I follow the noise down the hallway slowly, loosening my tie as I go. The spare room door is wide open.
And when I step into the doorway, I stop completely.
The room is chaos.
Dust sheets cover the floor. Paint trays are scattered everywhere. One wall is already coated in soft cream paint while another is half finished.
Sebastian stands on a tiny ladder, painting determinedly with a brush far too big for him.
And Wynter—
Christ.
She’s in one of my old shirts with the sleeves rolled up, and the material hangs loosely over her body with tiny denim shorts underneath.
Her hair is piled messily on top of her head, and there’s paint streaked across one cheek as she dances around the room with a roller in her hand. She’s singing loudly, and there’s a huge smile on her face as she shakes her body in some kind of dance.
And I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen anything that looked more like home.
Something unfamiliar settles heavily in my chest as I stand there unnoticed, just watching them.
Watching her.
The sunlight streams through the windows, catching her flushed face as she spins around dramatically singing into the paint roller like it’s a microphone.
Sebastian nearly falls off the ladder laughing.
And I’m hit with the sudden realisation that everything I need, is in this room right now. This scene, this chaos, it’s what I never had growing up, but it’s exactly what I want Seb and my unborn child to have.A happy family.
Wynter turns suddenly, still laughing, then spots me in the doorway.
She freezes instantly. For a second, neither of us moves. Then her entire face lights up again, like she’s genuinely happy to see me. The look hits me so hard I almost forget how to breathe.
“There you are!” she says over the music.
Sebastian spins around excitedly. “Dad, we’re painting.”
“So I gathered.”
My eyes drift slowly around the room again before settling back on Wynter. “What’s all this?”
She glances around proudly before looking back at me. “I decided the baby’s room needed doing.”
Baby’s room.
Something hopeful unfurls slowly inside my chest, because for the first time since she got here, this sounds permanent, like she might just stick around.
Wynter misreads my silence instantly.
“If you hate it, we can change it,” she says quickly. “I just thought cream was neutral and calm and—”
“I love it.” The words leave me immediately.
Her expression softens. Then she grins suddenly before walking towards me. “Well good,” she says, grabbing a clean roller from the tray. “Because now you’re helping.”
Before I can protest, she presses it into my hand and grabs my wrist, dragging me fully into the room.
“I’ve never painted a wall before,” I admit. “I’m not even dressed for it.”