Page 65 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
"That will help Coral," Anand said. "A stable home, adults communicating, and absolutely no contact with Matilda until the case officers give clearance."
Connor's jaw tightened. "That is never going to happen."
"Good." Anand flipped her folder shut and stood. "We'll be in touch if we need anything else."
Coral came running, her tiny hand reaching for Connor's. Within days, her vocabulary had improved in leaps and bounds, and she had become a confirmed Da's girl. It made Fern question her plan to separate. She needed to put Coral’s interests first. And if that meant Giving Connor a second chance, she would need to think long and hard.
"Home?" Coral asked, pulling her back from her wool-gathering.
Fern smoothed her hair. "Yes, love. Home."
"Gramps," Coral added with a sudden grin. "Pond!"
Anand chuckled. "That sounds like excellent motivation."
As they left the park, Connor lingered for a heartbeat behind Fern, his fingers brushing the sleeve of her coat, just a brief, accidental-on-purpose touch while she was looking the other way.
She didn't look back, but she felt it.
She still loved him, but she didn't trust him anymore. So why did she feel like she was losing something vital?
She watched as Connor carefully hoisted Coral onto his shoulders and wondered if second chances were possible.
Chapter 30
They loaded the last box into the boot just as the thin, cold needles of rain started, turning the driveway pale and grey.
"Miserable weather," Connor muttered.
Fern wiped her palms on her jeans and walked back into the house—theirhome for almost four years—now stripped bare and echoing around her.
The living room walls were bare, shadows marking the ghost shapes where photo frames had once hung. The sofa dents were gone, the toys packed, the scent of home already fading into cold plaster and new paint. It was a blank canvas again, exactly how it had looked when they first moved in, young and stupidly hopeful. The estate agent already had three more viewings lined up, so Fern knew it wouldn't be their home for much longer.
Fern swallowed the tears she had held in. The last few nights had been restless. She was used to sleeping with a big warm body spooning her and a big warm hand reaching under her clothes to squeeze her boobs and manhandle her butt. Now that things were settled and the anger had started to mellow, she missed that.
Coral slept with her now, but she was a restless sleeper. She hogged the duvet and slept like a starfish. Fern ended up staring at the ceiling while the wheels in her head turned endlessly as she planned a life unlike the dream she had for her family.
Upstairs, Coral raced from one empty room to the other, her little voice bouncing off the bare walls. She was fascinated with trying to make the walls 'talk back' to her.
"Echo! Echo! Echo!"
The sound ricocheted through the house like laughter trapped in a bottle.
Connor watched her from the landing, hands braced on the banister, eagle eyes unblinking. He looked thinner; the hollows of his face had become more prominent, his cheekbones sharper. He had stopped apologising with words, though it was there in everything he did. He mechanically went to work in the morning and came back at five to take a shower and help her with whatever bits and bobs needed doing. His eyes followed her with a wistful expression—a mix of hope, despair and lust.
Fern climbed the stairs slowly. The music they'd been playing while packing—some old playlist buried in Connor's phone—filtered faintly through the quiet. A soft, steady tune sang of never falling in love again.
He turned as he watched her draw near. For a moment they simply stood there, Coral squealing "Echo!" a flight of stairs away as the house creaked and hissed around them.
Then Connor stepped forward, hesitant, and held out a hand.
Fern stared at it, at the dark grease in the creases of his palm and under his nails. But something inside her moved—tiny, tired, and not quite ready for forgiveness, but open enough to move forward.
She placed her hand in his.
He pulled her gently into the centre of the landing, one arm winding around her waist. The music swelled barely above a whisper as theyswayed. She rested her face against his sweater—the one she always borrowed from him, the one that smelled faintly of his aftershave and oil.
He breathed against her hair, voice quiet, roughened at the edges. "Don't say this is the end, love," he murmured against her hair. "I won't let it be. Just... give me a chance. Give me time. Now you know all of it—all the parts of me I have kept hidden. You know all those secrets I have been scared to tell you. Let me show you I am not the old Connor who was too afraid to trust."
