The next morning, sunlight slipped lazily through the same French windows, brushing over the remnants of yesterday's wedding madness confetti in the curtains, flower petals on the stairs, and one very tired Ava collapsed in her childhood bed, still half tangled in her veil.
She groaned into the pillow. "If I find glitter in my hair one more time, I'm shaving my head."
From the hallway came Sam's voice ; too loud, too cheerful, and far too awake for someone who'd nearly face-planted into the cake last night."Rise and shine, Mrs. Married-Lady!"
Ava threw a cushion at the door. "You're not allowed to be this happy before coffee."
Sam barged in anyway, holding a mug in one hand and a slice of leftover wedding cake in the other. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie still around his neck like a battle scar, and somehow, he looked smug about it.
"Breakfast of champions," he declared, taking a huge bite. "Sugar, caffeine, and regret."
Ava sat up, squinting at him. "Regret because you danced with Mom's best friend for twenty minutes thinking she was one of the bridesmaids?"
He froze mid-bite. "That's classified information."
She smirked. "Not anymore."
Downstairs, the house buzzed again their parents chatting over tea, relatives laughing, kids chasing the family dog through a minefield of gift bags. It was peak post-wedding chaos, and somehow, it felt… right.
When Ava walked into the kitchen, Peryn was already there, tie loosened, reading the newspaper like he hadn't witnessed a tornado of humans the night before. "Morning, sweetheart," he said with a knowing smile. "Did you survive your brother's emotional damage?"
"Barely," Ava replied, pouring herself coffee. "He's been hovering like I'm going to spontaneously combust."
"I'm just making sure my baby sister isn't having post-wedding blues," Sam said, plopping into a chair. "You know… that moment when reality sets in and you realize your honeymoon starts with a six-hour flight and zero sleep."
Ava rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I love you, or I'd make you take that flight instead."
Their mom, ever graceful and somehow immune to the household noise, smiled from behind her teacup. "It's sweet, really. You two started the wedding with an argument and ended it with him almost tripping down the aisle to fix your train."
"Key word: almost," Sam said defensively. "I caught myself like a ninja."
Peryn laughed. "You caught yourself on the flower stand. We're still missing half the roses."
The room dissolved into laughter, the kind that fills a house and makes it feel alive again.
Later that day, when most of the guests had gone and only a few family members lingered, Ava found Sam in the backyard. He was sitting on the old wooden swing, pushing himself lazily with one foot, staring at the garden that had hosted more family memories than either of them could count.
"You okay?" she asked softly, stepping beside him.
He nodded, smiling faintly. "Yeah. Just… weird, you know? You're married. It feels like the end of a chapter."
Ava sat beside him, bumping his shoulder. "Not the end, idiot. Just a new one. You're still stuck with me. I'll still call you at 2 a.m. when I burn pasta."
He chuckled. "You mean again?"
"Shut up," she said, laughing. Then, after a pause, "You were great yesterday, by the way. Even when everything was falling apart. I mean, you found the boutonnière, wrangled the kids, didn't faint under pressure… I'm proud of you."
Sam blinked, caught off guard. "Whoa. Emotional moment alert. Should I cry or make a joke?"
"Do both," Ava teased.
He smiled wider, eyes glinting. "Fine. I'll cry later when I realize I'm not getting paid for best brother duties."
Ava laughed, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. "You're impossible."
"Genetically proven," he said proudly.
They stayed there in the quiet backyard, sunlight filtering through the trees, laughter from inside fading into the breeze. For a rare moment, there was no chaos ; just the calm between storms.
"Promise me something," Ava said after a while. "Don't let the family go completely insane while I'm gone."
Sam smirked. "No promises. But I'll try not to burn the house down."
"Good enough," she said, smiling.
As she headed back inside, Sam watched her go ;proud, nostalgic, and a little misty-eyed, though he'd never admit it. She wasn't just his little sister anymore; she was someone else's whole world now. But in his heart, she'd always be the same girl who'd once made him wear a flower crown and called him "Princess Samuel" during playtime.
And that, he figured, was love too ....the kind that didn't fade with distance or marriage. Just evolved.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The afternoon rolled on like honey — slow, golden, and sweetly exhausting. Ava's suitcase sat half-packed at the edge of her bed, the open lid a chaotic display of silk dresses and chargers tangled like spaghetti. Every few minutes, someone yelled her name from another room, asking where something was, as if she'd suddenly become the family's Google search bar.
"AVA! Where's the leftover cake?""In the fridge!" she yelled back.Pause."Which fridge?""The only one that doesn't smell like fish, Sam!"
She heard him mutter something about "ungrateful siblings" and snorted. Some things never changed.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand .... a text from Ryan.Can't wait to see you at the airport. Also, please don't forget your passport this time.
Ava groaned. "One time," she muttered to herself, shoving the little blue booklet right into her purse for safety. The memory of her last-minute panic attack at the airport was apparently going to haunt her marriage.
Downstairs, Peryn was reorganizing the gift table with the focus of a man solving world peace. "These go to the living room," he said, pointing at a mountain of wrapped boxes. "And those go to...."
"Dad," Sam interrupted, balancing a tray of tea like he was auditioning for a café. "You do realize you're sorting gifts like we're doing a military evacuation, right?"
Peryn looked over his glasses. "Organisation is peace, Sam."
"Peace is a nap," Sam shot back, yawning. "You should try it sometime."
Their mom sighed fondly, brushing imaginary dust off a vase. "Oh, let him be. It's how he shows love. You show yours by eating cake at 10 a.m."
Sam raised the mug in salute. "We all have our coping mechanisms."
Ava came down the stairs just in time to see the two men mock-saluting each other. She shook her head, grinning. "You both need therapy."
Her dad smiled without looking up. "That's what your mother's tea is for."
Sam made a face. "Yeah, if the problem is too much happiness. That stuff could tranquilize an elephant."
"Funny," their mom said, deadpan. "You didn't say that last night when you asked for a second cup to 'soothe your soul.'"
Sam froze. "You promised to take that to your grave."
"I lied."
Ava choked on her laughter. "Oh my God, you're both hopeless."
But beneath the teasing, there was this warm, quiet hum in the air ... the kind that only happens after a big storm. The wedding had been a whirlwind, but now everything was settling back into its comforting rhythm. The same kitchen. The same bickering. The same laughter echoed through the walls that had seen everything ;birthdays, tears, burnt toast, and now, her first morning as a wife.
After lunch, when the sun began its lazy slide toward the horizon, Ava slipped outside again. The garden looked different now .... emptier, maybe, but softer too. A few petals still clung stubbornly to the grass, and a single ribbon fluttered from the swing where Sam had been earlier.
The family dog, Bailey, padded over and plopped beside her with a grunt. She smiled, scratching behind his ears. "You tired too, buddy?"
He let out a long, dramatic sigh, and she chuckled. "Mood."
"Talking to the dog now?" Sam's voice came from behind her.
"Only one who listens," she said, not turning.
He came to stand beside her, hands in his pockets. "I listen."
She side-eyed him. "You once tuned me out while I was telling you about my college breakup."
"I remember the important parts," he said defensively. "Like… uh… he was dumb."
Ava grinned. "Accurate."
For a moment, they just stood there, watching the sunlight skim across the old garden fence. Somewhere in the distance, a wind chime tinkled. The world felt still ... rare, considering their family.
"Hey," Sam said suddenly, voice softer now. "You know… I meant what I said earlier. I'm proud of you too. I just didn't say it because emotions freak me out."
Ava laughed quietly. "Yeah, I noticed."
He kicked at a pebble, eyes on the grass. "It's just… you were always the one planning everything. Making lists, setting goals, bossing me around since we were five. And now you actually did it. You built this life. You're… happy."
She turned to him, the corner of her mouth twitching. "You make it sound like I climbed Everest."
"Please. At least Everest doesn't come with wedding seating charts."
That made her laugh ; loud and bright. "Fair point."
Then his voice softened again. "It's weird though. You'll be gone for a bit. House is gonna feel emptier without you."
Ava nudged him with her shoulder. "Then fill it up. Invite people over. Make Mom crazy. You're good at that."
He smirked. "Already planning on it. Might host a karaoke night."
"Dad'll move out."
"Exactly."
Ava snorted. "I'm telling him you said that."
"You wouldn't."
"I would."
"Snitch."
"Loser."
Their laughter tangled in the warm evening air, careless and familiar. For all their chaos and teasing, they'd always been each other's safe place .... loud, loyal, and unshakably there.
When the car finally honked in the driveway, both of them turned. Ryan was there, waving from the driver's seat, a grin on his face. "Ready, Mrs. Walker?" he called.
Ava's chest tightened. "Yeah," she said softly, then looked at Sam one last time.
He gave her a mock salute. "Don't do anything stupid."
"Define stupid."
"Anything I'd do."
She smiled, tears pricking her eyes now. "That eliminates a lot."
They hugged ; not one of those quick, polite hugs, but the kind that holds years in it. Shared memories. Inside jokes. All the versions of who they'd been to each other.
When she finally pulled back, she whispered, "Love you, idiot."
He cleared his throat, trying too hard not to tear up. "Love you too, trouble."
As the car drove off and disappeared down the road, Sam stayed standing by the gate, the fading sunlight turning everything gold. The swing creaked softly behind him, the garden quiet once more. He exhaled, long and steady, then smiled.
"She'll burn pasta again," he murmured to himself. "And call me at 2 a.m. like nothing's changed."
He looked up at the sky –– the same one that had watched them grow up, fight, and make up a thousand times. And for a fleeting second, he could almost hear little Ava's voice from the past. "Princess Sam, your crown is crooked!"
He laughed under his breath. "Yeah, kid. Guess it still is."
Then he turned back toward the house, where laughter and the smell of tea drifted through the open windows. Life went on .... messily, beautifully, perfectly them.
And maybe, just maybe, that was what family really was: not perfect endings, but the comfort of knowing that no matter where you go, there's always a swing waiting in the backyard, creaking in rhythm with your memories.