"You could grab the breadbasket," Laura suggests. "It's on the counter."
She does. My mother, Diane Pembroke, who has staff for everything, carries a breadbasket at an outdoor party at a gladiator sanctuary in rural Missouri.
"This is surreal," I whisper to Laura.
"Good surreal or bad surreal?"
"Good, I think?" I watch my mother navigate the party, accepting a glass of lemonade from Quintus, who treats her with the same easy kindness he shows everyone. "They're really trying."
"People can surprise you." Laura arranges the last platter. "When they want to."
My father is deep in conversation with Victor and Cassius, discussing Roman military tactics. He looks more animated than I've seen him in years, talking about history like he enjoys the subject. Maybe if I'd been interested in the right things, we could have connected. But that's not fair to either of us. He should have loved me for who I was, not who he wanted me tobe.
"Charity!" Skye bounces over, vibrant and warm. "I've been dying to meet you. Your sculpture at the Met—I saw photos. The way you captured movement in metal is incredible."
"Thank you." Something in her smile softens the knot in my stomach. "Draco said you're a programmer?"
"Was. Now I do translation software development. Boring compared to your art."
"Necessary though. Communication is everything."
We fall into an easy conversation about our work, about living with men who survived the impossible. Skye gets it. I can see it in the way she talks about living with a man shaped by another world—the nightmares, the culture clashes, the gaps two thousand years can carve between two people.
"Does Draco ever talk about the arena?" she asks quietly.
"Sometimes. Usually after nightmares." I glance across the lawn where he's laughing with Flavius and Thrax, looking carefree. "But he's getting better. We both are."
"That's all you can do. Get better together."
Diana joins us, the horse therapy instructor whose quiet strength radiates from every movement. "Charity, Draco mentioned you might be interested in doing a sculpture for the sanctuary. Something for the entrance? Or the Roman garden we’ll be building?"
"I'd love that." The idea takes root immediately. "Something about rebirth. New beginnings. Second chances."
"Perfect." Diana's smile is genuine. "We'd be honored."
Lucky tears across the lawn, chasing another dog, his three good legs carrying him as fast as any four-legged animal. My mother watches, and I see her expression soften.
"He seems happy," she says, approaching hesitantly. "The dog."
"Lucky. He's thriving." I kneel to pet him as he zooms past. "We almost lost him, but he fought through."
"Like all of you." My mother looks around the party—at the gladiators and their partners, at Laura and the staff, at this impossible place where ancient warriors learned to live again. "This is… remarkable. What they've built here."
"Laura gave them a chance. They did the rest."
"And you gave Draco a chance." My mother meets my eyes. "When you could have called security, you chose kindness instead."
“I chose to see him,” I say. “That’s all.”
“You’ve always had such a generous heart,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “I just… wanted to be seen too.”
Her breath catches. “I’m trying. Truly.”
“Then we’ll start there,” I say. “That’s enough.”
Quintus calls for attention, his beautiful voice carrying across the lawn. "A toast!" He raises his glass. "To Draco and Charity, who proved that love doesn't care about centuries or class or what anyone thinks is proper. May your marriage be as strong as Roman steel and as beautiful as modern art."
