September 16, 2043.
The house was warm and cosy, smelling strongly of freshly brewed tea and sweet treats that littered the kitchen counters, varying from red velvet cupcakes to chocolate cupcakes and brownies to a typical dusted Victoria Sponge that had been passed through generations in the Styles family - starting with Harry’s great grandmother, passing on to his grandmother then to his mother and then to him and Gemma to pass on to their children to keep running in the family.
It was decorated perfectly with the similar colour scheme running through the rooms. A teal colour paired with grey and white seemed to be a consistent theme and it made the house feel homely and looked after and Harry knew it was a well-looked after house with a creative mind behind the layout.
The living room had grey sofas and teal cushions accessorising the dull colour, teal curtains hung from a curtain rail and covered the windows through the night to block out any wandering eyes, and the walls were papered with a sweet variety of grey and white stripes running vertically down towards the skirting board. There were sweet little trinkets from her first home placed around the mantelpiece and on the cupboard tops stood photos and sweet memories - photos of Persephone and her siblings, Persephone and her father on her wedding day just a few short weeks ago, and there were photos of Jack and his parents as well as the two of them together ranging from their first few months together to where they were now.
The kitchen had black and white tiles placed eloquently and neatly in patterns that brought a sense of excitement into the room, and their cupboards were a light brown oak with glass doors to show what was inside, their furniture matching the same coloured wood. A marble counter top was perched on top of the breakfast island, a tap and a draining board included with stools and place mats set to eat dinner on when there wasn’t any energy to make up the dining room table into a table fit for date night.
Their bedroom - the master bedroom which was larger and much more used than the others and it gave of a much more homely vibe - had the grey and white theme running throughout and the oak wood was a theme piece that seemed to fit with the rooms interior. On both bedside tables stood two photos that were both milestones in their life as a couple - a personal favourite from the wedding sitting on Jack’s bedside table and a personal favourite from their first month of dating sitting on Persephone’s bedside table, beside a book with her glasses resting upon. And above the bed was a blown-up version of both families together on their wedding day; both families together and smiling widely to show their true emotions towards the day - laughter snapshot in one perfect capture, crinkled eyes on their faces and a tight squeeze of the bride to Harry’s side.
It was the home they had both brought together, after falling in love with it as soon as they’d stepped foot through the threshold on a viewing tour with their estate agent, and it had exactly what both Persephone and Jack were after as a home to create their life in.
It was set between both her parents’ house in London and Jack’s parents’ home in Southampton. Located just on the outskirts of London and nearing the Surrey countryside.
To the modern day in September, the hallway of the Surrey home was sporting the new addition of large and brown suede boots belonging to Harry as well as a pair of pink and open-toed slip-ons that belonged to you, thick coats hanging on the coat racks and a set of car keys set on the table that already held a bowl of wicker balls coloured black and white and silver; something that Persephone had seen on a shopping trip to the furniture stores and had immediately pictured them somewhere in the new home.
A fresh waft of tea filled the lower level of the home as the four of you settled around the coffee table; Persephone and Jack settled on the large grey sofa and wrapped up in one another’s arms whilst you and Harry stayed separate in the arm chairs facing one another, either side of the room. The fire was warm against exposed skin and the crackling filled the silence. Bellies were full of a roast dinner that Jack had taken time to make that afternoon, including the apple pie made specifically with the recipe Harry had passed over to him the night they met - when the taste of apple was still on his tongue, his hand taking a tight hold of the scribbled recipe in his hand as he gave Harry a worded and hushed promise of making it for his girlfriend when she felt homesick and needed a hint of home comfort, and even more so when she needed cheering up from the stacks of University work and the stresses of exam season around the corner.
“I have to say, Jack,” Harry started, gulping down the sip of cold tea he’d taken and pulled the mug from his lips, “you made that apple pie better than anybody who has ever tried too. A little better than myself, should I say, and that’s my own adapted recipe. In my old age and with my bad back, it’s getting a bit difficult to get in the kitchen and put my bakery skills to some good use so it’s lovely to know my little girl has someone to make her sweet treats when she needs it,” he chuckled.

“Pops, god. You make me sound like a pig,” Persephone grinned, her nose nudging against Jack’s cheek as she kept her hold on the glass of water in her hand, the bottom resting upon the knee she’d swung across Jack’s lap. “I don’t eat that many sweet treats, okay? It’s your fault that I have a hankering for them because you always made some delicious things.”
A deep chuckle left Harry’s mouth as his eyebrows raised for just a second and his eyes widened before he sent her a wink.
He had made some delicious sweet treats in the past, when Persephone was a young girl, varying from lemon drizzle cake to red velvet cupcakes to raspberry and white chocolate muffins to jam tarts - both muffins and tarts were what you’d craved throughout every single one of your pregnancies with your children.
Persephone was always his ‘deputy baker’ when she was old enough to understand what he was doing; she was 5 when she first began to join him at the counter, with an apron tied around her body before her dominant persona begged and pleaded to take over the rolling of the pastry for jam tarts or whisking the cake and muffin mix whilst he supervised with a close eye and a strong hand covering her tiny fingers to make sure she didn’t go too overboard and mess up the kitchen as well as her apron covered figure. He’d always allow her to have dip one finger in and have one lick of the mixture that was set to rise in the oven, and his heart would swell when she’d look to him with wide green eyes and whisper “these will taste really good, daddy” as he peppered kisses to her head.
He always trusted her 5-year old judgement on the mix in the glass bowl and she was never wrong with her statements. She never held back.
He’d always known she was going to incorporate baking into her life one way or another - whether she became a baker and owned her own bakery as her profession, after realising Science was too tough and she wanted something that kept her stress-free, or, whether she became the typical mother as well (as a woman of work) of the household and made sweet treats and the pastries for her own children and her husband to snack on through traditions in the future.
When she’d come home one afternoon, a summer break from University if you will, her boyfriend on her arm and a red velvet cake tucked under his arm, she’d gushed over how amazing he was at baking. Insisting that you all needed to try a slice of his cake because she swore it was like sitting on cloud nine.
However, she held back on whether or not if her boyfriend was a better baker than her father - because her father would always take the top position and she couldn’t offer any other man that place. When she picked up a spoon, she was instantly reminded of spooning mixture into the cake holders. When she picked up a a whisk, she was instantly reminded of the day Harry had turned his back for just one second, resulting in splatters of mixture coating the cupboards and dripping from the counter, her hair matted and her cheeks painted with the beige goop.
“I had some help from P before I made that apple pie today. Just to make sure I impressed you with it. I’d been through a lot of ingredients and different ones being made to make it perfect so, Persephone had insisted that the one we ate today was almost like you’d made it from scratch,” Jack stated with a smile, a soft giggle leaving Persephone’s mouth as she pressed her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, “she has definitely got your baking skills, Harry.”

“She grew up and spent the majority of her childhood in the kitchen with her dad. She was the only one out of her and her siblings who would sit in the kitchen and watch as Harry made sweet treats and cupcakes for her to munch on,” you explained, adjusting yourself in the chair and sitting up a bit more comfier upon the cushions, “she loved sitting with him and stirring the mix and dipping her finger in and pushing it to his cheek and giggling.”
“He made such great cakes though,” Persephone sighed, lifting her head from Jack’s shoulder and sending her father a loving smile, “which reminds me, we have your cake to eat. Do you want some more tea? We can go and make some more and cut some slices of the cake and bring it in. I’m pretty sure there’s a new episode of Antiques Roadshow showing as well, and I know you love watching that, Pops,” she suggested with a hint of teasing in her words, looking between you and Harry, a devilish smirk on her lips as Jack removed his arms from around her.

“I’d love some cake, poppet. I’m getting a bit peckish,” Harry smiled, picking up his half empty cup of cold tea and shuffling on the arm chair cushion he was sat up, reaching forward to grab your mug and hooking the handle around his forefinger, “I’ll come and give you a hand, yeah? I’ve missed spending some time with you in a kitchen.”

At 50-years old and well into his life with you and his children he feared his children would leave and he wouldn’t see them as regularly as he had done, and it gave Harry a sense of relief - she was only 40 minutes away and he could always hop in his car and drive down if she was ever in an emergency and in need of someone to help her - that she agreed to living in a house that was close to her first home. If she needed him to comfort her or to give her a hug that brought her to a safe haven, all she had to do was drive back home down the motorway and use her house key to let herself in. The excitement of being back with her father giving her the determination to get there, no matter the emotion running through her body.
And vice versa.
If Harry felt like he was in need of seeing his daughter after a long while of not seeing her, and, he felt like conversing with her over a mug of tea and some biscuits brought from the store on his way down to Surrey from London, he was always welcomed to pull up into her driveway and proceed to let himself in with the key she’d have made for him and for you in case emergencies happened. And, he wasn’t a stranger to the key sitting in his jean pocket, hanging on a keyring along with his house keys and stuffed into his pocket with , and he wasn’t going to let it become an unused waste.
“No, no. You’re okay, Pops. Stay there. We’ll be back shortly,” Persephone said with a smile, standing to her socked feet and stretching her hands forward and wiggling her fingers, the sleeves of her shirt rolling up her arms as she took the cups from her father and followed Jack into the kitchen, an audible sigh leaving her lips as she disappeared around the doorframe.
The sounds of the kettle boiling began to fill the silent house and the taps running to wash the cold tea down the sink could be heard over the whistling and the bubbling, an incoherent conversation happening in the kitchen between Jack and Persephone as yourself and Harry stayed within the warmth of the fire-lit living room.

“We can’t stay for much longer, okay, Peaches?” You warned Harry, his tired and hooded eyes focused on the TV as he watched an advert about a supermarket roll across the screen. His face turning to yours after some time with a frown on his lips. “I know you don’t want to go back home without her but we have an early start tomorrow with taking Darcy to Freshers Week for university. You don’t want to be tired for that.”
“I know,” Harry mumbled, his hands turning into fists as he rubbed his tired eyes and let out a soft yawn, “m’gettin’ old, aren’t I? Tired at 8 in the evening,” he chuckled, his laugh deep and raspy and coming out almost breath-like as he groaned heavily and sat up comfier, crossing a leg over, his socked foot swinging gently.

“You’re still that sweet 20 year old I met in the coffee shop,” you cooed, standing to your feet with a a smile and manoeuvring around the coffee table set in front of the fire, perching yourself down on the arm of the chair he was sat in and wrapping an arm around his neck, “30 years and 4 kids later, we’re still as in love with one another as we were in our twenties.”

His head dropped to your shoulder, eyes closed and a smile on his lips.
“Still think you’re the fittest bird I’ve been with, you know? I’m glad I married you,” you heard him whisper softly, happiness lacing his words as they rolled from his tongue, his eyes closed in contentment as your finger brushed down his arm, drawing patterns on his skin. “Glad you stuck around, as well. Wouldn’t be here, in our daughters home, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Oh, stop. You’re getting sappier in your old age, Peaches.”

“30 years and 4 kids later, you’re still calling me Peaches,” he mocked, his arm snaking around your waist as he pulled you onto his lap. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Within the heat of the conversation and with the snuggle happening in the armchair, the both of you were oblivious to the two twenty-six year olds standing in the doorway, a tray of four steaming mugs of tea in Persephone’s hands and a tray of four thick pieces of Victoria Sponge cake sitting on blue and white spiral-printed ceramic plates. Four forks tinkling as the metal prongs knocked against each other.
“I want that,” Persephone whispered, her head tilting up towards Jack as he looked down at her with adoration in his eyes, “I want what my parents have. They’re 50 years old, and, they look so great for their age, and they’ve never fallen out of love of anything. I want that with you, Jack,” she cooed.

She wanted that in 30 years.
When they had their own children and they were huddled around in their living room, drinking tea and eating home made cake as they sat in front of the fure . Conversing with their own children as they caught up with their lives now that they had left home and started a journey of their own.
She wanted the love her father and mother had.
She’d lived in a house for 18 years, seeing so much love exchanged and so many sweet and adoring gestures being witnessed.
She’d seen her father give her mother kisses in the morning over eggs and bacon, orange juice coated lips and aprons around their bodies. Soft ‘I love you’s leaving their mouths as they dished up the delicious smelling breakfast onto plates, ordering them nicely on the breakfast bar before calling the rest of the children down to help themselves to the towering plates of food.
She’d seen her mother give her father back massages when he’d have an ache at the small of his back. A wince leaving his mouth when he’d duck down and tug off his boots upon his arrival home from work or from a busy day out, and, it would be like her instincts turn up a notch. Whatever was in her hand would be dropped and her attention would be swiftly changed to his hunching finger and his crumpled face as his palm stayed flat upon the aching small of his back.
And, she’d seen them both run each other baths and decorate the bathroom with candles and sweet-smelling bath-bombs that fizzed in the water and created intricate patterns on the surface and died the water whatever the bath-bombs colour was initially. Sweet cuddles and passionate kisses being given to the other with their bodies beneath the water as they took the chance of a silent household to be as intimate as they could.
She’d grown up in a household that was filled to the brim with love and all she wanted was a household like that in the future. With her own children. With her own husband. In a house of her own.
“And we will have that, Pea. I promise,” Jack cooed, “now, let’s go and tell them, hm?”

“I’m so nervous, Jack,” Persephone gruntled, looking down at the newly opened ceramic mugs and gulping nervously. “What if they hate this idea? What if the-”

“Shush. This isn’t good for you, okay?” Jack cooed, pressing his puckered lips to her forehead and smiling down at her. “Whatever happens, I’ve got you. We’re married. This is great news for them.”

“I suppose so,” she whispered, catching his eye contact and shuffling the tray in her now visibly shaking hands, “let’s do it.”

With a heavy breath in and out, and a three second moment to herself, Persephone followed Jack’s consistent and soft footsteps towards the sofa. Her nerves filling her belly and butterflies flitting around inside of her, her cheeks paling and her head ducked to her chest as she set down tray down on the table, ensuring the words painted across the white ceramic was hidden from her parents’ wandering eyes.
This was happening. Her life was about to change and she was about to become something that she’d wanted ever since she was a little girl - a mother.
She was pregnant. A little under four weeks but already showing symptoms.
With a baby of her own; a mixture of her and Jack.
A pregnancy test was sitting in the drawer of the coffee table in front of her, resting in toilet paper upon a pile of chat-magazines that fit snugly in the wood, corners turned to remind Persephone of where she had gotten too in her mid-morning reading with a cup of hot chocolate to wake her up from her drowsy state.
“Tea and cakes,” Jack grinned, lifting up two plates of Victoria Sponge cake and holding them out in an accessible reach for you both to take, “thank you for making the sponge cake, Harry. It’s a pleasure to eat it.”

“You’re welcome, lad,” Harry grinned, tapping your hip and shuffling beneath your weight as you hoisted yourself up onto the arm and stood to your feet. Reaching for a fork for yourself and Harry, you manoeuvred back to the empty arm chair and settled back comfortably in the seat. “I’d be happy to make more cakes or sweet treats if you ever want some or want to have some snacks for a tradition of party. I’m good with taking the 40 minutes drive down here.”
“We couldn’t ask you to do that yet, Harry,” Jack reasoned, holding a forkful of cake to his mouth and wrapping his lips around the fluffy and moist sponge, a grin on his lips as he chewed and swallowed the tasteless yet delicious mouthful, “I know you’d much rather make cakes for your wife and spend time with her. It’s 40 minutes here and 40 minutes back. It’s alright.”
“Nonsense. I’d do anything for you both,” Harry admitted through a mouthful of cake, crumbs sticking to the corner of his lips as his upper lip was coated with a dash of of the dusting and the icing holding the two layers together, “Persephone knows that we’ll always make the long winded drive to come and see you both.”
“Well, we always love having you, Pops,” his eldest daughter grinned softly, looking up from her cake and staring at the all too familiar green eyes.

Silence engulfed the four of you, and as the time went on, Persephone felt suffocated with her thoughts.
She was moments away from telling her family that she was pregnant. Moments away from telling them that she was about to grow and pop out another healthy member to the Styles-Hudson family into the world. She was going to endure morning sickness and hormones, and, she was going to go through cravings and even more hormones, and, she was going to watch as her body accustomed to her growing baby and she’d have swollen feet and aching ankles and a back that would need extra attention when being loved on.
She was going to have a baby bump between her hips that would force her to change from regular clothing to maternity wear; the material needing to be comfortable around her pregnant body as she went about her daily activities. A baby bump that would be touched from loved ones and looked at in the streets by strangers and she knows that, deep down, she’d be asked more about the baby then she would about herself. No one would be interested in how she was feeling or how she was coping about the baby; they would be much more interested in the interesting facts of the baby - they’d be curious to know the size of the baby at a specific day of the pregnancy, they’d want to know how far along you were, and they’d want to know if the gender was going to be found out or whether they were keeping it secret.
This one step of telling everyone had her nervous.
And she’d never felt this nervous in her life - she had a father who was born confident, and, people close to Harry as a child were never short of reminding her that she was exactly how her father was when he was a young one.
She felt her heart in her throat when Harry reached for a mug, before retracting back and swallowing down the last of his cake, setting the fork on the china and setting it upon the empty tray.
“Sweetheart, you’re looking a bit pale,” you pointed out matter of factly, worry coursing through your body as you sat on the edge of your seat and reached across for her head, “and you haven’t eaten anything of your dad’s cake. What’s the matter? You love his Victoria Sponge.”

“Jus’ feeling a bit off,” was her reply.
Soft and nervous and shaky, and it stayed unsettled on your conscience.

“Persephone? What’s the ma-”

“I’m pregnant.”

A heavy gasp coming from Harry, his green eyes wide as his arm stretched forward and squeezed her knee reassuringly, being careful of the cake sitting on her thighs.
You’d felt like the wind had been knocked out of you as you let the happy news settle on your mind. You’d been waiting for the day your children came home and announced the happy news of a pregnancy, and, at 50 years old, you’d felt your life had been complete.
You’d been a girlfriend.
You’d been a fiancée.
You’d been a bride and you wed to be a wife.
You’d been a pregnant wife and grew 4 healthy babies in your belly before enduring almost 24 hour births.
You’d been a mother for 26 years.
And now you were nine months away from being a grandmother.
Your eldest baby was about to have a baby herself, and she was about to become a mother to her own child and raise a baby in a way you’d done. And, you couldn’t begin to express your pride towards her.
“Poppet, hey,” Harry cooed, “that’s fantastic news!”

He was on his feet in seconds, his arms open wide as Jack removed the plate from Persephone’s lap.
“C’mon, poppet. Come give your old man a hug,” Harry chuckled, lacing his fingers into Persephone’s and pulling her to her feet, “this is brilliant. You’re going to be a mother. You’re having a baby.”

Knowingly enough, being in her fathers arms seemed to calm her down and she felt better and less-nervous about being pregnant and having a changing body and a gruelling birth that would end in something precious. With Harry’s arms tight around her, she felt like nothing could get in her way, and with a supportive husband by her side, she felt she could conquer anything. Give or take, she was going to grab the bull by the horns and go about her life as it comes.
She was ready.
“We have the pregnancy test here, actually,” Jack pointed out, crouching down beside Harry’s legs and pulling open the drawer, his fingers curling around the test as he pulled it out and shut the door with his knee, “our first pregnancy test that came back positive. We had a doctors appointment about a week ago and they confirmed it properly. We’re nearing 4 weeks, I suppose.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic news, darling,” you cooed, tapping his shoulders and pulling him to your petite body, his arms instantly wrapping around your waist as he pressed his lips to your cheek, “you deserve this. This is such fantastic news, really. We’ve been wondering when we’re going to be grandparents,” you teased.

Her mother was happy. Her father was ecstatic. And her husband was as over-the-moon as any new father could be.
A smile lifted up her cheeks.
She was happy and ecstatic and over-the-moon, too.

And, she was definitely ready for this new journey.

Notes

This is probably a whole mess of shambles because my mind has been all over the place recently, but, here we go. x