The fire pops, sends a spark skitterin' across the dirt, and I’m half convinced it’s tryin’ to start the morning without me. I’m knackered, but in that good, proper-camping way. Your shoulder brushes mine as you shift Leah a bit higher in your arms, four months old and already runnin’ the whole show. Her tiny face is smushed into your chest and she's sleepin’ like the fookin’ forest owes her rent. Lenny’s back there scream-laughin’, all two-year-old chaos, Freddie’s shoutin’ back, and Khai’s joinin’ in like the three of ‘em formed a tiny feral gang overnight.

Zayn’s sittin’ opposite me, legs crossed, mug between his hands, hair tousled and lookin’ like he actually sleeps these days. Mad thing to witness after everythin’ that happened. Ten years of me bein’ a stubborn twat, holdin’ onto a grudge that lived longer than most marriages. Him disappearin’ overnight back in the band days? Yeah, it fookin’ hurt. And then life happened, we all grew up, had kids, dealt with our own shite. Liam’s funeral last October was the first time I’d seen him in nearly a decade. Didn’t even know if I wanted to talk to him at first. Couldn’t look at him without hearin’ all the things we never said. But he came over, quiet as ever, and just said, “I’m sorry, Lou.” And fook me, I felt ten years fall off my shoulders.

Now here we are. On his goddamn farm in Pennsylvania with our mad little blended circus of kids, campin’ in the woods like we’re twenty again. Except we’re not, my back reminds me every time I stand up too fast. The breakfast spread smells incredible — eggs, sausages, all that good greasy stuff Zayn insists on makin’ from scratch because he’s gone full homestead wizard. Freddie already inhaled two plates, the little legend. Lenny keeps runnin’ back to you for cuddles, his curls all wild, his cheeks bright red from chasin’ Khai and tryin’ to keep up on those wobbly toddler legs. I look at you holdin’ Leah, your eyes soft and tired but so content. You always get like this when the kids are happy. Been together eight years, married for two, and somehow you still make my chest feel like it’s about to fookin’ burst just sittin’ next to you.

“Mad, innit?” Zayn says suddenly, starin’ out at the trees.

I grunt, takin’ a drag off my fag. “What’s mad now?”

He nods toward the kids, then to you, then to the tents behind us. “This. Us. All of it. Never thought we’d be…y’know…doin’ breakfast round a fire together with our kids runnin’ about.”

I let the smoke out slow, watch it fade into the cool morning air. “Yeah. Same. If you’d told me in 2016 that one day we’d be sittin’ on your farm talkin’ about how to keep toddlers from eatin’ fookin’ sticks, I’d’ve told you to piss right off.”

Zayn laughs, quiet and warm. The sound digs into my ribs in a familiar way. Used to hear it every day, and I didn’t realise how much I missed it ‘til it came back. Freddie races past us yellin’ something about a frog. Lenny’s chasin’ him with that determined two-year-old stomp. Khai’s askin’ if it’s a dangerous frog. I swear to God, we're raisin’ absolute menaces. You smile down at Leah, stroke her cheek with your thumb, and my whole chest goes soft. I lean back in my chair, feet stretchin’ toward the fire. “Feels good though,” I say. “Feels right. Like this is what it should’ve been. Maybe we needed all that time bein’ idiots to get here.”

Zayn nods slowly. “Yeah. Maybe we did.”

The woods are quiet except for the kids, the fire, and the soft clink of mugs. And for the first time in a long time, I feel completely sorted. No tension. No old ghosts. Just my family, his, the trees, the fire, and the morning stretchin’ out easy in front of us.

Zayn glances at me again, a tiny smile on his face. “Who would’ve thought?”

I grin back, flick ash into the dirt. “Not me, mate. But I’m glad as hell we’re here.”