Richard had been at his desk since nine, the office unusually hushed in that suspended space between Christmas and the New Year. Many of the desks sat empty, their occupants away with family, the building breathing more slowly than usual.
He worked through his emails methodically, deleting the inevitable clutter — advertisements, automated updates, things that asked for his attention but didn't deserve it.
After that, he opened the drawers of his desk and began sorting through papers he'd let accumulate over months. Contracts already resolved. Notes no longer relevant. Traces of a version of himself he was quietly preparing to step away from.
He had been serious, for some time now, about withdrawing from the day-to-day running of the company. Becoming present in another way. A year ago, he'd been ready to shift into the background entirely, to take on the role of a silent partner. He had delayed it then — not out of doubt, but out of necessity. Work had given him structure while the divorce dragged on, something solid to hold onto when the rest of his life felt in flux.
He hadn't expected what came after. Hadn't expected to want less of this place, less of the hours and the pressure, and more of someone else. He certainly hadn't expected to fall in love again — not in this quiet, steady way. Not with someone whose presence mattered more to him than being busy ever had.
At twelve, he pushed his chair back and stood, reaching for his coat. The movement felt purposeful, almost light. He was meeting Helene for lunch.
It would be the first time he'd see her since returning the day before, and the thought had stayed with him all morning — not as impatience, but as a quiet warmth, something he'd carried with him as he'd moved through the hours.
As he headed out into the cold, he realised, not for the first time, that this was the life he wanted to be walking toward.
He had chosen a small restaurant tucked away from the main road — the sort of place you only found if you were looking for it. Pale wood tables. Linen napkins folded with care. Conversation kept low and respectful, as though no one wanted to intrude on anyone else's moment. It felt private without trying to be.
Helene arrived a few minutes after him, colour high in her cheeks from the cold, her scarf wrapped neatly at her throat. When she saw him, her smile came at once — easy now, unguarded, no longer startled by its own warmth.
"Welcome home," she said softly.
He stood and kissed her cheek, lingering a fraction longer than he once would have.
"I've missed you," he said softly.
"I've missed you too," she replied, and this time there was no hesitation at all.
They ordered something simple. Something warm. As they waited, Richard found himself watching her as she spoke — the quiet animation of her hands, the way she gave her attention fully, as though nothing else in the room mattered. Being across a table from her again felt grounding. Solid. Like stepping back into something real after a long journey.
When their plates had been cleared and the waiter had moved away, Richard reached down beside his chair and lifted a slim, carefully wrapped parcel.
"I got you something," he said.
Her brows drew together slightly. "Richard…"
"Nothing extravagant," he added at once. "I promise."
She smiled, a little shy despite herself, and took the parcel. She didn't hurry. She untied the ribbon slowly.
Inside was a pressed botanical print — winter stems and pale leaves arranged with quiet precision. It was simply mounted, the colours muted and calm.
Helene caught her breath.
"Oh," she breathed, barely audible.
"I saw it in a small gallery near one of the canals," he explained.
"It reminded me of you. Careful. Observant. Not trying to be anything other than what it is."
She traced the edge of the frame with her fingertip.
"It's beautiful," she said. Then, after a pause, "I've never seen anything like it before."
"I hoped you'd like it," he replied. "Something quiet. Something that would just… bring you joy."
She looked up at him then, her eyes bright, her emotions held in place, but unmistakably there.
"It does," she said. "Thank you."
"There's one more thing."
He reached into his coat pocket this time and brought out a small paper bag, folded carefully at the top.
"Chocolates," he said. "From a chocolatier in Bruges. Very particular about his craft. I asked what people bought for someone they cared about, not tourists. Locals."
Her expression softened as she opened it. Inside were simple, elegant pieces of dark chocolate, understated, precise.
"You asked the locals?" she said.
"I did," he nodded. "I wanted it to be right."
She laughed quietly, the sound warm and genuine.
"You realise this means I'll never be able to eat ordinary chocolate again."
"I'll take responsibility for that," he said easily.
She looked at the chocolates once more, then back at him.
"You notice the small things," she said. It wasn't quite a compliment. More an observation.
"When it comes to you," he replied, "I want to."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The space between them felt full rather than empty, settled and certain.
"This," she said at last, gesturing gently toward the gifts and then him, "means more than you know. Not because of what they are. But because of why."
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.
"That's exactly why I chose them."
Her fingers curled lightly against his. She didn't pull away.
"I'm glad you're back," she said quietly.
"So am I," he answered. "Things felt… incomplete while I was away."
Her smile this time was slower, surer.
And there was no shyness in it at all.
Richard waited until the evening had settled into something calm.
The dinner dishes were done, the house carried that quiet, end-of-day warmth he'd worked hard to protect. Chloe sat curled up on one end of the sofa with her feet tucked beneath her; her phone abandoned beside her. Drew occupied the other end, the remote control in his hand, searching for something to watch.
Richard stood for a moment, watching them both. This — this ordinary peacefulness — was what he was most afraid of disturbing.
He sat down across from them, not looming, not tentative either. Just present.
"There's something I want to talk to you both about," he said.
Chloe looked up at once. Drew didn't, but his shoulders shifted, a subtle bracing.
Richard noticed.
"I've met someone," he said evenly. "Her name is Helene."
The words hung there. Not dramatic. Just honest.
Chloe blinked, then tilted her head. "Like… dating?"
"Yes," Richard said. "Like that."
Drew's eyes flicked up then, sharp and quick, before returning to the television screen.
Richard leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.
"Before either of you say anything, I want you to hear this part clearly. This doesn't change how I feel about you. It doesn't change my priorities. You come first. Always."
Chloe studied his face, searching for cracks.
"So you're not… disappearing?"
He looked her in the eyes and smiled.
"No. I'm staying right here."
She nodded, reassured more by his tone than the words themselves. "Okay."
Drew stayed quiet.
Richard didn't rush him.
"Helene is kind," he continued. "Quietly kind. She's spent most of her adult life taking care of other people. She raised Isabelle on her own and when Isabelle needed her again — when she went back to work — Helene looked after her children. She's a grandmother."
That landed differently.
Chloe's eyebrows lifted. "Isabelle's mother?"
"Yes."
"That's… actually kind of cool," Chloe said, considering it. "So she's not trying to —" she waved her hand vaguely, "— be young and weird?"
Richard let out a soft breath of laughter.
"No. She's nothing like that."
Drew looked at him then, properly this time.
"She knows about us?"
"Yes," Richard said without hesitation. "And she respects that we're a family. She understands that you two will always come first."
That mattered. He could see it register, even if Drew didn't respond.
"I'd like you to meet her," Richard continued gently.
"If you're open to it. No pressure. I thought we could go somewhere nice. Dinner, maybe. There's a quiet bistro in Kensington I like. We could go on New Year's Eve."
Chloe's face brightened immediately.
"New Year's Eve? That sounds nice. Is it fancy?"
"More... homey," Richard said. "Warm. Calm."
"I'm in," Chloe said easily. "I want to meet her."
Richard turned his attention to Drew, giving him space rather than expectation.
Drew shrugged, the movement small.
"I guess… yeah. Dinner's fine."
Not enthusiasm. Not refusal either.
Richard nodded, accepting it for what it was.
"We'll take it slow," he said. "No one's asking you to do anything you're not ready to do."
Drew's jaw tightened for just a moment, then eased.
Chloe smiled, leaning back into the sofa. "Dad, are you happy?"
"Yes. I am."
"I'm glad you're happy."
Something in his chest loosened at that.
"Thank you," he replied quietly.
Drew didn't speak again, but as Richard stood to make tea, he noticed the TV remote had been set aside completely. Drew sat very still, thinking.
Richard understood that silence, too.
Change was hardest when you'd already lost so much.
He didn't push.
There would be time.