The days in the hospital had passed slowly, each one pulling at the edges of wounds that were just beginning to heal. Rivan's condition had improved with rest, warmth, and the quiet presence of the people he'd never stopped loving. The IVs had been removed, the medication adjusted, and the doctors finally allowed him to be discharged.
But what came next was more delicate than anything they'd faced before.
It was Rivan who had asked, voice soft and hesitant. "Will you come to the villa? All of you? Stay, just... for a while?"
Loira had looked at Keal, who met her eyes with a quiet understanding. They hadn't needed to speak. The kids had already decided.
So they packed.
Not just bags, but years of pain, of silence, of longing. They folded it all into boxes with clothes, photo frames, books, and half-forgotten toys. They didn't know how long they would stay. But they knew they had to try.
The villa was waiting.
The gates opened as their car pulled in, and a wave of something warm and nostalgic hit them all at once. For the kids, it was a place that had lived only in dreams—until now. For Loira and Keal, it was something more complicated: a memory reawakened, a love interrupted.
The doors opened, and the house welcomed them home.
Rivan stood at the entrance, still pale, wrapped in a soft cardigan, but his smile was real. Not flashy or businesslike. Just... grateful.
"Welcome home," he whispered.
Sahir was the first to step forward. He didn't say a word—he just hugged him. Tight.
One by one, the others followed. Rivan Jr. clung to his father like he might vanish again. Eliya smiled through quiet tears.
Loira and Keal came last. Rivan's eyes shimmered, and he stepped back to let them in, no pressure, no expectation.
They stepped inside.
Together.
And for the first time in a decade, it felt like home again.
---
Inside, the villa was filled with a silence too profound to be uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that acknowledged the years lost, but also the moment found.
The kids wandered toward the stairs, led more by instinct than direction.
"Your rooms are just like before," Rivan said quietly. "I updated them over time. Birthdays... school years... I guessed. I hoped."
Eliya led the way, her hand brushing along the smooth rail. She stopped when she saw her door—a wooden plaque with her name, painted in her favorite shade of lilac.
She opened it slowly.
It was like stepping into a parallel universe where she had never left.
Bookshelves filled with novels she had once adored. A vanity with a mirror and small jewelry sets she never received. Dresses hung in a neat row. On her desk lay birthday cards—one for every year she hadn't heard his voice. Each signed: "Love always, Daddy."
Eliya clutched one of the cards, her shoulders trembling.
Across the hall, Sahir entered his room. Posters of bands he used to love. Sketchbooks. A model kit for the robot he'd begged for at eight. The walls bore photos of him and Keal, Loira, and even baby pictures he hadn't seen in years.
He sat on the edge of his bed and ran a hand across the comforter. The same one from a decade ago.
Rivan Jr.'s room was newer. Bright, carefully curated. Superhero-themed bed covers. Shelves with books and plush toys. In one corner sat a large framed photo of the three older kids when they were toddlers.
And beside that...
A more recent photo.
One Rivan had taken secretly from a distance, the day he saw Rivan Jr. at school.
The child stood in the middle of the room, staring at everything with wide eyes. Then, slowly, he turned back and walked into the hallway.
They met at the top of the stairs. Sahir, Eliya, Rivan Jr.
"He never forgot," Eliya said.
"He waited," Sahir replied.
They moved down the stairs together, finding the kitchen.
Rivan was there, moving slowly, organizing mugs for tea.
Keal was leaning on the counter, arms crossed, watching him with quiet wariness.
Loira had stepped into the garden, breathing in the twilight air.
Rivan looked up, startled but pleased. "Did you see them? The rooms?"
"We saw," Eliya said.
Keal turned to them. "Do you want something to eat? Dinner's late, but I can help cook."
"Can we help?" Sahir asked.
The request startled all three adults.
Loira stepped back in. "You want to help with dinner?"
"We want to stay here tonight," Rivan Jr. said. "Together. All of us."
The table was set together. Rivan peeled carrots while Sahir stirred soup. Eliya set the plates with Loira. Keal grilled chicken.
It was quiet.
But this silence was different. Peaceful.
Not pretending. Just... fragile harmony.
Dinner was eaten slowly. No one rushed. No one raised their voice.
Afterward, the kids helped clean. They loaded dishes into the washer, wiped counters, and lingered in the kitchen while their parents stood nearby, watching them like they'd just stepped into a dream.
Later, the family sat in the living room. The large couch held all of them. The TV played a movie no one really watched.
Rivan Jr. curled up between Loira and Rivan.
Eliya lay across Keal's lap, half asleep.
Sahir rested his head on the armrest, blanket over his shoulders.
Rivan dared to reach out.
Loira didn't pull away.
Keal leaned into his side.
He closed his eyes, overwhelmed.
This... was the beginning of everything he thought he had lost.
Not perfect.
Not fixed.
But healing.
Together.
And that was enough.
That night, after the lights dimmed and silence blanketed the villa, Rivan stood quietly by the hallway window, watching the stars. Behind him, soft breathing filled the house—his family, asleep under one roof again.
For the first time in years, he wasn't chasing memories.
They were here.
Real.
Tangible.
In the quiet stillness, he made a silent promise: no more running, no more fear. Whatever pain remained, they would face it together. As dawn teased the edge of night, a gentle smile touched his lips. Tomorrow, they would begin again. Not as broken pieces—but as a whole, healing heart.