Snow blanketed the Reinhardt estate in a hush that felt too heavy to be peaceful. It was the kind of silence that prickled at Logan Reinhardt's instincts. The kind that whispered of things unsaid.
He stood in the grand study, one hand clutching a half-full tumbler of aged whiskey, the other shoved into the pocket of his slacks. Through the frosted window, he could see the garden buried in winter's white grip. The soft light of early evening spilled into the hallways below, brushing golden warmth across the quiet house.
Too quiet.
The kids had returned home from school several hours earlier. No one said much. Not at dinner, not even in passing. No twin-banter echoing off the walls. No thumping workout playlist from Levy's room. No usual sarcastic remarks from Lester as he retreated upstairs. And Leina… Leina, who was usually full of questions, had been curled beside Giselle like a shadow, withdrawn and watchful.
Logan raised the glass to his lips but didn't drink. He stared at the family photo perched on the edge of his desk—taken two summers ago on the coast. Leina in a sundress, Levy carrying her on his back with that big goofy grin. Louis and Liam mid-argument, both of them soaked and sandy. Lester standing just behind them all, hands in his pockets, quietly smiling.
Footsteps padded behind him.
"You didn't even notice I came in," Giselle said softly. She was wrapped in her robe, still damp from a hot bath, her long black hair cascading over one shoulder. A hint of rose-scented lotion clung to her skin.
"I was thinking," Logan murmured.
"About?" She poured herself a tea and joined him by the window.
He paused before answering. "The kids. Today. Something's not right."
She nodded, her eyes clouding. "They came home like ghosts. Quiet. Guarded. Leina didn't even want to eat. Levy spent dinner with one AirPod in and barely touched his chicken. Lester kept tapping his fork like it was the only thing anchoring him."
Logan set his drink down. "The twins didn't even fight over the last piece of cornbread."
"That's practically a national emergency."
They both laughed, but it was brittle around the edges.
"I've been thinking," Giselle said after a beat. "We've always tried to give them space to grow into their own people, but maybe we didn't realize how much pressure they've been under. Especially lately."
Logan looked over at her, brow furrowed.
"Lester tries so hard" she continued. "Levy acts like he's got to carry the whole family on his back. Liam and Louis—one of them will explode someday if the other doesn't ground him first. And Leina... she holds it all in. She always has."
"I really hope that life would not affect them the way it is," Logan said quietly.
"But that's the thing," Giselle replied. "You, nor I can control that."
They stood in silence again, both watching the world outside slowly disappear beneath the falling snow.
Logan let his memories drift.
He remembered Lester at age five, wearing one of Logan's old ties and declaring he was going to "win at being Dad." He remembered the way Levy would race after his brother, even as a toddler, always trying to keep up. He remembered Liam holding Louis's hand on their first day of school—not the other way around. And Leina... his baby girl. The only one who could quiet an entire room with a single look.
"She was so small when she was born," he said aloud.
Giselle smiled. "You cried."
"I did not."
"You sobbed like a soap opera husband."
He shot her a playfull glare. "Don't rewrite history."
She sipped her tea. "You kissed her forehead and whispered 'I've got you.' It was the softest I'd ever seen you."
Logan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you think they're okay? Really okay?"
"I think they're trying to be."
Giselle walked to the fireplace, her bare feet silent on the rug. The fire crackled, casting gold light against the walls.
"We built this life from scratch," she said. "You remember what it was like when we first met? The long hours, the uncertainty? We were kids trying to be adults. Now we're adults still trying to figure it out."
Logan came up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
"You've always made it look easy," he murmured.
"You've always made it worth the effort," she replied.
He kissed the top of her head. "Sometimes I wonder if we've done enough. If they'll grow up resenting us for pushing too hard or not pushing hard enough."
Giselle turned to face him, placing a hand on his cheek. "We gave them a foundation. We gave them a team. And we gave them love. That's more than most ever get."
He leaned into her touch, the lines at the corners of his eyes softening.
"You ever think about doing it all over again?" he asked with a smirk.
She raised an eyebrow. "A baby?"
"Why not?" he shrugged. "We've got five. What's one more?"
She laughed. "That's not how math works. And you're forgetting the diapers. The crying. The chaos."
He leaned closer. "You love the chaos."
She didn't pull away. "I love *you.*"
The space between them vanished.
The fire popped, shadows dancing on the walls.
They kissed,slow, intentional, lingering.
When they pulled apart, her voice was a whisper.
"The night's still young."
Logan lifted her effortlessly, carrying her from the study with a grin that said everything and nothing.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.
Inside, legacy and love found a quiet place to bloom again.