Oh.
Oh no.
I can’t speak. Can only nod.
“Good,” Livia says simply. She squeezes my hand. “You are good for her. For both of them.”
Then she walks away before I can completely fall apart.
Former ice queen grants full parental approval.
Former nanny cries in five different languages.
Marco materializes at my elbow. “You okay?”
“I think Ben’s grandmother has finally accepted me.” I lean into him as I dab at a cheek.
He wraps his good arm around my waist and for a minute we just stand there. Two peoplewho accidentally built a life together out of trauma and breathing exercises and learning how to be brave when everything in us screamed to run.
The party noise swells and suddenly I can’t see Ben. Too many people. Too much movement.
Oh no.
Where is she?
Did I lose Ben?
My breath hitches and for a second I’m six years old again, alone in the woods, calling for my mom and hearing only silence.
I scan the room frantically.
“Where’s Ben?” I ask Marco. “I can’t see Ben!”
“She’s here. She’s safe.” Marco’s hand finds my wrist. Taps once. Twice. Three times.
One two three brave.
I follow his gaze and finally spot Ben. She’s laughing with her friends by the balloon arch.
Notlost.
I exhale in relief.
“She’s safe,” Marco says softly. “You’resafe.” He kisses my temple and the gesture is so casual.
Somarried.
Before the cake Ben asks if we can take a family photo. “For home. Not for posting.”
I purse my lips, glance at Marco. He nods in approval.
We gather in front of the ridiculous balloon arch that Valentina insisted on. Marco on one side. Me on the other. Ben between us.
Elena manages the single controlled photo.
One shot.
For us.
