"I've learned my lesson," I admit. "I protect what's mine. My son. My family. But I'm yours to protect. I understand that now."
And I did. Sure, it might chafe at times, but I can’t focus on everyone. One everything.
That’s Adrian’s job.
I look at my son’s little body. He needs my focus. And he’ll have it. Always.
"Good."
We're quiet for another moment. Then I remember.
"Your mother," I say softly. "Bianca. Is she?—"
"Dead." The word is flat. Final. "She died during surgery. Internal bleeding. They couldn't save her. She was at the front of the house when the explosion occurred. It was a miracle she even survived that.”
"Adrian—" I reach for his hand. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." His voice is carefully controlled. "She lived the life she chose. Died the way she probably would have wanted. In power until the end."
I nod because he’s probably right. But still…
"Are you okay?"
He's quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. I should feel something. Grief. Relief. Anger. But I just feel—" He stops. "Empty."
"You're allowed to feel however you feel," I tell him gently. "She was complicated. Your relationship was complicated."
"Her death makes me Don.” His voice is hollow. "It’s everything I've been fighting for. And now that I have it?—"
"It doesn't feel how you thought it would."
"No."
I squeeze his hand. "You're a good man, Adrian. Better than you think. You'll be a good Don. A good father. A good husband."
"Perhaps.”
"I know it." I lean my head against his arm. "I won’t let you be anything else.”
We sit there, watching our son. Our miracle baby whocame too early but fought anyway. Who survived explosions and kidnapping and emergency surgery.
Who's here.
Alive.
With us.
"We're going to be okay," I say quietly. "All of us. We're going to be okay."
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I actually believe it.
We're broken. Bruised. Traumatized.
But we're alive.
We're together.
We're a family.
