"We were in my car for three months after the eviction. Then it got repossessed. I never thought..." Her voice broke.
"I know," I said simply, because I did know. I knew exactly how it felt to watch your life crumble, to feel shame for circumstances beyond your control. Forgotten to the shadows, even though at one point you were someone’s important person.
The little boy's stomach growled audibly, and I glanced down at him. "Wow, you are hungry!”
“Mm-hmm,” he nodded, rubbing his stomach. “I could eat a whole cow!”
“I’m not sure we’ve got a whole cow in the kitchen, but I bet there’s a sandwich. There might even be a cookie or two with your name on it.”
He nodded eagerly, the promise of cookies making him walk a little faster, pulling me and his mother along. She laughed, and the sound was brittle and odd, as if she hadn’t laughed in a very, very long time.
As we walked down the hallway, past rooms now housing other families, other stories, I thought about forgiveness.
I'd forgiven Mister Johnas, surprisingly enough.
He’d truly been remorseful when he’d first found me, but actions spoke louder than words. He’d kept in contact, asking what he could do to help me. He refused my money, working pro bono even though I had my family’s assets back. Mister Johnas and his firm not only helped me figure out the logistics of creating this place, but he and his partners werebrave enough to investigate the Eros Institute’s predatory practices. Not that it did any good…
The papers I’d signed had no loopholes. No way to sue them without destroying myself in the process. It was the same for the guys. Powerful people backed Eros. Dangerous people. People who could snap their fingers and ruin lives. Mister Johnas’s firm had been in hot water for a while, though the heat had cooled recently. When the threats died down, he’d been surprised. So, he’d poked around, even when I’d told him not to take the chance. Through back channels, he learned that Eros may be forced to modify their ‘product collection’ methods. They’d entrapped the wrong Omega.
Though I’d forgiven my family’s lawyer, there was one person I refused to forgive: myself.
Signing that contract had been an act of desperation, but I should have read the fine print. I should have questioned why the Institute was so eager to help me. I’d been seduced by basic necessities and comfort.
I'd learned my lesson. I'd never sign anything again without reading it twice, maybe three times. I'd never trust someone simply because they offered what I desperately needed. Even though the ordeal had given me my Alphas, and a home again, I knew lightning didn’t strike the same place twice.
I’d been so very lucky, really.
To end up with Ryder, Dixon, Mac, and Tray.
To keep Josie with me despite the odds.
The little boy tugged at my hand, bringing me back to the present. "Are the cookies chocolate chip?" he asked, his voice echoing off the walls as we began to descend the beautiful, curving stairs.
I smiled down at him, squeezing his small hand gently. "They absolutely are. And if we're lucky, we might even find some milk to go with them."
His face lit up like Christmas. That was why I’d done this. It wasn't just about honoring my family's memory. It was about recognizing that sometimes the boldest thing you can do is extend your hand to someone who's falling.
Fortune favors the bold.
Dad’s voice flowed through my mind.
I didn’t resent the mantra now. Maybe he’d been right all along. And now, I could pass my good fortune onto others.
I let the little boy and his mother lead the way into the kitchen once we arrived outside of it. They needed to feel comfortable here, learning that they belonged and didn’t have to ask permission to take up space.
My childhood kitchen buzzed with a different kind of energy now.
No caterers racing around with platters of salmon puffs and caviar. No hundred sparkling champagne glasses lined up like little soldiers, waiting for bubbly. My mother would never cook at the large gas stove again, or tease my father with her wooden spoon. That life was faded, along with the different scents and sounds that once reminded me of home.
All replaced.
Not for the better. Or the worse.
Just replaced. New life breathed into the mansion’s walls.
Mac stood at the massive center island, methodically assembling sandwiches with his signature focus and precision. His golden hair, which had grown past his shoulders, was tied back neatly. Something about seeing him so carefully cutting crusts off bread for the children made my heart contract with love. He was even gathering the pieces he’d sliced off into a bowl, to use for something later. He glanced up, sensing my presence, and gave me that small, private smile that still made my stomach flutter.
Across from him, Ryder was spooning yogurt into little plastic cups; a white strainer of washed blueberries waited nearby for topping. His dark hair fell across his forehead as he worked, a familiar vertical line appearing between his brows. It was the same expression he wore when composing a particularly challenging song, only now his focus was directed at making sure each cup had exactly the same amount. The rockstar who once got high off drugs and drank himself stupid was now ensuring that our residents got equal portions, and no one felt slighted.
