Listen to Say You Won't Let Go by James Arthur

A YEAR LATER

I wasn't chasing after happiness anymore. I had stopped running after it like it was something to catch, something elusive that always stayed just out of reach. Instead, I found peace in the little things. The moments that usually went unnoticed—the sound of Tristan's laugh echoing through our home, the feel of the twins' tiny hands gripping mine, the quiet, unspoken connection we shared when we didn't need words. It was like a breath of fresh air after a long run, the kind of air that fills your lungs and reminds you that you're alive. 

Should I let myself bask in this peace, let it wrap around me like a warm blanket before any chaos struck? I had to admit, I couldn't shake the thought. But it had been a year—one whole year—and life was... well, it was fucking amazing. In ways I hadn't imagined, in ways I never thought I'd feel again. The little moments with the kids, the way they laughed, the way they grew with each passing day. The way Tristan had healed the raw, bleeding parts of me I thought I'd never recover from. Together, we had created something beautiful, something that felt like a new beginning.

We had moved into a penthouse together, this airy, open space that felt like a dream I could finally touch. But Tristan wasn't done yet. He was still searching for a house. He wanted our house, the one we could call home, the one that would be our forever. 

And then there were the moments with the kids. The celebration of their third birthday. A day so full of laughter and joy, it felt like the universe was smiling down on us. And the next day, Tristan had us on a plane to Milan, whisking us away to a city so beautiful, it felt like a fairy tale. We'd gone on so many dates since then, I'd lost count. Sometimes, it was something simple—a quiet dinner at home, a movie, the twins asleep in their room, and Tristan and I curled up on the couch, losing ourselves in each other's company.

Tristan always chose the long, slow-paced dramas, the ones that made me yawn within the first five minutes. I always went for chick-lit, mysteries, anything that made me laugh or kept me guessing. He'd complain, of course, about the predictability of my choices, but by the end of the movie, he was always more invested than I was. And I never grew tired of it. I never grew tired of him.

On a random Tuesday evening , Tristan picked me up from the penthouse. The twins were with his mom, and for once, we had the day to ourselves. We were heading to check out a house. It was only a short drive, a few minutes from where we lived, but I could tell from the way Tristan was smiling at me as we drove that this was something important to him.

"We're here," he said, pulling the car onto a concrete path that led to a three-story estate. At the front, big fountains gurgled softly, the sound blending with the breeze that carried the faint scent of fresh earth. Tall palm trees lined the path like sentinels, and the yard stretched out before us like a field. I could already see the view behind the house—rolling hills and open sky—and my heart skipped a beat.

"Wow, it's larger than I thought," I said, my eyes wide as I took in the sight. We'd seen it online before coming, of course. I'd gushed about it when we'd first looked at the photos, imagining the twins running around, their laughter echoing in the open space. I could already picture their little feet kicking a ball across the yard, their tiny voices carrying across the distance.

Tristan chuckled softly, his smile wide. "You'll love the inside. Let's go."

I nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement. It wasn't just the house that I loved. It was the idea of it. The life we could build here. Together.

I felt the cool air as I walked toward the grand double doors, my heart pounding in my chest. My eyes flitted nervously across the space, taking in the elegant details of the house, but something in the air felt different—an undercurrent of tension that I couldn't shake. Tristan was behind me, his presence a quiet, solid comfort. He smiled awkwardly, his usual confidence tempered by something else, something unspoken.

I glanced back over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him in silent question. But he said nothing. 

I reached for the door handle, and with a deep breath, I pushed the large doors open.

And then my world stopped.

"Oh my God!" The words escaped me before I could stop them, my breath catching in my throat. The room before me—the living area—was transformed. There, scattered across the floor were red roses, petals strewn in a delicate pattern that only heightened the beauty of the moment. But it was the faces I recognized—the faces of my family, my friends—gathered around, all holding balloons that spelled out WILL YOU MARRY ME?

The realization hit me like a tidal wave, and I froze. This wasn't just a gathering, this wasn't just a celebration. This... was something else entirely. The people I loved were here, smiling wide, their eyes glistening with excitement as they watched me.

I turned around, my pulse quickening, and there he was—Tristan—on one knee, holding out a diamond ring in his hand, the stone sparkling with an almost painful brilliance. His face was a mix of nervous anticipation and unguarded hope.

"Will you marry me, Cassandra?" His voice was steady, but I could hear the vulnerability behind the words, the raw emotion that had him trembling ever so slightly.

For a moment, I was lost. Speechless. My mind couldn't catch up with the reality of what was unfolding. Tristan was proposing. He wanted to marry me. He wanted me to be his wife.

I glanced down at the ring, the diamond catching the light in a thousand ways, reflecting a future I hadn't fully imagined until now. Then my gaze lifted to meet his, and my heart surged. The world seemed to shrink, all noise fading into the background. All that remained was him, the man I loved, the man who was offering me everything.

"Cassie," he began, his voice thick with emotion, each word heavy with meaning. "You're the funniest, kindest, and most extraordinary woman I have ever known. I want everything that comes with this union—the whole of you. All your flaws, sarcasm, madness, and sweetness. Love isn't always perfect. We both have our imperfections. And I know, along the way, things will get hard. But I promise to love you every day, through every bump in the road. To be your shield, your rock, your lover, and your best friend. I will be the best father and husband I can be, each and every day. Please, say yes."

His words hung in the air, thick and tangible. Silence swallowed the room as I stood there, overwhelmed, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I felt the weight of everyone's gaze on my back, a quiet anticipation that was almost too much to bear. Tristan's Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he waited, his hand still trembling slightly as he held the ring.

I was shaking, too, but not with fear. I was shaking because this was real.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice barely audible but full of certainty, full of love. My smile broke free, wide and uncontrollable, as the tears I'd been holding back spilled down my cheeks.

The room erupted into cheers, and Belvina's voice rang out above all the others, her exuberant shout cutting through the air. "Make way for the maid of honor!"

Tristan looked at me, his expression softening into something akin to disbelief. "Really?" he whispered, his eyes wide, as though he hadn't quite expected the answer to be so immediate.

"Yes," I repeated, this time louder, nodding my head as the tears continued to spill over. Every word felt so full, so overflowing with love that I couldn't quite contain it.

Slowly, almost reverently, Tristan slid the ring onto my finger, his hands gentle as he kissed the top of it, his lips warm and tender. As he stood, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, filling up every inch of the space between us.

"I promise," he said softly, cupping my face with his hands, his voice dropping to a quiet vow. "I'll be the best dad and the most loving husband. I will never get tired of those cheesy movies. And I will never get tired of your awful cooking."

A laugh bubbled up inside me, one of disbelief, of pure happiness. But before I could say anything, the loud and unmistakable voice of Belvina rang out again.

"Just kiss her already!"

Tristan laughed, the sound deep and full, and with a final glance at me, he closed the distance between us. His lips met mine with a tenderness that took my breath away. It wasn't just a kiss—it was everything. It was the promise of a future together, of forever, sealed in the most perfect way.

And in that moment, as everyone cheered and the room seemed to sparkle with joy, his lips were on mine, pulling me into a kiss that was tender yet powerful, like he was pouring everything he felt into that one simple gesture. It was soft, but the weight of his love, his devotion, was undeniable. It was a kiss that spoke of promises, of moments shared and yet to come.

I forgot about the people in the room, the laughter and chatter, the bright lights above. All that existed in that moment was the feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his body pressed against mine. I melted into him, my hands instinctively finding their way to his chest, and I felt every inch of him, every beat of his heart. 

Standing in his arms, I realized—this was what I had been waiting for. This was what my heart had always needed. I wanted all my lasts to be with him—the last kiss, the last hug, the last breath. Every pain had shaped me, every tear had carved a new part of who I was, and every lesson had changed me. I believed now, more than ever, that sometimes we had to fall apart to realize just how much we needed to fall back together.

When we broke apart, his smile was so gentle, so knowing, as though he had shared the same epiphany. The room burst into cheers, but I only heard the sound of his breath, the rush of blood in my ears.

His lips brushed my forehead, a soft, lingering kiss that made my whole body shiver. He pulled me into his embrace, his strong arms wrapping around me as if to hold me forever. I let myself melt into him, the heat of his body wrapping around me like a cocoon. I could feel his heart pounding against mine, fast and erratic, as if he, too, was trying to keep up with the overwhelming emotions that filled the space between us. Was he nervous? Or was it just the sheer depth of everything that was happening?

I didn't know, but I held him tighter, not wanting to let go.

We walked toward the group, his hand resting possessively on my waist. I felt an unexpected surge of pride. I exchanged smiles, hugs, and laughter with a few people, feeling a warmth I hadn't realized I'd missed. We popped open a bottle of champagne that hissed with excitement.

The clink of glasses filled the room, and we toasted to the new beginnings, to love, to family, to everything that had brought us here. Everyone took a slice of cake, and we all gathered in a circle on the floor, the white marble beneath us shining in the soft glow of the lights. The house was still empty, unfinished—no furniture, no decoration yet, just the echoes of our laughter filling the space.

I watched my mom, a little surprised to see her here, but glad. She was telling the group some old stories about me—embarrassing stories. The story about the time I peed myself in front of my entire class because I couldn't solve a math problem on the board. I cringed at the memory, but as my mom laughed and everyone else joined in, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of gratitude. Her presence, the way she laughed, the way she didn't seem so distant anymore, was a gift I hadn't expected.

I looked down at Kayla, sitting between my legs, her face covered in cake, her little hands grabbing another piece, smearing frosting all over her shirt. I smiled at her, feeling a deep, unspoken bond. Then my eyes shifted to Kayden, who was sitting between Tristan's legs, focused on something—his small hands trying to wrestle Tristan's watch off his wrist. I chuckled softly, watching them, my heart swelling with love for both of them.

I glanced over to Adrian, who was sitting next to Belvina, watching her laugh at something Donia had said. His gaze never left her, and I could see the way his eyes softened every time she smiled. She was doing a good job hiding it, but I knew. I could tell. I raised an eyebrow at him, just as he took a sip from his wine glass, and he quickly turned his attention back to his drink, a small flush creeping up his neck.

The day unfolded like a beautiful dream, with everyone sharing their childhood memories, their funny stories, their silly little mishaps. And somehow, amidst it all, I realized that this was exactly where I was meant to be. No more pretending, no more running. This—this was the feeling I'd been waiting for. Peace. Joy.

I stole a glance at Tristan, and for a second, it felt as if time had slowed. He was staring at me, his eyes full of love, full of that deep, unwavering devotion I had only dreamed of. He winked at me, that playful, teasing grin lighting up his face. I shook my head, unable to hide the warmth in my cheeks as I looked away, pretending to focus on Kayla, who was now using her shirt as a napkin.

"Don't do that, sweetie," I whispered softly, my fingers gently pulling her small hand away from the mess she was making. With a smile, I lifted Kayla into my arms and walked toward the kitchen. She babbled a string of toddler words as I settled her on the marble countertop.

I turned on the tap, the water rushing to life in a soft cascade, and smiled as her eyes widened in delight. She clapped her hands, trying to catch the droplets in her tiny palms, her giggles light and infectious. I adjusted the water temperature, careful not to make it too hot for her delicate skin, and let her play for a moment before I gently turned the tap off.

Her mouth was a sticky mess, and as I reached for a napkin to clean her up, I felt a presence behind me. Tristan's familiar warmth filled the space as he walked into the room with Kayden. I glanced up at him, his handsome face lit by the soft, golden kitchen light.

"Ready for a tour?" he asked, his voice smooth, but there was an underlying hint of excitement in it.

I paused for a moment, my fingers still wiping Kayla's chin, and then smiled, my lips curling into a playful grin. "Hell yeah, I can't feel my butt from sitting on that floor," I replied.

Tristan chuckled, and we both turned our attention back to the twins. I scooped Kayla into my arms, while Tristan took Kayden's hand. We made our way through the house, the space more magnificent than I could have imagined. The rooms seemed endless, each one more grand than the last—an expansive movie room, a state-of-the-art gym, and a sauna that made me feel like I'd just stepped into a luxury retreat.

When the tour ended, we found ourselves on the balcony, standing side by side, the view stretching out before us like a painting. The vast lake shimmered in the distance, the water glistening under the late afternoon sun. The neighborhood was peaceful, pristine, and the air was fresh with the promise of new beginnings.

I breathed in deeply, taking in the beauty of the moment—the house, the view, the life I had built with Tristan and the kids. It felt like the calm after a long storm, the stillness after years of chaos.

"So, should we take it?" Tristan's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with quiet hope, and the weight of the decision hung between us, but it felt easy, natural.

I nodded, my heart swelling. "Yeah," I said, the word light but firm, filled with conviction.

The twins had run ahead, racing toward the balcony's railing. Kayden was trying to wedge his head through the small space in the bars, while Kayla bounced excitedly, her eyes fixed on a bird soaring in the sky. My heart melted at their innocence, their joy.

Tristan wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me close, and I rested my head against his chest. He kissed the back of my neck, his lips soft against my skin, his breath warm against the cool evening air.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For saying yes. For accepting to be my everything. For accepting to be my wife, my best friend, the mother of our children... for everything."

I smiled, feeling my heart swell with love. I leaned into him, my fingers tracing his hand. "Tristan," I murmured, turning in his arms to face him, "I know what it means to say yes."

He chuckled softly, his eyes filled with admiration. Before he could speak again, Kayla's excited voice rang out.

"Daddy, butterfly!" she squealed, pointing with all the enthusiasm her tiny body could muster.

Tristan's eyes widened in awe. He stepped forward, bending down to scoop her into his arms, his face lighting up as he looked at the orange butterfly fluttering by.

"What's that, Princess?" he asked, his voice full of wonder.

"Butterfly, it's butterfly, Daddy!" she repeated, giggling as she pointed to the sky.

His eyes softened, and he smiled at the butterfly as if seeing it for the first time, and then at his daughter, his heart clearly full of affection.

Together, we walked back downstairs, rejoining the group. The house was alive with laughter and conversation, the energy of the celebration filling every corner.

As I approached Belvina, I noticed her filling her glass with more champagne, her movements sharp and precise, though there was something about her demeanor that felt... off. She caught sight of me and quickly plastered on a smile, but I could tell something was bothering her.

"You and Tristan are already trying to christen this place with baby number three?" she joked, but the glint in her eyes didn't quite match the teasing words.

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "No, we were just touring the house," I replied, trying to keep the mood light.

But Belvina's smile faltered slightly, and I noticed the shift in her mood. I raised an eyebrow, my concern growing. "Everything okay?" I asked, my voice gentle but probing.

Her smile was back in place in an instant, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, why not? Today is a happy day—you're freaking engaged!" she said, taking my hand to admire my ring.

I gave her a half-smile, but my instincts told me something wasn't right. Before I could ask any further, she was turning away, mumbling something about needing the restroom. Adrian approached us just then, his gaze following Belvina as she walked off.

"Congratulations," he said to me, his voice sincere, but his attention was still on her. His eyes softened as he watched her go.

"Thanks," I replied, my voice warm but a little distracted. "But whatever happened in New York... you two need to talk things out."

Adrian nodded, but there was a brief moment of tension in the air before he turned away. I watched him for a moment before joining the others, trying to shake off the sense of unease that had crept in.

∆

The house was still and quiet when we finally returned, the late hour pressing down on us with the weight of the day. The twins, worn out from all the excitement, had succumbed to the pull of sleep long before we'd even made it home. Their little bodies were limp in their car seats, faces soft and relaxed in the heavy stillness of slumber. We moved with practiced tenderness as we carried them inside, changed them into their pajamas with the gentlest of hands, and tucked them into their beds. They didn't stir, too deep in their exhaustion to even notice the soft shuffle of their sheets or the weight of our care.

When we stepped out of their room, Tristan and I exchanged a look, one of silent relief and shared understanding. I raised my hand, and without a word, we high-fived each other for making it through without waking up the twins.

The hot water from the shower cascaded over me, its heat sinking deep into my tired muscles, soothing the tension that had been gnawing at me all day. For a few moments, I let myself simply stand there, letting the steam surround me, blanketing me in a false sense of calm. When I finally stepped out, the cool air of the bathroom brushed against my damp skin. I pulled on a pair of loose, comfortable loungewear, the fabric soft against my skin.

I moved downstairs, the house still too quiet. The kitchen was dim, the only light coming from the warm glow of the stove. I put the kettle on for chamomile tea. 

My eyes dropped to the ring on my finger, the cool metal a reminder of everything that had led us to this point. I never imagined Tristan—him—being the one who would mark the beginning of my forever. And yet, here we were. We had made it through things that seemed insurmountable, yet somehow, we'd emerged on the other side.

The smile that spread across my face was soft, almost bittersweet. It was as if I were still waiting for the dream to shatter, still unsure that this was real. But every time I looked down at that ring, the quiet weight of it was a reminder that it was real.

The kettle whistled, a sharp sound that brought me back to the moment. I poured the hot water carefully into the mugs, watching as the steam swirled up, curling into the air like a quiet, intimate promise. One for me. One for him.

When I turned to head back upstairs, I ran into him in the hallway. His silhouette was soft against the low light, and for a second, everything else seemed to blur out of focus. He stood there, framed in the soft light from the upstairs landing, eyes meeting mine in that quiet way that made everything inside me still.

Without a word, I handed him the steaming mug, the warmth of it contrasting with the coolness of the night. He accepted it without hesitation, his fingers brushing against mine. 

I didn't want to disrupt whatever fragile moment this was, so I simply sat down on the stairs, pulling my knees up as I settled into the space between the quiet walls. Tristan followed me down, settling next to me without hesitation.

The silence between us was thick, but it wasn't suffocating. It was the kind of silence that felt like a blanket—soft, familiar, and heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. 

"I have a question," I broke the silence.

He turned his head slightly toward me, his gaze soft but attentive. "I'm listening."

The question had been nagging at me, tugging at the edges of my mind ever since I saw the way he looked at the broken cups. The way his eyes had narrowed, the tightness in his jaw, the way something had shifted in him. 

"Those cups I broke, why were you so attached to it?"

At first, he chuckled, the sound light and easy—like I had caught him off guard with a simple question. But there was something in the way he smiled, something warm, nostalgic, like the memories the cups carried were so deeply woven into his past that he couldn't help but revisit them in his mind.

"It was my grandpa's favorite cups," he said, his voice softening as he spoke. "He wouldn't drink from anything else. Those cups had a special place in the house—always on the counter, in a spot no one was allowed to touch, like they were... sacred, in a way."

He paused, and I saw his eyes drift away from me, into the quiet space between us, as if his mind had wandered back to that house, those days.

"Every Christmas, when I'd go visit them as a kid," he continued, his voice taking on a more thoughtful tone, "he'd always use those cups. It wasn't just the cups; it was the way he treated them—like they were part of something bigger than just drinking coffee. I never knew why they were so important, but I could see it meant something to him. A part of him, maybe." He exhaled slowly, a soft, almost imperceptible laugh escaping as he recalled the memory. "When he passed away, I didn't waste any time taking one for myself. It was the only piece of him I could hold onto. Every time I look at it, I feel like he's still here, somehow. And it makes me smile... remembering him, remembering Christmas."

I found myself watching him, caught in the way his smile deepened as he reflected on those memories, and I felt a warmth spread through me. His ability to hold onto those small moments, those details, was something I admired. It made me feel... closer to him, somehow. It made me understand him more than I ever had before. I absorbed his words in silence, a lump forming in my throat at the tenderness of it all. And then, without thinking, I asked the next question.

"What about the paintings?" I asked and he stayed silent for a while.

The question hung between us, heavier this time, like a door we weren't sure we wanted to open. He stiffened slightly, just for a moment, and I knew I had touched something fragile.

"Fiona loved painting. She was really good at it—better than she ever gave herself credit for. Most of those paintings you broke... they were her last works before she passed away." He swallowed hard, then lifted the mug to his lips, taking a long sip, like he needed the tea to settle the weight of the words.

I sat still, processing the weight of his confession. 

"Hmmm."
I hummed and took a sip of my tea too. I felt his eyes on me.

"Oh sorry, is this the part where I apologized for what I did?"
I asked acting confused.

I glanced at him, meeting his gaze with a small, teasing smile.

He laughed softly, shaking his head, and his gaze shifted away for a moment, the edges of his mouth turning upward. That laugh—it was different now. Softer. Like a quiet relief.

"I'm not asking for an apology," he said, his tone a little more serious now, a little more... vulnerable. "I just can't believe you're here. Right next to me. And we have our kids upstairs, asleep in their beds. It feels... surreal. Like this is all too good to be true. If this is a dream, I want to be stuck here forever."

"I can't believe it either," I murmured, my voice low, barely above a whisper. "I thought I'd never get Kayla back... or that my life would just keep spiraling into chaos." 

I had convinced myself that maybe I was never meant to have a happy ending. Maybe my story was one of endless struggle, of hoping for something better and always falling short. 

But then came Tristan.

The shock of it was almost too much to process. I never expected him to be the one to pull me from the wreckage, to be the one who breathed life back into my soul, to make me feel... alive again. 

"We'll be the best parents to our kids," he said, his voice soft but unwavering. "We'll make it work this time, I promise. No lies. No secrets."

His words were a lifeline, pulling me even closer to him, anchoring me in a place I hadn't thought possible. And as he spoke, I nodded, a slow, steady smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered, his voice tender as he reached up to brush a stray piece of hair from my face. His fingers lingered on my skin, soft and reverent, like he was trying to memorize every inch of me. "I promise I won't let you or our kids down."

Leaning in, he kissed me. A quick, soft press of his lips against mine—enough to leave a spark but not enough to linger. And before he could pull away, I found myself reaching for him, my hand curling into the back of his shirt, pulling him closer.

I let go of the mug on the stairs, not caring where it landed. It was all a blur, everything blurring into the heat between us. I kissed him harder, more urgently this time, as if my lips were speaking the words I couldn't say—telling him everything, telling him that I felt the same, that I was ready, that I wasn't afraid anymore.

Tristan put his mug aside and cupped the side of my neck, his hand moved slowly and knotted in my hair. I withdrew and moved closer straddling him. He brushed my hair back and placed soft kisses on my collarbone.

I couldn't stop myself. I leaned in again, this time with a quiet desperation, pressing my lips to his, and he met me there, fully, without hesitation. Every kiss, every soft stroke of his lips against mine, every flicker of his tongue against mine, ignited a fire in me. The world fell away. It was just him. Just us.

But all too quickly, Tristan broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to let our ragged breaths fill the space between us. We stared at each other, both of us trying to catch our breath, trying to steady ourselves. 

"Don't you think we should wait until our wedding night?"

"We already have two kids, Tristan," I told him.

I couldn't help it. A soft laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep within me, a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "Oh my God," I mumbled, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. 

I pulled away gently, my body reluctantly separating from his, and sat down beside him. My head found its place on his shoulder, and for a moment, we just sat there in the quiet aftermath, our breathing slowly returning to something resembling normal. 

As I sat beside him on the stairs, I couldn't help but feel the weight of everything that had led us here. After all the pain, the betrayals, and everything I had fought so hard to rebuild, I never imagined this—this peace, this love, unfolding in a place I once swore to avoid. We had come full circle—two broken hearts mending together, a family born from the ashes of the past.

Tristan's hand found mine, his fingers gently interlacing with mine, and I felt something deep inside shift, as if the final pieces were falling into place. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel afraid. No matter what came next, I knew we had found our way back to each other. The storm was over. And for the first time, my heart felt truly, finally, home.

THE ❤ END