She intended to send me to my death over that ledge. Part of me believes that before it was over, she would've gone with me. Nadiyah was in pain, and she wanted it to end. Killing me wouldn't have made anything better for her.
"She's not a killer," I say, quiet but steady. "She's a broken woman who needs real help."
Nick nods slowly, his jaw tight. He understands broken. He understands how grief can twist you into something destructive—even to yourself—when you carry it alone for too long.
Eve's voice is soft. "I'm really struggling to feel sorry for the woman who did this to you, Avery. But my heart does go out to her son. That poor little boy doesn't realize he's about to lose his mother for a very long time."
She's right. The image surfaces before I can stop it—Sami's face crumpled and red, tears streaming, his small body hurling itself against his mother when she finally lowered the gun. Those tiny hands gripping her like she was the only solid thing left in the world. Four years old and already carrying weight he doesn't understand.
Beck lowers his phone, his expression grave. "I'll need to know your position before tomorrow's arraignment." He addresses both of us. "The DA's office will push for maximum charges. Kidnapping, felony assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder. Those are just the starting points." A pause, as his gaze settles on Nick. "You have leverage here. Whatever you want to do, I'll make it happen."
The question hangs unspoken:What do you want to happen to Nadiyah Marchal?
Nick's eyes find mine and hold. This is my call more than his. He's making that clear in the way he holds my gaze, the way his thumb stills against my knuckles. "Whatever you decide," he says, "I'll stand behind it."
I don't answer right away.
Because the truth is, there's a part of me that wants her to pay. A part that's still on that rooftop with the wind tearing at my hair and the drop yawning behind me and my hands pressed against my abdomen, shielding a life that couldn't shield itself. The mother in me—the one who's existed for barely seven weeks but is already fiercer than anything I've ever felt—wants NadiyahMarchal locked away until Sami is grown and my child is grown and there is no possibility that she could ever threaten us again.
That fury is real. It lives in the tightness locked around my heart, in the way my free hand curls against the hospital blanket. I let myself feel it. All of it.
And then I think about Nadiyah's face when Sami cried out for her. The way her whole body changed, rage collapsing into something raw and maternal and devastated. The sob that broke out of her when she realized what she'd become.
At her core, she is a mother who loves her child. I felt that through her body pressed against mine, even as she stood on the edge of destroying them both.
I inhale slowly. The fury doesn't disappear, but something older and quieter rises beside it, and I know what I'm going to say.
"I don't want her to go to prison."
Nick's hand tightens around mine, a reflexive squeeze, almost involuntary. His jaw flexes, a muscle working in the hard line of it, and for a moment I can see the war behind his eyes. The part of him that wants to dismantle anyone who threatened me. The part that would burn down the world and call it proportional. He holds all of that in check now, before he lets it go with a slow exhale and nods.
"Prison won't help her," I add, both for Nick and for the others in the room with us. "Sending her away for the rest of her life won't help Sami. Nadiyah needs real help. The kind she should have gotten a long time ago, instead of drowning in her pain alone."
Nick's jaw loosens, just a fraction. "Get her the best criminal defense attorney in the city, Beck. I'll cover it. Someone who can push for psychiatric evaluation, mandated treatment, grief therapy. Whatever she needs to actually heal."
Beck nods, already typing notes into his phone. "I have some good contacts for that."
I bring Nick's hand to my lips, pressing a tender kiss to the scarred ridge of his knuckles. "What about Sami?" The image of that little boy won't leave me alone. His face buried against his mother's chest, his arms around her neck, holding on as though the world had already tried to take her from him once and he wasn't going to let it happen again. "Is there anything we can do for him?"
Nick is quiet for a moment, processing, a mix of emotions playing across his expression. Finally, he gives a firm nod. "We can set up a trust fund. Anonymous. Something for his education. Funds his father never thought to provide for him, or couldn't."
I smile, holding his stare. "I'd like that."
His mouth softens, not quite a smile, but close. Somewhere in the silence between us lives the weight of what he just agreed to do—fund the future of a child whose mother nearly killed his wife. And he did it without flinching.
"I love you," I whisper, reaching out to trace my thumb along the line of his jaw, rough with a day's growth of dark whiskers.
Beck nods. "I'll make some calls tonight. I know who to reach out to."
Eve dabs at her eyes, leaning into Gabe. "That's really good of you both."
"It's the right thing," Nick says, turning his attention back to me.
At that moment, the door opens and Tasha bursts through like she's been running the whole way through the hospital. "Avery." My name comes out half-sob, half-breath.
Her mascara is smudged beneath her eyes, her curls escaping from whatever twist she attempted this morning. She's still inher work clothes from Vendange, her brushed goldManagerlapel pin glinting under the overhead fluorescents.
She crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into a fierce, yet careful hug. "I got here as fast as I could after Nick called." Her voice breaks. She pulls back, swipes at her eyes. "I think I broke some kind of land speed record crossing town to get here. Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay."
