CRACKLING FIRES AND QUIET MOMENTS

By the time we finished dessert—a decadent chocolate torte and a sweet liqueur that left me blissfully full and just a little tipsy—Edward stood, smoothing his sweater with a contented sigh.

"As much as I've enjoyed this evening, I'm too old to stay up late," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "I'll leave you two to finish your drinks."

Mark and I stood with him, the warmth of the evening lingering between us. "Goodnight, Dad," Mark said, stepping forward to pull his father into a hug.

Edward looked slightly surprised but smiled warmly, patting Mark's back. "Goodnight, son. And thank you—for tonight." His voice was low, but the emotion in it was unmistakable.

When Edward turned to me, his smile softened. "Abigail, thank you for humouring an old man tonight. You made this feel... festive."

"It was my pleasure," I said, smiling as I leaned in to hug him. He returned the gesture warmly, surprising me with the strength of his embrace.