Hartford, Tuesday Afternoon, November 2038
Logan Huntzberger balanced his phone on his shoulder as he entered the house, one arm burdened with his vintage leather bag and the other pushing the door open. Cassandra Schmidt's voice blared through the phone, her complaints rising in pitch and intensity. The conversation had started with questions about their teenagers' "friendship," but had swiftly devolved into accusations aimed squarely at Elias—and, by extension, Logan's past.
"He's exactly like you! This is my little girl, Logan. You need to stop this!" she barked, ignoring Logan's attempts to interject.
After another round of her grievances, he finally saw an opening. "Cassandra, I have two daughters. I understand your concerns," he replied, loosening his tie and switching the phone to his other hand. "But they're seventeen—practically adults."
"In a year, they'll be at Yale, away from home," he added, trying to bring the reality of the situation into perspective.
"That's exactly the point. She's not eighteen, Logan. She's living under my roof, and it's my job to protect her."
"I'll talk to Elias," Logan conceded, more out of weariness than agreement. But he knew Cassandra's anger wasn't just about the kids. Old memories stirred as he recalled their brief time together back at Yale, years before he and Rory had found each other.
As he hung up, a familiar warmth replaced the frustration: the rich aroma of fresh coffee, a comforting staple in the Huntzberger-Gilmore household. Logan knew he wasn't alone in handling the challenges of parenthood—Rory's steady influence was everywhere, in the small details that gave their home life structure.
The slam of the front door and the thud of sports bags snapped him from his thoughts as Rick and Elias strode into the kitchen, each a near mirror of Logan's youthful self, yet worlds apart in personality. Rick, observant and introverted, took after Rory's thoughtful side, while Elias bore a striking resemblance to Logan's younger, more impulsive self.
"Dad, something wrong?" Rick asked, always the first to notice subtle shifts in mood.
Logan sighed, glancing between his sons. "Got a call from Mrs. Schmidt. Apparently, she's not thrilled about you and Liza spending time together, Elias."
Elias blinked, sandwich halfway to his mouth. "Wait, seriously?" he sputtered, exchanging a bewildered look with Rick.
"Yes, seriously," Logan replied, a smirk playing at his lips despite the gravity of the situation. "She seems to think you're… a bit too much like me back in the day."
The twins, clearly intrigued, sat down, awaiting an explanation.
Logan hesitated, the weight of his past and the expectations placed on his sons nudging him into the role of storyteller. "Let's just say," he began, choosing his words carefully, "back at Yale, Colin, Finn, and I were well-acquainted with the party scene. Lots of fun, and yes, lots of girls. But that was a long time ago."
Elias raised a brow, unable to hide his surprise. "So, respected Headmaster Huntzberger was a party boy?"
Before he could elaborate, Rory breezed in, rolling her eyes at the sports bags cluttering the entryway. "David Copperfield couldn't teach you three a trick with those bags, could he?" she quipped, her tone light but her gaze piercing.
She caught Logan's smirk, and her expression softened as she took in the open beers on the counter. "Beer in the kitchen at 4 p.m.? What'd I miss?" she asked with a laugh.
"Oh, just explaining to the boys why Cassandra Schmidt is mad at Elias for being with Liza," Logan replied.
Rory's eyes widened, an amused glint sparking. "Ouch. I'll take Emily and Lizzy out for dinner after dance class—our little ones definitely aren't ready for 'Dad's College Days' stories." She gave Logan a teasing kiss before leaving, her presence a grounding force in their home, guiding their family's rhythm.
With Rory gone, Logan turned back to his sons. "As I was saying, boys, before your mom 'saved' me from spilling all the details," he chuckled, "yes, your dad wasn't exactly commitment-minded. Yale was our playground, but that came with its own set of problems."
For the next hour, Logan regaled Rick and Elias with stories of wild Life and Death Brigade escapades, infamous pranks, and parties. The twins listened, fascinated, the image of their father as a former playboy clashing with the devoted family man they knew.
"Are you... okay with it, Dad?" Elias finally asked, the laughter from the stories fading into a more serious note. "About me and Liza?"
Logan placed a hand on Elias's shoulder, his expression serious yet warm. "Look, you're seventeen. As long as you're respectful, responsible, and careful, I'm not going to be a hypocrite." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Just make sure you're both on the same page. Respect goes both ways, Eli."
As he spoke, Logan's thoughts drifted back to a quiet evening with Rory years ago, in their London apartment. They'd spent hours curled up together, reading in bed, hands intertwined while the city lights cast a soft glow into the room. It was their tradition—each of them lost in a different book but together in a cocoon of shared comfort. That night, he'd felt the full weight of his love for her, his desire to build a life that included the little things, like these quiet, wordless hours.
Their relationship had evolved over years of challenges and change, but moments like that night had reminded him why she was the only person he wanted. They'd been through everything together—struggles, secrets, sacrifices—and somehow, she'd always grounded him, showing him that there was a life worth pursuing beyond high-society obligations.
Logan returned his attention to Elias, seeing his younger self in his son's gaze. Back then, he'd been reckless, driven by impulse, and it had taken him years to understand the importance of genuine connection and commitment. He wanted Elias to learn from his experiences without making the same mistakes, without risking the same heartache.
As Logan sat with Elias, his hand resting on his son's shoulder, he spoke with a softness that underscored the seriousness of his message. "You're seventeen, Eli, and that's a time for figuring things out. Just… make sure you're taking care of each other, okay?"
His thoughts wandered back to an evening years ago in London, after a long, quiet afternoon spent with Rory. They'd been reading side-by-side, savoring each other's presence in the peaceful way they both loved. Later, as they dressed for a dinner with friends, he'd watched her in the mirror, brushing her hair, her gaze meeting his in the reflection. They hadn't said a word, but in that instant, he'd felt a certainty that she was everything he'd ever wanted—his home, his anchor.
That moment had grounded him, giving him a clear sense of what real connection was about: commitment, respect, and a deep, unwavering love that needed no words. Loving Rory had taught him that relationships went far beyond attraction or family expectations; they were about building something enduring.
Returning his focus to Elias, Logan continued, his voice low but steady. "Enjoy life, but always be respectful. Take care of the people you're with, and remember that real connection means treating them well—always."
Elias nodded, absorbing his father's words, while Logan felt a quiet satisfaction, knowing he was passing on lessons he'd learned through years of love and experience.
Elias nodded, visibly relieved, while Rick shot his father a respectful glance, silently acknowledging the wisdom behind his words.
Just as the conversation wound down, the front door opened again, and Rory reappeared, this time with Emily and Lizzy in tow. After an eventful dance class and a small shopping spree, the girls looked ready to settle in for the night. As they walked in, Emily gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes, clearly displeased about something. She mumbled something under her breath, which Logan caught, and he exchanged a look with Rory.
Sensing an oncoming standoff, Logan jumped in. "Hey, Em, why don't you and I tackle that homework together? We'll knock it out fast, and then you can relax for the rest of the night."
Emily looked surprised but nodded, her frustration fading. Rory shot Logan a grateful smile, her expression softening. She knew this gesture meant he was stepping up to handle the teenage drama tonight.
Logan turned to Lizzy with a wink. "And you, Miss Jazz Hands, can tell your aunt Rory all about your dance class."
As Rory focused on Lizzy, asking questions and laughing along with her recount of the jazz routine, Logan guided Emily to the dining table. They opened her homework, and he patiently listened as she vented about her day, mixing guidance with humor to lighten the mood. His presence calmed her, and soon they were working together in companionable silence.
From across the room, Rory watched them, feeling a swell of appreciation. Parenting alongside Logan had taught her that they were a team—he wasn't just an observer; he was an equal partner, capable of taking charge when she needed it most.
As Logan helped Emily wrap up her homework, he noticed Rory organizing Lizzy's dance bag and giving her final reminders for the night. His thoughts drifted back to a conversation he'd had at a wedding in Copenhagen years ago, with a prominent Danish politician, a conversation that had left a lasting impression.
He had been seated across from her, discussing his role at Huntzberger Publishing and the pressures of his family legacy. The commissioner, with her sharp wit and warm smile, had been quick to understand.
"You're young, Logan," she'd said, her gaze fixed on the newlyweds across the room, "but from where I stand, legacy can be both a privilege and a prison. You seem like a man torn between the two."
Logan had glanced across the room, finding Rory in the crowd, her laugh audible even from where he sat. He'd wanted to be with her, out in the open, but his engagement to Odette had forced them into the shadows. Duty and legacy had always loomed large, guiding every choice he made, including his personal life.
"I'm bound to this," he'd admitted to the commissioner, offering a resigned smile. "But maybe, one day, I'll find a way to live on my own terms."
She had looked at him with a kind, almost motherly sympathy. "I hope you do, Logan. I hope you find someone who makes the weight worth bearing."
Snapping back to the present, Logan's gaze rested on Rory, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. She'd helped him build this life—one where they were raising their children with values, not just obligations. Her influence had been a light in all his decisions, guiding him toward a legacy that was no longer a prison.
As Logan watched his children, pride swelled within him. Yet, lingering doubts crept in. Elias's exuberance, his charm—it all reminded Logan too much of his own youth, of mistakes he couldn't unmake. He glanced over at Rory, who caught his look and offered a reassuring smile, grounding him with that steady warmth he'd relied on for years.
Later, as he headed upstairs to check in with Emily, Logan took a last look at Elias and Rick, laughing and bickering. They were young, full of potential and pitfalls alike. He could only hope his guidance—and the lessons of his past—would help them make better choices.
Am I watching history repeat itself? he wondered. And worse yet, can I stop it?
As the house settled into a calm rhythm, Logan couldn't help but feel grateful for the life he'd built—scars, stories, and all.
Logan climbed the stairs, a mixture of thoughts filling his mind as he prepared to speak with Emily. His gaze landed on a familiar photo along the wall, an image frozen in time—a snapshot from a friend's wedding in Copenhagen, over two decades ago. He and Rory stood close together, his arm around her waist, both of them caught mid-laugh. It was the weekend they spent with the future King and Queen of Denmark, a high-society event that had made Rory, despite her Yale polish, a bundle of nerves.
A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the panicked look on her face when he told her who would be attending.
"Really, Logan? The future Queen and King of Denmark will be there? How do I even dress for that?" she had asked, eyes wide with disbelief, clutching two dresses in each hand, unable to decide which was appropriate.
He'd teased her, reminding her that neither she nor the Crown Prince was getting married, and that she looked incredible in anything she wore. But he'd understood her anxiety. This wasn't the world Rory grew up in—she was a Gilmore, sure, but this was his world, with its ancient obligations, alliances, and the ever-looming presence of his engagement to Odette.
That weekend, Rory had attended as Finn's official plus-one, hiding their relationship from the guests to avoid the whispers, even though every glance, every laugh they shared, hinted at something more. He'd felt torn, watching her from across the room, unable to openly acknowledge the woman he truly loved.
Logan lingered by the photo, fingers brushing its frame. How surreal it seemed now, to be here with Rory, living in their own home, raising a family. There were no more whispered glances or hiding in plain sight. She was truly his partner, a fact that still caught him by surprise every now and then. They'd fought for this, every step of the way.
With a small sigh, Logan continued upstairs.