Small Hands Novel Chapter 14

Small Hands Novel Chapter 14

Five years later.

Morning light poured through the windows of our home on Skye-stone and glass on the cliff above the sea, ancient and modern, like us

I stood at the kitchen island, coffee in hand, watching beautiful chaos.

Isla, eleven now and sharp as a blade, was arguing with her sister Rosie-four, red curls, Rhys’s grey eyes-about feeding the cat

“I fed her yesterday!”

“You gave her the wrong food!”

“There’s no wrong food-

“She’s a refined animal, Isla!”

Baby James-eighteen months, the image of his father-sat in his high chair dropping toast on the floor, shrieking with delight.

Rhys appeared behind me, arms circling my waist.

“Our children are savages.”

“They get it from you.”

“Rosie is pure you. That stubbornness. That look.”

“What look?”

“The one that makes executives cry.”

The anonymous message had been real.

Kyros was backed by a syndicate that didn’t accept losses. They’d come for Vesper-cyberattacks, catalogue theft, a physical threat that

triggered full lockdown.

We fought them. Eighteen months of invisible war across servers, courtrooms, and the grey spaces where law gets thin.

We won.

Vesper was now the largest independent music company on Earth. Our artists topped every chart. The Unbroken Foundation had funded twelve

hundred shelters worldwide.

And I’d done it all without hiding. Without whispering. Without shrinking.

V was Wren Calder, and the whole world knew it.

“Mum!” Rosie appeared at my elbow, jam-covered. “Isla says I can’t be a producer because I can’t count to a hundred.”

“I said yet!” Isla protested. “It was motivational!”*

I knelt “You can be anything. Producer. Singer, Astronaut.”

“Can I be a dragon?”

“Especially a dragon”

She beamed and charged off.

“Dad, can you drive me to rehearsal?” Isla called. She’d chosen cello-fiercely her own.

“Ten minutes.” Rhys kissed my head and disappeared into his study.

I cleaned jam, rescued toast, brokered a ceasefire involving shared cat duties and an extra biscuit each.

Then I stood in my kitchen-this beautiful, chaotic, noisy kitchen-and let the feeling wash through me.

Gratitude. Vast and bone-deep.

My phone buzzed. Frank-retired in Napa, still checking in weekly.

Happy anniversary, V. Five years married. Long way from the nosebleed seats.

I typed: Still not crying, Frank.

Didn’t expect you to. Kiss the kids. –

Rhys reappeared, coat on. “Isla! Car!”

Thundering footsteps.

He paused at the door. Looked at me-messy hair, coffee stains, baby drool on my shoulder.

“What?” I asked.

“Remembering.”

“What?”

“The first time I heard Unbroken. Your heart encoded in frequencies, reaching strangers who needed saving.” He shook his head. “I fell in love with

a ghost. Then I met her, and she was louder and brighter and more real than anything I’d imagined.”

“You’re going to make Isla late.”

“Let me be romantic.”

“Be romantic in the car.”

He laughed, kissed me hard and fast, and vanished with Isla into the rain.

I picked up James, settled Rosie with coloring books, and walked to the window.

The Scottish hills rolled green and grey under a sky torn between storm and sun. Somewhere in a California prison, Jax was serving year five of