Light
The morning arrived softly, the way it always did now.
Pale golden light crept through the curtains of the master bedroom, painting warm stripes across the silk sheets and the two bodies tangled beneath them. The estate was quiet — that rare, precious stillness that existed only in the earliest hours, before the world remembered how to be loud.
Galaxy was buried in Vincent’s chest, her face pressed against the warmth of his skin, one hand curled loosely over his heart. His arm was wrapped around her waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep, pulling her close like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.
Their breathing was synchronized — slow, deep, peaceful.
The rebuilt east wing gleamed in the morning light outside their window. The oak saplings Hugo had planted stood waist-high now, their leaves trembling gently in the breeze. Everything that had been broken was whole again. Everything that had been burned had grown back stronger.
This was their life now.
Not surviving. Not fighting. Justliving.
And then—
Pat. Pat. Pat.
A small, warm hand landed on Vincent’s cheek.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
The hand moved to his nose, pressing down experimentally.
Vincent’s brow furrowed in his sleep, but he didn’t wake.
Pat. Pat. Squish.
The hand grabbed his bottom lip and pulled.
Vincent’s eyes snapped open.
Standing at the edge of the bed — having somehow escaped his crib, climbed onto the mattress, and crawled his way up between his parents — was Lucas Vincent Drax.
Eighteen months old. Wild dark curls. His mother’s eyes — those impossible, devastating eyes that Galaxy had given him like a gift Vincent didn’t deserve. A serious little frown that was entirely Vincent’s own, currently directed at his father with great intensity.
“Hung-gee,” Lucas announced solemnly.
Then he grabbed Vincent’s nose with his entire fist.
“Hung-gee.”
Vincent blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His son stared back at him with the patient expectation of a tiny emperor waiting for his servants to comply.
“Hung-gee,” Lucas repeated, louder this time. “.Hung-gee.”
Vincent’s voice came out rough with sleep. “Lucas. It’s—” He turned his head to check the clock on the nightstand. “—six fourteen in the morning.”
Lucas was unmoved by this information.
He released Vincent’s nose and redirected his attention to Galaxy, patting her cheek with enthusiastic determination.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
“Ma-ma.”
Galaxy made a soft sound of protest, burrowing deeper into the pillow.
Lucas was not deterred.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
“Ma-ma.Hung-gee.”
He leaned closer, his small face hovering inches from hers.
“MA-MA.”
Galaxy’s eyes fluttered open.
The first thing she saw was her son’s face — serious, demanding, absolutely certain that the world existed to serve his needs. The second thing she saw was Vincent, propped up on one elbow, watching them both with an expression of helpless adoration.
“Good morning,” Vincent said quietly.
Galaxy smiled, still half-asleep. “Mmm. Morning.”
“Ma-ma.” Lucas grabbed her cheek and squeezed. “Hung-gee.Now.”
Galaxy laughed — that bright, warm sound that still made Vincent’s chest ache after all this time.
“Okay, okay.” She pushed herself up, gathering Lucas into her arms. He immediately snuggled against her, one hand fisting in her sleep shirt, the other reaching up to touch her hair. “Someone’s hungry.”
“Hung-gee,” Lucas confirmed seriously. “Eat. Eat now.”
“He has your negotiation skills,” Galaxy told Vincent, kissing the top of Lucas’s head. “Very direct. No room for compromise.”
Vincent sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. “He has your stubbornness.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“You argued with a dean for forty-five minutes about examination scheduling.”
“That wasadvocacy.”
“You made him cry.”
“He wasalreadyemotional.”
Lucas, bored by the conversation, grabbed a fistful of Galaxy’s hair and tugged.
“Ma-ma.Hung-gee.”
They made their way downstairs together — Galaxy carrying Lucas, Vincent’s hand resting on the small of her back like it belonged there.
The estate was waking up around them. Somewhere in the kitchen, Sal was already working — the smell of fresh bread and coffee drifted through the hallways. Hugo was visible through the garden windows, tending to the wildflowers that bloomed in impossible colors along the stone pathways.
Maren appeared at the bottom of the stairs, already dressed and alert despite the early hour. Her eyes landed on Lucas and softened immediately.
“There’s my little prince,” she cooed, reaching out. “Did you escape your crib again?”
Lucas studied her with great seriousness.
“Hung-gee,” he informed her.
“Of course you are.” Maren took him from Galaxy’s arms with practiced ease. “Come with me. Sal has made your favorite — the little pancakes with the faces.”
Lucas’s eyes widened.
“Pan-pake?”
“Pancakes,” Maren confirmed. “With the blueberry eyes.”
Lucas looked back at Galaxy, as if seeking permission.
“Go ahead, baby,” Galaxy said, smoothing his curls. “Mama has to get ready for class. I’ll see you when I get home.”
Lucas’s face immediately crumpled.
“No,” he said, his voice wobbling. “Ma-ma stay.”
Galaxy’s heart clenched — it did every single time, no matter how many mornings they went through this.
“I’ll be back soon,” she promised, kissing his forehead. “Before you know it.”
"No.” Lucas’s bottom lip trembled dangerously. “Ma-mastay. No go.”
Vincent stepped closer, his hand finding Galaxy’s waist.
“Lucas,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Mama will be back. She always comes back.”
Lucas looked between them — his mother with her soft eyes and her apologetic smile, his father with his steady presence and his promises.
Slowly, reluctantly, he turned back to Maren.
“Pan-pake?” he asked in a small voice.
“Pancakes,” Maren assured him. “And afterward, we’ll go see the oak trees. Hugo says the birds are building nests.”
Lucas considered this.
“Bird?”
“Birds,” Maren confirmed. “With the red feathers.”
This was apparently acceptable. Lucas allowed himself to be carried toward the kitchen, though he looked back over Maren’s shoulder at Galaxy with those devastating eyes the entire way.
Galaxy watched him go, her chest tight.
“He’s fine,” Vincent murmured against her temple. “He does this every morning.”
“I know.” She leaned into him. “It doesn’t make it easier.”
“No.” Vincent pressed a kiss to her hair. “It doesn’t.”
Harrington Medical College — 9:47 AM
Galaxy sat in the third row of the surgical theory lecture, her notebook open, her pen moving in quick, precise strokes.
Dr. Ashworth was explaining the intricacies of vascular anastomosis — the surgical joining of blood vessels — and Galaxy was drinking in every word. This was her world now. This was what she had fought for, bled for, nearly lost everything for.
And it washers.
She thought about Lucas as she wrote — his serious little frown, his grabby hands, the way he said “Ma-ma” like it was the most important word in the universe. She thought about Vincent’s hand on her back and Maren’s steady presence and the smell of Sal’s pancakes.
She thought about how full her life had become.
Five years ago, she had been a girl with a gambling father and a dead mother and nothing but a stubborn refusal to disappear. She had written in her journal that she thought she’d been buried alive.
Now she was a medical student in her final year. A wife. A mother. Surrounded by people who loved her not because they had to, but because theychoseto.
I wasn’t buried, she thought, her pen pausing on the page.I was planted.
The lecture ended at 11:30. Galaxy packed her bag, shouldered her way through the crowded hallway, and checked her phone.
Three messages from Maren, each accompanied by a photo.
9:02 AM— Lucas covered in pancake batter, grinning wildly. Caption:“He helped.”
10:15 AM— Lucas in the garden with Hugo, pointing at a bird with intense concentration. Caption:“He’s been saying ‘bird’ for twenty minutes.”
10:58 AM— Lucas sitting on the kitchen floor with a wooden spoon, banging it against a pot. Caption:“Sal is pretending this is music. We’re all very tired.”
Galaxy laughed, her heart swelling.
She typed back:“Tell him I’ll be home soon. Give him extra kisses from me.”
Maren’s response was immediate:“He’s asked for you eleven times. I’ve been counting.”
Galaxy’s smile faltered slightly.
Eleven times.
She looked at the clock. Four more hours of classes. A study session with her surgical rotation group. A meeting with her faculty advisor about residency applications.
Four more hours felt like forever.
The Drax Estate — 3:22 PM
Vincent’s car pulled into the estate driveway at exactly 3:22 PM — fourteen minutes earlier than his usual arrival time.
He had rearranged two meetings, delegated a contract review to his legal team, and left Nero in charge of a conference call that would almost certainly end in someone being fired. None of it mattered. What mattered was getting home.
What mattered wasthem.
He stepped out of the car and was halfway to the front door when it burst open.
A small blur of dark curls and chubby legs came hurtling down the stone steps.
Vincent dropped to one knee just in time to catch Lucas as he launched himself forward. The impact nearly knocked Vincent backward — his son had Galaxy’s determination and absolutely no concept of physics — but he braced himself and wrapped his arms around the small, warm body that crashed into his chest.
“I’m home,” Vincent confirmed, one hand cradling the back of Lucas’s head. “I’m home, little one.”
Lucas pulled back just enough to study Vincent’s face with those serious eyes — Galaxy’s eyes, always Galaxy’s eyes — and then delivered his most pressing concern.
“Ma-ma?”
Vincent’s heart clenched.
“Mama’s still at school,” he said gently. “She’ll be home soon.”
Lucas’s face fell.
“Ma-ma comenow?”
“Soon. She’ll be here soon.”
"Now,” Lucas insisted, his voice rising. “Ma-ma comenow. Want Ma-ma.”
His bottom lip began to tremble.
His eyes grew wet.
And then — the thing Vincent still didn’t know how to handle, no matter how many times it happened — Lucas started to cry.
Not the loud, theatrical crying of a tantrum. This was worse. This was the quiet, hiccupping, heartbroken crying of a little boy who missed his mother and didn’t understand why she wasn’t there.
“Ma-ma,” Lucas sobbed, burying his face in Vincent’s shoulder. “Want Ma-ma. Where Ma-ma go?”
Vincent stood slowly, lifting Lucas with him. His son clung to him like a koala, tears soaking through the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.
“She’s coming back,” Vincent murmured, rubbing slow circles on Lucas’s back. “She always comes back. Remember? Mama always comes home to us.”
"Now,” Lucas wailed. “Ma-ma now.”
Vincent carried him inside, past Maren who watched with sympathetic eyes, past Sal who had emerged from the kitchen with a concerned frown. He took Lucas to the living room and settled into the large armchair by the window — the one that looked out over the front drive.
“Look,” Vincent said softly, turning Lucas so he could see the window. “This is where we’ll watch for Mama. When her car comes, you’ll see it first. Okay?”
Lucas sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
“See Ma-ma car?”
“You’ll see it first,” Vincent promised.
Lucas leaned against Vincent’s chest, his small body still trembling with residual sobs. One hand fisted in Vincent’s shirt. The other pressed against the window glass.
“Ma-ma come,” he whispered, more to himself than to Vincent. “Ma-ma come home.”
“She will,” Vincent said, pressing a kiss to his son’s curls. “She always does.”
They waited.
Vincent told Lucas about the oak trees — how Hugo had planted them from seeds his late wife had saved, how they would grow tall and strong, how one day Lucas would be able to climb them. Lucas listened with half-attention, his eyes never leaving the window.
Vincent told him about the birds in the garden — the ones with the red feathers, the ones that sang in the morning. Lucas nodded absently, pressing his nose against the glass.
Vincent told him about Mama — how she was learning to be a doctor, how she was going to help people, how she worked so hard because she wanted to make the world better.
“Ma-ma smart,” Lucas said quietly.
Vincent smiled. “The smartest person I’ve ever known.”
“Ma-ma pretty.”
“The most beautiful.”
“Ma-ma... Ma-ma comenow?”
Vincent checked his watch. Fifteen more minutes, if Galaxy’s schedule held.
“Almost,” he said. “Almost, little one.”
Lucas sighed — a heavy, world-weary sigh that seemed far too old for an eighteen-month-old — and slumped against Vincent’s chest.
“Miss Ma-ma,” he mumbled.
“I know.” Vincent tightened his arms around his son. “I miss her too.”
4:07 PM
Galaxy’s car appeared at the end of the driveway.
Lucas saw it first — just as Vincent had promised.
He went rigid in Vincent’s arms, his entire body vibrating with sudden electricity.
“MA-MA!”
He scrambled off Vincent’s lap with absolutely no regard for gravity or safety, hitting the floor at a run and sprinting for the front door. Maren barely managed to open it in time before he crashed through.
“MA-MA! MA-MA HOME! MA-MA!”
Galaxy was halfway up the front steps when a small missile of dark curls and desperate love collided with her legs.
She stumbled, laughed, and dropped to her knees all in one motion — catching Lucas, gathering him up, pressing her face into his hair.
“Hi, baby,” she breathed. “Hi, my love. Mama’s home.”
“Ma-ma.” Lucas’s arms wrapped around her neck so tightly she could barely breathe. His whole body was shaking. “Ma-ma home. Ma-mastay.”
“I’m staying.” She kissed his cheek, his forehead, his nose. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Miss Ma-ma.” His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “Miss Ma-maso much.”
Galaxy’s eyes burned.
“I missed you too, baby. So, so much.”
She looked up and found Vincent standing in the doorway, watching them with an expression that made her heart ache. His tie was loosened. His jacket was wrinkled and damp where Lucas’s tears had soaked through. His eyes were soft in a way that still surprised her, even after all this time.
“He waited by the window,” Vincent said quietly. “For half an hour.”
Galaxy stood, Lucas still clinging to her like she might disappear if he let go.
“My brave boy,” she murmured against Lucas’s hair. “My sweet, brave boy.”
She walked toward Vincent, their son between them. When she reached him, she rose onto her toes and kissed him — soft, slow, full of everything she couldn’t say.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi.” His hand came up to cup her face. “How was class?”
“Long.” She smiled. “Better now.”
Lucas lifted his head from Galaxy’s shoulder and looked between his parents. His tears had dried. His serious frown was back.
“Pan-pake?” he asked hopefully.
Galaxy laughed — bright, free, unbreakable.
“Let’s go ask Sal,” she said.
And she walked inside, her son in her arms, her husband’s hand on her back, her family waiting in the warmth of the home they had built from nothing.
The oak saplings swayed in the evening breeze.
The wildflowers bloomed in impossible colors.
And in the Drax estate, surrounded by the people who had chosen each other through fire and fear and everything in between, a little boy with his mother’s eyes ate pancakes for dinner and laughed at his father’s serious expressions and fell asleep in his mother’s arms.
Galaxy carried him to his nursery, laid him gently in his crib, and stood watching him breathe.
Vincent appeared in the doorway.
“He’s perfect,” Galaxy whispered.
“He has your eyes.”
“He has your frown.”
“That’s not a frown. That’scontemplation.”
Galaxy turned to face him, smiling.
“He’s a mama’s boy.”
“Devastatingly so.” Vincent crossed to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “I’ve accepted my role as second favorite.”
“You’re not second favorite.”
“He cried for thirty minutes because you weren’t home. He’s never cried for me like that.”
Galaxy leaned back into his chest.
“That’s because he knows you’re always there. He never has to miss you.” She tilted her head to look up at him. “You’re his safe place. I’m his missing piece.”
Vincent was quiet for a moment.
“I like that,” he said finally.
“Which part?”
“Being his safe place.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Beingyoursafe place.”
Galaxy smiled.
“You are,” she said. “You always have been.”
They stood together in the doorway, watching their son sleep, listening to the quiet sounds of the estate settling around them.
Outside, the oak trees grew.
Inside, a family breathed.
And somewhere in the soft darkness, Galaxy remembered the words she had written years ago in a journal meant for her mother:
I think I’ve been buried alive.
She looked at Vincent. At Lucas. At the life that had grown from the wreckage of everything she thought she had lost.
No, she thought.Not buried.
Planted.
