Chapter 267: Our Home

Sierra looked up at him. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.” If he didn’t, she wouldn’t push.

Johnathan offered a small smile. Of course, she’d say that. Every part of her resonated deeply with him.

“Today’s my birthday. I never celebrate it… because my mom died on this day. Fell from the hospital roof. Right in front of me. I saw the whole thing.”

Sierra’s grip on his hand tightened. She didn’t say anything—there was nothing to say. She just held onto him.

“Since I can remember, she was… fractured. Sometimes fine, sometimes completely broken. Back then, I didn’t understand. Not until after she died. Not long after that, my father brought another woman home. His current wife—she used to be my mother’s best friend. My half-brother? Only eight years younger than me. That day, my mom had another episode. She was rushed to the hospital. I called him, over and over—he never answered. Then she fell. And I saw him rush out from another part of the hospital. Turns out, he was there the whole time. With them. Because his other son had a fever.”

Johnathan stated it flatly, like it was a mere report. Even his grandfather never knew his father had been in that hospital. But he remembered it all—the panic on Chase’s face, the shock, the regret when he saw his son standing there.

Sierra’s chest tightened. She hadn’t imagined the truth would be so awful. She didn’t try to comfort him. She just hugged him.

So even someone like Johnathan—warm, composed, dependable—had this kind of past. They held each other without saying a word.

After a long while, Sierra finally pulled back.

“I actually got you something,” she said quietly. “I know you don’t celebrate your birthday, but I still wanted to give it to you. Wanna see it?”

Johnathan nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go home.”

She took his hand and led him out. Turns out, she wasn’t the only one without a home. Johnathan didn’t have one either. They were the same.

Back at their apartment, the atmosphere softened. Even though they hadn’t lived there long, the place felt like home—every corner bore the mark of their presence. Sierra didn’t rush to bring out the gift. First, she grabbed the first-aid kit.

Johnathan hadn’t worn gloves earlier. His hands were a mess—knuckles raw and bleeding. She carefully cleaned and disinfected his hands, her own face twisting at the sight.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” she asked, wincing for him.

“It’s nothing.” He really meant it. These were just surface wounds. Compared to the things he’d been through—mercenary missions, extreme sports, broken limbs—this was nothing. But he didn’t say that aloud. She already looked so worried. He didn’t want to add to it.

For the first time, Johnathan felt like he didn’t want anyone to hurt for him.

Once she finished bandaging him, Sierra finally brought out the gift. Johnathan blinked. “What’s this?”

It was a tiny model house, sealed under glass—an exact replica of their place. Made entirely from chemical materials—copper sulfate, alum, gradient crystals that shimmered like magic. Dreamy. Beautiful. And on the front: two little words. Our Home.

He recognized every detail. Every measurement. The precision of it. It must have taken her days to make. He’d received more gifts in his life than he could count. Houses. Cars. A private island. Hell, when he was born, his grandfather bought a star and named it after him. But this… this hit different.

His chest tightened, the kind of ache that didn’t hurt but swelled and ached all the same. Sierra shifted nervously. “I didn’t know what to get you…”

Johnathan didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Not yet. Because in that moment, for the first time in a long time, he felt like someone had really seen him. And given him a piece of something he’d never had—a home.