fight for us ↠ harry styles [b2] ✓

CHAPTER 45

the henleigh house. 
or a collage of photos that best bring my vision to life. finding the perfect fit was hard tbh

45—Renleigh Kensington

I wasn't sure how I got here.

I was thirty-one. Engaged. Mother of a one-year old girl, with a second baby on the way. I had my own company headquartered in London, England with a rapidly growing branch in New York, America. On top of that, a fair amount of shops with my name all over it were operating in major European cities like Milan, for example. Rome. Paris. Madrid. Berlin. Dublin. Plans to reach more of America. Hopes to break into the Asian market. I had all the material possessions anyone could ever dream of, that including a house I built with the man I was going to marry. That's where I woke up that morning, bundled in the warm duvet with enough space to fit three more people beside me, Harry and our daughter. When I sat up, I noticed Dax at the bottom of our bed, curled up and resting. The fact that I didn't see him being there should be enough of an estimate of the size of the bed. Glancing ahead, the windows were covered with the grey curtain to keep out the sunlight. It couldn't have been earlier than nine.

It was seven thirty.

Unsure as to why my body woke me so early in the morning, I put my feet down and with my phone in hand, I went towards the bathroom. That's when I noticed the lights were still on and mentally, the blame was Harry's. He was the last one to brush his teeth before bed. Pressing the switch, my eyes adjusted to the natural lighting as I padded over to the toilet, glad to be there more than ever. This baby inside of me was much bigger than a seven-month-old should be, at least, Leila Grace was nowhere near as big as this one. That meant he weighed more and whenever this little fucker's feet found my bladder, he did not hold back kicking at it with all his power. Reaching for the side of the wall, I pulled myself up, panting as I pulled my pyjama bottoms on again and flushed the toilet. Being pregnant is a whole other experience. Though, I have to admit, I do allow room for some dramatics. C'mon, who wouldn't?

I pulled up the blinds on the two little windows, they were right by the door of the toilet. The sunlight beamed in and focused on the three large mirrors hung on the opposite wall. Sliding my phone across the grey marble top, I placed my hands flat against it, cold to the touch. The mirror before me showed a version of me that was laughable. Truly. My cheeks were rounder than usual, the infamous 'Kensington Cheekbone' was no longer there. Eyes puffed and tiny from having just woken up while my hair resembled what I believed to be a bird's nest. People often say pregnant women glow while carrying their babies... anyone care to explain the reflection in front of me?

I brushed my teeth and washed my face, moisturising right after. The water must've woken Dax because his claws interrupted my quiet morning, drawing me back from my own little world. He sat right by me, his tail moving on the white floor as he watched me. Once I wiped the countertop and put the towel up to dry, I turned to him and gave him the attention he craved. Or maybe, he was looking out for me like he did during the last pregnancy. Dax was very overprotective and he managed to melt the ice cube that kept my heart safe.