Children Conversation
Larry’s POV
I wasn’t supposed to be awake.
But I was.
I sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the living room window, clutching a juice box in one hand and staring at the little screen in the other—Jo’s old phone, the one she let us use for games when she wasn’t looking.
Laura was lying upside down on the couch, her legs hanging off the back, humming a song that didn’t exist. She wasn’t really paying attention. She never did.
“Look,” I whispered, tilting the screen so she could see.
She squinted. “Is that—”
“Mummy,” I said, nodding.
“And Daddy,” she finished with a small grin.
The photo was grainy, probably zoomed in too far, but it was them. Mum and Dad standing by a railing, all glowy under the streetlight. They were holding hands. And kissing.
Well… technically he was kissing her. But she didn’t look like she hated it.
Laura rolled off the couch dramatically. “We knew it.”
“I told you,” I said, proudly. “Remember when Mummy got mad and threw Daddy’s pillow into the kitchen? That wasn’t real mad. That was pretend mad.”
Laura giggled. “Yeah. Like when I say I hate cake but I still eat two slices.”
I nodded, wise and eleven months older. “Exactly.”
We stared at the photo for a few seconds, both of us grinning like idiots. Then she leaned her head against my shoulder.
“Do you think they’ll get married again?” she asked softly.
I thought about it.
Then I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I hope so,” she whispered. “Then we’ll all have the same name. Like in cartoons.”
I didn’t tell her that names didn’t always mean family. I’d read enough to know that. But with them—Mummy and Daddy—it was different. It felt different.
Daddy had been coming around more. He smiled more now. Not the weird one he used when grownups were watching. His real one. And Mummy… she laughed again. Like the way she used to when it was just us and music playing in the kitchen.
Something was changing.
“I think he loves her,” I said, quiet.
Laura nodded. “I think so too.”
I leaned back on the floor, phone pressed to my chest, and stared up at the ceiling.
Dad wasn’t perfect.
I remembered stuff. The way Mum used to cry in the kitchen when she thought we were asleep. The nights she whispered on the phone with Jo about lawyers and leaving and needing space. But I also remembered the way her eyes lit up when she told stories about how he saved her. Not just in the car—but before. How he paid for Jules’ hospital bills. How he made sure we were safe. How he’d held me once, when I was sick and scared and hiding in the hallway after a bad dream.
He wasn’t perfect.
But he tried.
That mattered.
A lot.
“Do you think we’ll get a dog?” Laura asked suddenly.
I blinked. “Huh?”
“You know. If they get married. People with big houses and happy endings always get dogs.”
I laughed. “Probably. I want a smart one.”
“I want a fluffy one.”
“That’s not a breed.”
“Fluffy is a personality.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the blanket, tugging it over both of us.
We stayed like that for a while, two kids sprawled across the floor, wrapped up in late-night warmth and whispered daydreams.
They didn’t know we were watching. They didn’t know we saw everything—the stolen glances, the quiet smiles, the way Mum blushed when Dad touched her hand.
But we did.
And we were rooting for them.
Even if we didn’t say it out loud.
“I hope they kiss again,” Laura murmured.
I smirked. “They probably will.”
She grinned. “Gross.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, eyes starting to close.
“But cool.”
We didn’t say anything after that. Just lay there under the blanket like two little spies who had cracked the case of the century. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional whistle of wind outside. Somewhere down the hall, the adults were still talking and laughing, probably pretending we’d fallen asleep like good kids.
Laura let out a long sigh beside me, wriggling a little closer. “Do you think they’ll live together again? Like... in one big house?”
“Maybe,” I mumbled, already halfway into a dream. “Depends if Mum lets him.”
Laura snorted. “She always lets him.”
That made me smile.
Because it was kind of true.
Even when she was mad—real mad—she still looked at him like he was hers. Like he used to be part of something broken, but maybe now he was trying to fix it. And Mum… she always wanted to fix things.
“Mummy loves fixing people,” I said, yawning.
Laura tapped her chin dramatically, thinking. “Yeah. Maybe she was a doctor before she was a mummy.”
“She is a doctor,” I said, opening one eye. “You know that.”
“I mean like... a magical one.”
“Laura.”
“What?” she said, laughing. “She fixed Daddy, didn’t she?”
I blinked, then rolled onto my back again, staring up at the ceiling. That hit different. Quiet, but real.
She did.
She really did.
Not just the surgery when he was in a coma.
But after that.
He wasn’t the same man from Mum’s old stories—the one who yelled, who hurt her without touching her, who made her feel small. That man was long gone. Replaced with someone who now sat by her side in hospital meetings, who brought snacks to her lab, who let Laura do his hair while pretending he hated it.
That wasn’t the same man.
It couldn’t be.
“He’s trying,” I whispered.
Laura didn’t answer right away. “Do you think he remembers everything?”
I shook my head. “Maybe not everything. But enough to want to change.”
She was quiet for a long time. Then she whispered, “Do you think he misses us? Like, before?”
I rolled onto my side to look at her. “He didn’t know. But now he does.”
Laura’s eyes were big and wide, but not scared. Just... hopeful. “Do you think he’ll stay this time?”
I reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Yeah. I do.”
Because honestly?
I wasn’t the kind of kid who believed in fairy tales or white horses or glass slippers. But I was the kind of kid who paid attention. And I’d seen the way Dad looked at Mum now. Like she was the sun and he’d been living in the dark for way too long.
People didn’t look at someone like that and then leave.
Not if they were smart.
Not if they knew what they almost lost.
“I hope they get married,” Laura said again, softer this time. “Like, real married. With rings. And cake.”
“And a dog,” I added.
“Two dogs.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway.
Then we both went quiet again.
Not because we were out of things to say.
But because sometimes, when the w
orld finally starts putting itself back together… you just want to enjoy the quiet. The peace. The stillness of knowing things might finally be okay.
Even if just for a night.
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