Victor’s mouth twitches. “It is not.”
“You have a lot of books.”
“I do.”
“Are they boring?”
“Most of them.”
Heath considers that.
“Can I have books that aren’t boring?”
“Yes.”
“Even scary ones?”
Victor glances at me.
I nod.
“Within reason,” Victor says.
Heath lets go of my hand and walks toward the porch.
Not fast.
Not eager.
But he goes.
The social worker talks while I watch him. She explains the transition plan again, even though we have gone over it more times than I can count. School enrollment. Counseling. Weekly visits. Video calls. Holidays. Emergency contacts. She says no one is removing me from their lives. She says this is not goodbye. But it feels like the kind of not-goodbye that can still break something if I hold it wrong.
I nod at the right moments.
My chest still feels like it is folding in on itself.
Stefano stands behind me, quiet for once. His hand rests at the small of my back, warm through the fabric of my coat. Anyone looking at us would see a man supporting his fiancée through a hard day.
They would not see the way I keep waiting for someone to tell me I have failed them.
They would not know how many nights I have lain awake wondering whether keeping Erin and Heath close was selfish. Whether love becomes another kind of cage when you cannot give children the things they need, but refuse to let anyone else try.
The twins disappear upstairs with Alex.
Their voices float down through the open stairwell. Erin gasps over something. Heath says, “That is too many pillows,” with all the offense of a man who has been personally insulted by decorative bedding.
A laugh escapes me.
Then it catches.
Stefano feels the shift before anyone else.
“You want to leave,” he says quietly.
I look up at him.
“No.”
