It’s just past six and the kitchen is filled with the smell of garlic, butter and whatever magic you’re stirring up next. You stand at the stove, calm and focused, the low evening light brushing over your face. Your hair’s clipped up in that casual way you do when you’re distracted, strands falling loose around your cheeks, one hand on your hip, the other stirring.

Noah’s slumped at the table, arms folded, looking every bit the dramatic twelve-year-old. He’s giving Hailey grief over her music choice again, even though she’s doing a solid job of pretending he doesn’t exist.

“Do we have to listen to this?” he groans. “Seriously, one more Disney song and I’m going to combust.”

Hailey doesn’t look up, she’s got her colouring book open, tongue peeking out in concentration as she carefully fills in the outline of a princess dress. “You liked it last week,” she replies, perfectly deadpan.

“Be nice, mate,” I say, drying my hands on a towel, shooting him a look that says I’m only half kidding. “She’s letting you borrow her red marker. You know that one’s sacred.”

You glance back at me with a smirk, your eyebrows lifted. “Sacred marker,” you repeat, shaking your head and just like that, I’m gone again—undone by that same smile I’ve been falling for since we were seventeen.

I lean against the counter, watching you. It still catches me off guard sometimes—how quiet life can feel now.

Back in 2011, everything was chaos—the band, the travel, the noise. We were barely more than kids, fumbling through something way bigger than us and then, one night in 2012 changed everything. One night turned into a baby and a future we hadn’t planned—but one we chose, together.

We were eighteen and scared—but you never blinked. You faced it all head-on—the press, the rumors, the reality of becoming a mum far too young, in front of the whole world—and we figured it out, slowly, messily, with love.

Noah arrived, loud and perfect, and somehow, we became parents before we’d even finished becoming ourselves. Then, in 2016, when the dust finally settled, we looked at each other and said, "why not do it again?" That’s when Hailey came into our lives.

Now we’re thirty, the kids are loud, the house is a mess most days and I still forget where I put my keys—but we’ve made something steady, solid, real.

You’re still at the stove, tasting the sauce off a spoon and I can’t help myself. I walk over, slow and easy, slipping my arms around your waist from behind. Your body melts into mine like it always does—effortless, familiar.

“Smells incredible,” I whisper near your ear, voice low.

You don’t turn, but I see the smile in your cheek. “It’s just pasta, Styles.”

“Yeah,” I say, pressing a kiss to your temple, “but you make it look like art.”

You laugh softly, trying to hide the blush I know is there. Even now—after everything—you still get shy when I flirt with you. It’s one of my favourite things in the world.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur.

“And you love it,” I reply, brushing my lips over the curve of your neck.

“Ugh, can you not be in love right now?” Noah complains, “I’m literally starving.”

You cover your smile with your hand, shaking your head while I just chuckle, still holding you.

I lean in, just for you. “Still can’t keep my hands off you,” I murmur. “It’s been over a decade and I’m still obsessed.”

Hailey, without looking up, announces like it’s breaking news “Mummy and Daddy are in love again.”

Noah sighs but leans toward her anyway, helping shade in a tree trunk with a marker he pretends isn’t sacred. He hums a familiar tune—one he’ll deny is mine if asked—but the smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

I just stand there, arms around the woman I’ve loved through every version of our lives, watching our kids laugh in the middle of a kitchen that smells like home.

We made it through everything—the chaos, the headlines, the moments we didn’t think we’d survive—and somehow, this quiet, golden life we built feels even better than anything I've ever dreamed.