Wish You Were Here - Part 3

Epilogue: Part 3

OLIVIA'S POV

Harry is picking up the array of colourful toys littered across our living room and putting them into an already overflowing, wicker basket.

I don't even know how we accumulated so much shit in the space of two years but this house feels like it is bursting at the seams with pink doll strollers and weird little stuffed toys and building blocks.

Moving out of the centre of London proved to be one of the best things we have done. The privacy is refreshing and it's as if I'm dreaming when I see Harry take Emma to pre-school without having to dodge photographers or being able to go out for a quiet breakfast on the weekend... well, as quiet as breakfast with a two year old can be.

"Oh, for fucks sake! We need to get rid of some of this junk," my husband huffs as he runs a ring clad hand through his long hair.

"Mhm," is all I say back, my hands in a sink full of soapy water as I wash the dishes of the day. "And don't swear," I scold for what feels like the billionth time

"She's in her bedroom, darling," he dismisses as he throws another stuffed toy animal in the basket with far too much force than necessary.

We are both exhausted, Emma testing our patience at every chance, Harry trying to do a million and one things for his work right now but our toddler has a strong dependancy on him and sometimes she won't listen to anyone but her father.

"Liv, we are going to have to seriously narrow down how much of this shit we take on tour next month, alright?" Harry demands, getting frustrated at the thought as he holds up a doll that fake wee's in a potty, the exact same one we once vowed never to get.

"Tyler and I will sort it out, babe," I assure him but he's already thrown the doll and is walking in my direction.

His arms snake around my front as I rinse the soap from one of Emma's bottles, his finger reaching out to tilt my chin to the side as he plants a soft kiss to my lips.

"I know you will, angel. M'sorry, I'm... stressed," he confesses reluctantly as he licks his lips and I can't help but smile lightly at how sweet he looks.

"I know you are, Harry. Look, it's ok, you just focus on-"

The plastic bottle in my hand hits the wooden floor the second the sickeningly shrill shriek ricochets off my eardrums, my stomach dropping just as hard and fast.

Harry is running towards Emma's bedroom before the bottle has bounced or I can even process what's just hit my body, bile threatening to rise in my gut as our two year old screams in a way that can only be described as blood curdling.

I'm behind Harry as quickly as I can, "Emma!" he yells hysterically as I can do nothing but breathe an "oh my god," as we race to her, Harry's hand gripping onto her door frame as he swings himself into her room as fast as physically possible.

Tears cascade down my face as Harry runs ahead and skids onto his knees, his arms quickly scooping her up from where she stands by her toy trunk and smothering her as he rocks her back and forth.

"Oh honey! It's ok. it's ok, monkey," he repeats, his voice shaking and I am almost too scared to move from the doorway, too terrified to see what has happened to cause that level of panic and confirm if our little girl is as ok as Harry is telling her she is.

Emma is wailing, a cry that is only caused by extreme pain and maybe a bit of shock, but the fact he's not rushing to call an ambulance is enough for me to exhale the breath I was holding in as my tears hit the carpet below.

Harry sniffles, his eyes glassy as he looks back at me, his body still rocking our baby in comfort.

"Jammed her little fingers in the toy box," he announces for me and my hand automatically rests over my heart as I sigh loudly in relief.