“Sir.” A deputy’s voice cut through Todd’s theatrics. “Step back. Now.”
I released Todd’s wrist immediately, hands up, showing I wasn’t the threat. The deputy—a woman I vaguely recognized from previous hearings—was already approaching, her hand on her radio.
“He grabbed me!” Todd pointed at me, face red, spittle flying. “I want him arrested! I want?—”
“I saw the whole thing, sir.” The deputy’s voice was flat. “You approached them. You violated your restraining order. You attempted to grab the protected party.”
Todd sputtered. “That’s not—I didn’t?—”
“Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
I watched them cuff him. Watched his face go from outraged to panicked to something darker as the reality set in. Watched him stumble as they led him toward the patrol car.
But before they got there, he turned. Locked eyes with Riley.
“I’ll see you soon.” His voice was quiet now, but it carried. “Real soon.”
The deputy shoved him into the back seat. The door slammed. And Todd was gone.
But his words hung in the air like smoke.
I pulled Riley close, felt Mia press between us, both of them shaking. Wrapped my arms around them and held on, right there in the parking lot, not caring who saw.
This was what I was protecting now. This woman who’d survived so much. This kid who was finally learning to trust. This family I’d stumbled into and fallen for and couldn’t imagine living without.
This was what I could lose.
The thought landed like ice in my chest. Because Todd wasn’t finished. That look in his eyes as they put him in the car, that promise in his voice—he wasn’t going to stop. Men like him didn’t stop. They escalated until someone got hurt or someone got arrested or someone ended up dead.
I held them tighter and tried not to let them feel me shaking.
That night, Riley fell asleep in my arms.
Her breathing evened out slowly, each rise and fall easing some of the tension she carried like a second spine. The stiffness she’d brought back from the courthouse parking lot—shoulders locked, jaw tight—finally loosened. She fit against me instead of bracing, and I felt the shift like a quiet decision.
I stared at the ceiling, at the slow crawl of shadows, and tried to still my thoughts.
It didn’t work.
I’d spent six years teaching myself not to want things. Wanting had always felt like an invitation—for loss, for disappointment, for the moment everything tipped sideways. If I didn’t hope, didn’t plan, didn’t picture a future, then there was nothing for the universe to take.
But holding her now, feeling the steady warmth of her, knowing Mia was asleep down the hall with the door cracked the way she liked it, I let myself imagine what came next.
Not just surviving.
Building.
A wedding that didn’t feel like obligation or compromise. Wildflowers instead of centerpieces. Vows we meant because we’d already lived them. Gran’s ring catching the light on Riley’shand. Mia was in the front row, pretending she wasn’t watching too closely.
Years unfolding without bracing for impact. Morning chores. Firehouse shifts. Quiet nights on the porch when the world finally went still. Maybe more kids. Maybe not. Maybe just the three of us, and the knowledge that it was enough.
More than enough.
A future I could see clearly for the first time since Claire walked away.
I wanted it. All of it. And for the first time, I didn’t flinch at the wanting.
Then Todd’s voice cut through it.
