“Room 12.” She gives me a measured look. “I’m going to bring the car around so she doesn’t have to walk. You’ve got five minutes.”
I find Mia sitting in a chair, a white bandage pressed just above her temple, her hair tucked neatly behind one ear as if she’s trying to make the best of it. She’s wearing a T-shirt that saysFall Into Burlingtonscattered with faded autumn leaves, but my eyes snag on the blood—dark, rusted drops staining the denim at her thigh.
My heart seizes.
She’s pale and still impossibly beautiful.My Mia.
I drag in an unsteady breath, my chest tight. “Oh God, baby….”
She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “You look like hell.”
“Two stitches and still trying to roast me.” I crouch in front of her, take her hands in mine. I have to touch her. “I’m so sorry.”
She sighs, leans her head back against the chair. “You didn’t push me, Aiden.”
“I didn’t stop her, either. I’m tired of apologizing to you. Not because I don’t mean it—but because you’ve heard it too often.”
“I’m tired, too,” she whispers.
I bring her hands to my lips and kiss each one, gently, reverently. She lets me. Her skin smells faintly of antiseptic…and Mia. That warm, clean scent that used to be all over our home, our bed, me.
For a few seconds, I just hold her hands. But eventually, she eases them from mine.
I pull a chair next to her, sitting close but not touching. I’m not owed touch anymore.
She nibbles at her lower lip—something she does when she’s uncertain, when her heart wants to speak but her head isn’t sure if it should. For six years marriage, I let those silences pass quietly. I didn’t press, especially when the topic was my family, which it almost always was.
Not this time.
“Tell me,” I insist.
She lets out a slow, careful breath, and meets my eyes. “Would you rather I didn’t press charges? Katya’s the one who’sreallymad.”
There’s no anger in her words. Just resignation.Worn-out edges. She’s not seeking revenge—she’s seeking peace. That truth guts me even more.
I shake my head. “No. Don’t back down on my account. She laid her hands on you. She crossed a line. You pressing charges is not vindictive, Mia. It’s justice. My mother deserves whatever’s coming to her.”
She watches me closely, like she’s waiting for a punchline or a pivot, and when I don’t offer one, her brow furrows. “Even if it makes everything messier?”
“Shemade it messy.” I lean forward slightly. “You didn’t ask for this fight. But you’re not going to be the one who walks away limping while she walks away smug. Not this time.”
Her eyes shine, not with tears, but with…cautious understanding? A crack in the wall, maybe?
After a pause, she explains wearily, “I don’t want to live in battle mode anymore.”
“I know.” I want to reach for her hand again, but I don’t. I don’t want to invade her space. “But sometimes, to live in peace, we have to make sure the people who hurt us know they can’t anymore. And Katya mentioned she’d very much like to have my mother’s bony ass arrested.”
That earns me a faint laugh. I’ll take it.
Tonight, in this ER room, I hope she sees that I’m not just mouthing apologies, but that I’m with her, behind her, in front of her, protecting her.
A nurse comes in and says that Mia is free to leave. I help her get up from the chair. She seems fine. Her stance is stable, her walk even. She touches the back ofher neck. I hate that she got hurt. I hate my mother for causing Mia pain. Mama’s gone off the deep end if she laid hands on my wife, and that, too, in public.
I bend, brush my lips close to Mia’s stitches.
She turns and looks at me questioningly, her lips pursed.
“I once heard you tell your school kids that kissing boo boos makes them better.”
