He was meeting your family for the first time.

Remy had wanted this for a long time. Ever since the two of you got together, really. He asked gently at first, then with more determination as time went on. Not because he was suspicious or pushy, but because to him, loving someone meant wanting to know all of them. Where they came from. Who shaped them.

You had always been careful when it came to your family.

Not because they were cruel or broken. They weren’t. You just valued their privacy. And yours. Your past was something you carried close, shared only when you were ready.

So when you finally said yes, Remy had nearly vibrated out of his skin.

That was how you ended up here.

Back at your old home.

You had not even stepped onto the property yet. You were still standing just close enough to see it clearly, the familiar shape rising in the distance, unchanged in ways that made your chest tighten. Memories pressed in quietly, not overwhelming, just present.

Remy stood beside you, unusually still for once. Excitement buzzed just beneath his skin, but he did not rush you. Did not push. He glanced at you instead, reading your posture, your silence.

“Dis it?” he asked softly, Cajun accent gentle rather than teasing.

You nodded.

Remy’s expression shifted, excitement softening into something warmer. More reverent. He reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you, chérie,” he said quietly.