They arrived in Bruges on a Saturday. They bundled up and stepped out into the cold, the cobblestones slick beneath their boots. The Christmas market was busy in the days leading up to Christmas Day. But the crowds made it no less charming — there were wooden stalls trimmed with pine, strings of warm lights looping overhead, steam curling into the air from vats of mulled wine and roasting chestnuts.
They wandered slowly, hands wrapped around paper cones of sugared almonds, stopping to admire hand-carved ornaments and delicate lacework being sold by the people who'd made them.
Richard bought Chloe a small silver charm to add to her charm bracelet. Drew chose a scarf in deep green, insisting it made him look "very Belgian."
They crossed the canals, pausing to admire how the water mirrored the buildings above, as if the city were folded neatly in on itself, preserved in time. At a café nestled in a narrow lane, they sat down to waffles dusted with chocolate and sugar, their warmth mingling with the cool air.
The next day, they climbed the Belfry, the steps steep and winding. Chloe counted them aloud, her voice echoing off the stone walls. Drew complained they were too high, but refused to stop, determined to reach the top. When they finally did, the view opened wide — red rooftops, church spires, and the city stretched out like a patchwork of history and quiet beauty.
"It feels so peaceful from up here," Chloe said, her voice thoughtful.
"Yes," Richard agreed, his gaze taking in the sprawling landscape below. "It does."
Drew, ever the photographer, took pictures from every angle, capturing everything in sight. The afternoon was spent wandering through museums and churches, their hands warming around cups of soup. When the cold crept in, they ducked into small shops, their laughter echoing in the quiet streets. As evening fell, the lights in the canals reflected off the water, turning the city golden, softening the chill of the night.
Back at the hotel, tired but content, Richard watched his children play cards, their easy laughter filling the room as they made plans for the next day.
Christmas Day would be quieter, a simple dinner at the hotel. They had agreed to exchange only small gifts, knowing that the true gift they all wanted was the warmth of family.
The following morning, Richard woke to the muffled hush of snow-softened sounds from the city beyond the hotel windows.
Bruges lay beneath a pale winter sky, its canals still and glowing under the Christmas lights, the medieval rooftops dusted with frost. Church bells rang softly in the distance, unhurried, as if the city itself was taking its time, savouring the stillness.
It was Christmas morning.
He lay still for a moment, reflecting on his children and how much happier they were now. He reached for his phone. There was one person he wanted to speak to first.
She answered on the third ring.
"Good morning," Helene said, her voice warm with sleep.
"Merry Christmas," Richard replied softly.
There was a quiet smile in her tone.
"Merry Christmas, Richard. Where are you today?"
"In Bruges," he said. "It's very still. Very beautiful. I wish you were here."
The words were simple. He didn't dress them up. He didn't need to.
She exhaled gently.
"It sounds lovely. I'm glad you're spending quality time there with them."
"They're still asleep," he said. "I'm taking advantage of the quiet."
"And of me," she teased lightly.
He smiled. "Always."
They spoke easily, about the city waking up, about the bells, about the snow that hadn't stopped falling all night. She told him she was feeling better, her cold had retreated at last. He found himself relieved in a way that lingered.
"I keep thinking how much you would like it here," he said.
"The lights on the water. The way everything feels… gentler than in London. Softer. Slower."
"I can imagine it," she said.
"I've always wanted to see Bruges at Christmas."
"I'll bring you here," he replied without hesitation.
There was a brief pause on the line. Not uncertain — reflective.
"I've been thinking," he continued. "Once I've told the children about you… I don't intend to spend any time away from you. I'm going to leave the day to day managing to someone else. I'm done with that."
Her breath caught, just slightly.
"That's a big thing to say," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied. "And I don't say things I don't mean. I've decided."
She didn't rush to answer. When she did, her voice was steady.
"I like knowing where I stand with you," she said. "It feels… reliable. Like I can depend on you."
He smiled at that.
"Good. That's exactly how I want it to feel."
She laughed softly.
"You seem happy, you know."
"You're not even here."
"I can hear it in your voice."
He paused, then said, "You sound beautiful this morning."
She didn't deflect it this time.
"Thank you," she said simply. "And you sound very content."
"I'll be even more content when I see you on the weekend," he replied. "I'll call you this evening?"
"I'd like that," she said. "Very much."
They ended the call without lingering too long, promises settled quietly between them that didn't need to be spoken aloud.
Breakfast with the children was lively and unhurried. Chloe had insisted on going downstairs early, declaring that Christmas in a hotel required ceremony. Drew had followed, still half asleep, but smiling.
They ate fresh bread and butter, strong coffee for Richard, hot chocolate piled with cream for the children. Outside, Bruges continued to wake. The market traders setting out their wares, couples crossing bridges wrapped in scarves, the scent of sugar and spice drifting in the air.
"So," Richard said, folding his napkin.
"What's the plan today?"
"Waffles," Drew said immediately.
"Again?" Chloe laughed.
"Yes, again," he replied. "With extra chocolate."
"I thought we'd go back to the market," Chloe added. "And maybe the ice sculptures?"
Richard nodded.
"That sounds like an excellent start."
The markets were quieter as it was Christmas morning. After a round of waffles, they wandered toward the ice rink. Drew skated with fierce concentration, his arms stiff at his sides, while Chloe moved more easily, laughing when she caught herself before a fall.
Nearby, ice sculptures glowed softly under white lights, intricate and fleeting, already beginning their slow surrender to time.
They ended the afternoon with a horse-drawn carriage ride, the clip of hooves echoing gently through narrow streets, the driver wrapped in wool, the city passing by like something preserved.
Back at the hotel, they shared a traditional Christmas dinner, rich and warming, they pulled crackers with childish enthusiasm. Paper crowns were worn without irony. Jokes were groaned at, then repeated.
Later, they drifted into Richard's room, changed into comfortable clothes and watched Christmas films until the edges of the evening blurred. Chloe fell asleep curled on the sofa, her head tipped awkwardly, but peacefully. Richard didn't have the heart to wake her.
"Don't go back to your room. I'll take the floor," he said quietly.
Drew shook his head.
"It's a king-size bed. We can share. Top and tail."
Richard hesitated, then smiled. "Alright."
They got ready for bed quietly, the lights dimmed low.
As Drew settled, Richard's thoughts turned to Helene. To the call he had promised her.
"I need to speak to the front desk about something," he told Drew softly. "I won't be long."
Downstairs, the hotel lobby was hushed, all soft lamps and muted echoes. Richard found a quiet corner and dialled her number. It was late, but he knew she'd be waiting.
She answered immediately.
"Richard?"
There was worry in her voice.
"I'm so sorry," he said gently. "Time slipped away from me. After dinner we watched a couple of films. I couldn't bring myself to leave them."
"That's alright," she said, relief threading through her words.
"I was just worried. I'm glad you were together. You're a good father. And a good man."
Then, more softly, "I got your gift. It's beautiful. Thank you."
"You're very welcome," he replied.
"I wanted to give it to you myself. I hoped you'd like it."
"I do," she said. "I'm wearing it now."
He smiled, alone in the quiet.
"You're special to me, Helene. These past few months have been some of the loveliest I can remember. That's because of you."
There was silence.
"Helene?" he asked gently. "Are you there?"
"I'm here," she said, breath unsteady.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she replied. "I've been having the loveliest time with you too."
"I'll be home in two days," he said. "I'll tell the children before the New Year."
"Are you sure they'll take it well?"
"Absolutely," he said without doubt.
"You're amazing. Once they know you, they'll see that. They'll understand why I love you."
She inhaled sharply.
"What did you say?"
"You didn't know?"
His voice was calm, certain.
"Richard… did you mean it?"
"Of course I did. I don't say things I don't mean. I'm too old for games. And you're too special to let go. I love you, Helene."
A beat.
"That's three gifts today," she said quietly.
"How do you count three?"
"You were the first to wish me a merry Christmas. The necklace. And now this."
"I just wish you were here," he said. "Next Christmas, you will be. I promise."
"Don't," she murmured.
"No one is promised tomorrow. All we have is right now."
He smiled to himself.
"Alright. Then right now, I promise to love you every day. Is that acceptable?"
"Yes," she said. "It is."
"I should go back to the children. Goodnight, Helene."
"Goodnight, Richard. Oh — Richard?"
"Yes?"
"I love you too."
His smile was immediate, unguarded. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words settle inside him.
"I'd come back tomorrow if I could," he said, "but I've promised the children one more stop before London."
"Where are you taking them?"
"Disneyland Paris," he said lightly. "You're never too old."
She laughed softly.
"That's wonderful. Get some rest. You'll need it."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
When he returned upstairs, the room was dark and still, Chloe sleeping peacefully, Drew already breathing evenly.
Richard lay down carefully, his thoughts full of Helene — of telling the children soon, carefully and honestly. Of a future that no longer felt theoretical.
The shape of what he wanted was clear.
And he was no longer afraid of wanting it.