisted he needed for winter, even though it’s June. The sourdough loaf is proving on the windowsill, covered with a tea towel printed with cartoon bears in aprons. Owen found it at a market stall last week and bought three.
Lila is on her step-stool, pink apron tied crookedly around her waist, her face is smeared with flour and pure determination. She is piping buttercream onto cupcakes with the intense focus of a world-class surgeon.
“Gentle, babe,” I say, leaning in. “That one’s looking a little like a ghost.”
“It’ssupposedto look like a ghost,” she says proudly. “It’s a spooky cupcake.”
“Ah, my mistake.”
Owen is manning the oven, timer in hand, wearing the apron Lila made him for Christmas. It says‘BEAR’S BAKERY’in glitter paint and has a large stain shaped suspiciously like gravy.
“You two,” I say, “have turned my kitchen into chaos.”
“We improved it,” Owen says, sliding a tray of muffins onto the rack. “Made it more…what’s the word, Lila?”
“Vibey,” Lila says seriously.
I shake my head, grinning.
Outside, the back garden is in full bloom. The sun is out, the grass freshly cut, and the little herb planter we built together last month is already overflowing. This morning, Owen installed a tiny scarecrow that Lila named Sir Parsley. He now guards the mint with an expression of permanent alarm.
Inside, the kitchen is filled with the three of us, a half-made mess, and something that feels exactly like peace.
And it’s not just peace. It’s justice, too.
Jamie’s sentencing came through last week. Guilty on all charges. Multiple counts of coercive control, stalking, and intimidation, as well as the break-in and property damage. He’ll serve time. Real time. Not just a warning or a suspended sentence. Despite being given the option to submit video evidence so I didn’t have to face him, I sat in the courtroom beside Owen, hand clenched in his, and listened to the verdict with tears on my cheeks. Not because I was afraid, but because I was finally free.
I didn’t run. I faced it. And I won.
So today? Today I bake.
Because we’re throwing a garden party. Nothing fancy, just The Raptors and a couple of the neighbours we’ve become friendly with. There’s bunting across the fence and strings of fairy lights everywhere, and Sophie’s bringing the baby and her unbeatable lemon drizzle. Ollie’s in charge of the BBQ. Murphy promised to bring beer, soft drinks, and a playlist that won’t scar the children. Mia and Dylan are coming too, with a massive inflatable unicorn Lila insists will be the centrepiece of the event.
