Back Under Mum’s Roof! After years of heartbreak, Katie Price has finally achieved what she longed for – her youngest children, Bunny (10) and Jett (11), will move in to live with her full-time starting in November! A midnight phone call from a ‘mystery man’ was revealed to have helped make Katie’s wish come true.

Katie Price reveals why we no longer see her youngest children Jett, 11,  and Bunny, 10 | Metro News

In a twist worthy of one of her own reality TV plotlines, Katie Price—the original glamour model turned resilient reality star—has finally clawed back the family life she’s craved for years. After a turbulent saga of divorces, court battles, and personal rock bottoms, the 47-year-old mother of five announced that her youngest children, Bunny, 10, and Jett, 11, will move in with her full-time starting November. The news, shared tearfully on her podcast *The Katie Price Show*, has fans flooding social media with heart emojis and #KatieComeback hashtags, amassing over 500,000 posts in 24 hours. But the real fairy-tale kicker? A cryptic midnight phone call from a “mystery man”—revealed to be a high-powered family law mediator—sealed the deal, turning despair into domestic bliss. “I’ve fought so hard for this,” Katie gushed to co-host Sophie Reade. “They’re coming home, under my roof, where they belong.”

The road to this reunion has been anything but a catwalk strut. Katie, once Jordan, the pin-up who redefined tabloid royalty in the noughties, shares Bunny and Jett with ex-husband Kieran Hayler, her third spouse in a marriage that imploded amid infidelity scandals and addiction struggles. Wed in 2013, the union crumbled by 2021, leaving Katie grappling with the fallout. In 2022, a devastating low point: Jett and Bunny relocated to live primarily with Kieran, 37, following Katie’s breach of a restraining order against his then-fiancée Michelle Pentecost and amid concerns over her mental health. The former Page 3 star had been candid about her battles—suicidal ideation, a stint at The Priory, and the raw pain laid bare in her Channel 4 doc *Trauma and Me*. “I felt like I’d lost everything,” she recalled in a 2024 *Mirror* interview, her voice breaking. “Watching them pack up… it shattered me.” Limited access followed: weekends snatched amid Sussex court hearings, birthdays bittersweet, and holidays hollow without her “little shadows.”

Katie’s brood is a blended masterpiece of her chaotic love life. Eldest Harvey, 23, born blind and with partial autism and Prader-Willi syndrome from a fling with Dwight Yorke, thrives in residential care near her new East Sussex pad. Junior, 20, and Princess, 17—from her high-profile union with Peter Andre—navigate adulthood with poise; Junior’s modeling gigs echo his mum’s glory days, while Princess struts fashion weeks. But Bunny and Jett? They were the anchors Katie clung to through two bankruptcies (2024’s double whammy docked 40% of her income), the “Mucky Mansion” eviction, and a revolving door of romances—from JJ Slater to whispers of a comeback with Dane Bowers. “They’re my why,” she’s said, tattooing their names on her wrist. Yet, social media silence spoke volumes: No snaps of Bunny’s pigtails or Jett’s cheeky grins since 2022, a self-imposed blackout to shield them from trolls and protect their “normal” school lives.

Enter the mystery man. Sources close to Katie reveal the pivotal call came at 12:03 a.m. on September 5, shattering her insomnia-fueled scroll session. “I was up, doom-scrolling custody horror stories, when the phone rang,” she dished on her pod. The caller? Not a suitor, but Marcus Hale, a discreet London-based mediator with a Rolodex of celeb clients (think anonymized A-listers from *Made in Chelsea* feuds). Hale, 52, a former barrister turned fixer, had been quietly enlisted by Katie’s solicitor in July after a routine welfare check flagged “changed circumstances.” Kieran, now married to Pentecost with a baby on the way, cited his grueling PT schedule and desire for the kids’ “stability with Mum” as the shift. But it was Hale’s velvet-gloved diplomacy—over three clandestine Zooms—that greased the wheels. “He’s the wizard behind the curtain,” a pal told *Mail Online*. “That midnight chat? He laid out the agreement: Full-time with Katie, shared holidays, no media mandates. Kieran signed off by dawn.” Katie, misty-eyed, dubbed him “my guardian angel in a suit.”

Katie Price comes under fire for allowing her daughter Bunny, 9, to have  her own YouTube channel - four years younger than the site allows | Daily  Mail Online

The timing couldn’t be sweeter. Katie’s August relocation to a £1.5 million Sussex farmhouse—dubbed “Price Paradise”—positions her just 20 minutes from the kids’ schools, a far cry from the “Mucky Mansion” isolation. Outfitted with a pony paddock for Bunny’s riding dreams and a home gym for Jett’s footie obsession, it’s a fresh start post-bankruptcy blues. “I’ve got the podcast ticking over, book deals brewing, and now this? It’s like the universe said, ‘Enough, Katie—family first,’” she beamed in an Instagram Live that peaked at 150,000 viewers. Plans buzz: November 1 move-in day with a unicorn-themed bash (Bunny’s fave), family therapy via the NHS to mend scars, and a low-key Christmas sans cameras. Kieran, speaking to *The Sun*, struck a conciliatory tone: “The kids need their mum full-time. We’re co-parenting pros now—no drama.”

X lit up like Brighton Pier. #BunnyAndJettHome trended with 300,000 tweets, fans rallying: “Katie’s a warrior mum—haters, take notes!” gushed one, while another shared, “From rock bottom to roof over their heads? Iconic.” Celeb mates piled on: Kerry Katona, Katie’s *I’m A Celeb* survivor sis, posted a throwback snap: “My girl’s got her babies back—proud AF.” Even Peter Andre, 52, whose 2011 custody win over Katie still simmers, liked the announcement, a subtle olive branch amid their frosty co-parenting of Junior and Princess. Critics, though, linger: Tattle Life threads dissect her past “unfit mum” labels, with one user snarking, “Midnight magic or media spin?” Yet, supporters counter with her advocacy—her 2024 book *This Is Me* a bestseller on trauma recovery, funneling proceeds to child mental health.

Katie Price's son Jett, 9, has not been to school for nearly a year | Metro  News

For Katie, this isn’t just a win; it’s redemption. “Years of heartbreak—addiction, arrests, the lot—led here,” she reflected. “That call? It was fate knocking.” As November nears, the farmhouse hums with prep: Jett’s superhero duvet, Bunny’s glitter shelf, and Katie’s vow: “No more headlines, just home.” In a life of spotlights and scandals, this quiet chapter shines brightest—a mum’s unyielding love, scripted by a mystery man’s midnight mercy. As one fan poeticized: “Katie Price: From glamour to grit, now back to basics. Family forever.”

Related Posts

Navy SEAL Asked Her Call Sign at a Bar — “Ghost Nine” Made Him Drop His Drink and Call His Commander At O’Malley’s Pub, the laughter was loud, the beer cold, and the swagger of Navy SEALs filled the Friday night air. Lieutenant Derek “Hammer” Patterson leaned back in his chair, spinning a story about desert raids and near-death escapes, his teammates roaring at every punchline. But his eyes caught on her. A quiet woman at the bar. Flannel shirt, faded jeans, boots worn smooth. She didn’t laugh, didn’t lean in like the others. She just sipped her Corona and scrolled her phone, detached, like she’d been through louder rooms than this. Patterson smirked, nudging his buddies. “Hey, sweetheart,” he called across the bar, his voice carrying over the music. “What’s your call sign? C’mon—every wannabe’s got one.” The men chuckled, already expecting silence. But she didn’t hesitate. She turned her head just enough, her voice steady, casual—two words. “Ghost Nine.” The SEAL’s beer hit the floor. His chair scraped back as he fumbled for his phone, dialing his commander with trembling hands. Around the room, chatter died, heads turned, and the weight of those two words crushed the laughter out of the air. Because anyone who knew what Ghost Nine meant also knew one thing— she wasn’t supposed to exist…

At O’Malley’s Pub, the laughter was loud, the beer cold, and the swagger of Navy SEALs filled the Friday night air. Lieutenant Derek “Hammer” Patterson leaned back…

They Laughed at Her Broken Rifle — Then She Dropped a Flying Target No One Expected and Revealed a Chest Tattoo That Terrified Even the Highest Commander At Fort Bragg’s firing range, laughter cracked louder than gunfire. Private Elena Marlowe, the smallest recruit in Bravo Company, fumbled with a rifle so battered it barely held together. The stock was splintered, the scope fogged, and the trigger stuck with every pull. Around her, fellow soldiers doubled over in mockery. “Hey, maybe she should throw rocks instead!” one sneered. “Careful, Marlowe—don’t break it more than it already is!” another jeered. Even the range officer smirked, shaking his head as if she didn’t belong there at all. But then—the whir of machinery. A drone target lifted into the sky, banking hard against the Carolina sun. The same men who mocked her turned serious. Nobody hit those on the first shot. Hell, most couldn’t hit them at all. Elena didn’t argue. She didn’t defend herself. She just steadied the broken rifle against her shoulder, exhaled, and squeezed. Crack. The drone shattered mid-air, fragments raining across the field. The laughter died instantly. And that’s when her collar slipped just enough for the sun to catch the ink across her chest—a tattoo no ordinary soldier should bear….

At Fort Bragg’s firing range, laughter cracked louder than gunfire. Private Elena Marlowe, the smallest recruit in Bravo Company, fumbled with a rifle so battered it barely…

He Only Came for Graduation Photos Until Marine Colonel Stopped Everything to Honor Him At Parris Island, the stands were packed with families clutching flowers and cameras, their cheers rising like thunder as a new generation of Marines marched onto the parade deck. Among them, Daniel Hayes stood apart — no dress blues, no medals, just a weathered Nikon slung over his shoulder. To everyone else, he looked like just another proud dad, fumbling with his lens to capture a son’s proudest moment. Security had nearly turned him away at the gate. His jeans were faded, his jacket frayed, and his ID long expired. He blended in so well that nobody gave him a second glance. Nobody—until Colonel Marcus Blackwell stopped mid-sentence on the reviewing platform. His eyes locked on a faint mark peeking from beneath Daniel’s sleeve. It wasn’t just ink. It was the mark. The kill-team insignia reserved for only one man…

At Parris Island, the stands were packed with families clutching flowers and cameras, their cheers rising like thunder as a new generation of Marines marched onto the…

Three Men Attacked a Woman in a Restaurant—15 Seconds Later, They Learned She Was a Navy At Roscoe’s Grill in downtown San Diego, where neon lights buzzed against the glass and Friday night chatter rose like static, nobody paid attention to the corner booth—except them. Ava Cole looked like just another diner nursing a quiet meal. Black hoodie, faded jeans, nothing to set her apart from the crowd. To most, she was invisible. Just background noise between clattering plates and a jukebox humming in the corner. That’s why Tyler Briggs didn’t hesitate when he spotted her. He and his buddies, Ray Knox and Eli Turner, swaggered over with grins sharp as knives. “Hey sweetheart,” Tyler jeered, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear. “Table’s too big for just one. You don’t mind company, right?” Laughter rippled across their booth. Ava didn’t look up. She simply set down her fork, slid her chair back, and rose slowly to her feet.

At Roscoe’s Grill in downtown San Diego, where neon lights buzzed against the glass and Friday night chatter rose like static, nobody paid attention to the corner…

Cops Hold Black Female General Hand Tightly, Her Call to Pentagon Destroyed Their Careers. On a humid afternoon in Mosswood, Louisiana, the kind of small-town stop where pickup trucks idle under a tin canopy and cicadas score the silence, General Naomi Ellsworth pulled off Highway 171 to catch a secure signal. No entourage. No uniform. Just jeans, a ball cap, and a mission clock ticking toward Barksdale Air Force Base. She raised her encrypted phone, identified herself, and began a briefing most Americans will never hear. Then the stare—two officers, sunglasses on, walking fast as if the quiet itself were a challenge. In a few minutes, a routine call would become the headline of the day. They asked for ID. She handed over military credentials and federal travel orders with steady hands. The papers hit the hood like trash. A crowd formed—gas-station regulars, a manager at the door, phones angled for a better view. Naomi kept her voice even, the way West Point drills composure into muscle memory. “Please call your supervisor. You’re making a mistake.” The cuffs bit cold against her skin; the secure line clattered to the ground, still connected to the Pentagon. Across state lines, a duty officer’s voice rose over static: “General Ellsworth, do you copy?” In Mosswood, no one answered. “Dispatch to Unit 3—be advised, the subject is flagged federal. Pentagon has initiated emergency contact. Release immediately and await further orders.” The parking lot went very, very still. Naomi lifted her chin. “You’ll regret this—today.” By sunrise, the video would ricochet from parish group chats to national feeds—grainy proof of a woman who had spent twenty-nine years defending a Constitution that couldn’t protect her at a gas pump. Commentators called it a test of procedure; veterans called it a failure of respect; families called it familiar. At Barksdale, phones rang in sequence—JAG, civil rights, internal affairs. The question was no longer whether something had happened, but what accountability would look like when the cameras turned and the paperwork began. Just as the officers fumbled with the keys, black SUVs rolled in and doors opened in sync. No speeches. No drama. Only clipped orders, a folder under an arm, and a sentence delivered without heat: “Stand down pending federal investigation.” Naomi didn’t celebrate. She simply flexed her wrists, retrieved the cracked phone, and prepared to speak for more than herself. And just as the officers exhaled in relief, headlights cut across the lot. Another vehicle rolled in—its license plate alone made every bystander freeze. Full story below

Cops Handcuff Black Female General, Her Call to Pentagon Destroyed Their Careers When General Naomi Ellsworth pulled into a small-town gas station in Mosswood, Louisiana, she never…

Victoria Beckham is preparing for the release of her brand-new Netflix docuseries next month. But a new move from her son Brooklyn has left her heart nearly shattered, and the plans for the series may not go as originally intended.

As Victoria Beckham fine-tunes the final stitches on her highly anticipated Netflix docuseries, set to premiere on October 9, a fresh wave of heartbreak has crashed into…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *