Ava eases closer to him, then takes a half-step back, wary of how he’ll react to her enthusiasm. He pegs her with an open gaze and reaches out his hand. “I’m Ava! I droveup from college because I had to meet the famous gladiator who’s making my mom glow like a teenager.”
“Ava,” I warn, but I don’t really want to tamp down all that eager enthusiasm.
“What? It’s true!” She beams at Quintus. “She looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. Even her voice sounds different on the phone.”
“Before we go any further,” I interrupt, pulling the small translation devices from my purse, “these might make conversation easier.” I hand one to each of my children. “Quintus speaks excellent English, but these help with complex discussions.”
Ava examines the earpiece with the fascination of someone studying pre-med. “This is the technology Mom mentioned in her emails?”
“Yes,” Quintus confirms as they all insert the devices. “Skye—Thrax’s partner—built them. They carry our words cleanly between Latin and English.”
“That’s incredible,” David says, adjusting the fit. “Mom said you all still think in Latin sometimes.”
“Often, especially when emotions run high.” Quintus’s smile is open.
He settles into his chair with the calm of someone who’s endured more difficult moments.
The waiter appears, and we order drinks and appetizers while everyone at the table seems to ponder how odd it is to dine with people born two thousand years apart.
“So you’re actually…” David trails off, clearly struggling with how to phrase the question.
“From 82 AD, yes. Thawed from Norwegian Sea ice about a year ago.” Quintus’s matter-of-fact delivery makes it sound almost normal. “I imagine your mother told youthe basic story.”
“She did, but hearing it in person is different.” Ava leans forward, her pre-med curiosity overriding any social awkwardness. “What’s the hardest part about adjusting to this time?”
“Technology, mostly. And social customs. In my time, women had very different lives.” Quintus glances at me with something that might be wonder. “In my Rome, your mother’s independence would have been a scandal and a marvel.”
The comment hits exactly the right note—acknowledging the strangeness of his situation while complimenting me in a way that doesn’t sound calculated. I can see all three of my children relaxing.
“She’s definitely independent,” David says with a smile that’s more genuine now. “Took her long enough to realize it, though.”
“David!”
“What? It’s true. You spent twenty-five years making Dad’s life easier while he made yours harder.” David’s expression grows serious. “We all saw it, Mom.”
“Even when we were little,” Ava adds quietly, “we could tell he was mean to you. The way he’d roll his eyes when you talked or change the subject when you got excited about school.”
The conversation I’ve been dreading since the divorce—my children’s front-row seat to my failing marriage. But their concern feels loving rather than judgmental.
“Your father had his own struggles,” I say carefully, not wanting to poison their relationship with him despite everything.
“Dad had his own issues,” Michael corrects firmly. “But that doesn’t excuse how he treated you. The constant put-downs, the way he dismissed your opinions, that time he ‘forgot’ about your graduation ceremony because it conflicted with his golf tournament.”
“I remember that,” Ava says, her voice carrying an anger that surprises me. “I was only fourteen, but I knew it was wrong. Youworked so hard for that degree, and he couldn’t be bothered to show up.”
The memory pricks like a forgotten splinter. I set it down. We don’t live there anymore. “I survived it,” I say quietly. “And I learned from it.”
“You did more than survive,” Quintus says, his voice carrying that musical quality that always makes me feel seen. “You thrived despite impossible circumstances. Raised three remarkable children while building your education and career. That takes extraordinary strength.”
The pride in his voice is unmistakable, and I watch my children register it. This isn’t empty flattery or performative praise. He genuinely admires what I’ve accomplished.
“What do you do at the sanctuary?” Michael asks, his tone warming.
“Upkeep, mostly. I mend what is broken and turn my hands to whatever needs attention.” Quintus’s smile is self-deprecating. “I seem to have a talent for fixing things that are broken.”
“Including people?” Ava’s question is pointed but not hostile.
“A soul rises by its own will,” he says. “I stand near with steadiness.”
