She steps aside and opens the door.
“Take care of yourself.” She looks straight ahead. Not unkind. Not loving. A farewell.
I hesitate at the threshold, waiting for something else. Anything.
Nothing comes.
Outside, the air bites cold. I don’t look back. In her world, the son she raised no longer exists.
In mine, I am alive. Loved. Building something real.
I walk away carrying both truths. Her God is unforgiving. My God allowed my beautiful Avonna to escape a sadistic religious cult. Placed her in the very room where Liam and I fell in love. Years later brought her here to Dublin to mend my broken heart and, as fate would have it, bring Liam back into my—our—lives.
I'll take my God every day of the week.
I know I’ll never see my mother again. She's not my family.
In the car on my way to the airport, I text Liam.
Headed home.
He responds immediately.
We’ll be here.
The plane lifts again. Los Angeles waits. My family waits.
Fireball still burns.
It may not be the closure I want, but at least I’m not split between who I was and who I am.
I know where I belong.
I’ll be there soon.
sixty-two
Avonna
Two Months Later
Ourhousegoesquietat night up here in the Hollywood Hills.
Cool air slips through the bedroom window, stirring the curtains.
The soft whisper of cotton when I shift on the bed reminds me I’m here, present in my body, no longer braced for impact.
Four miscarriages. Each loss sending me into despair while under the constant fear of threat and vigilance. Then, a few days after Linus came home from Dublin, the news broke. Arrests. Mighty Prophet. Brother Gideon. My parents. The Elders. Names I hadn’t spoken aloud in years finally spoken by someoneelse.
Something inside me loosened. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe enough to try again.
All three of us have been tested. No issues. Strong counts. Healthy eggs. There’s nothing standing in the way now so we began tracking. Not with panic. With intention. Quiet check-ins, shared calendars, conversations of hope instead of pressure.
Tonight, the timing is right. The test strip on the bathroom counter confirmed it hours ago, two faint lines settling into certainty. I didn’t rush to show them. I sat with it first, breathing, letting my body recognize readiness instead of fear.
Padraig says our last Fireball show is coming on New Year’s Eve, a clean line between chapters. I believe him. This time, his threats to quit feels different. He wants a different life.
Linus, Liam, and I also want to move forward together with our girls with less tension and stress in our day-to-day lives.
