Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“I wish you were here,” she says. “I wish you could’ve seen Justin hold him in the delivery room. You would’ve cried. And then you would’ve pretended you didn’t.”
I smile, but it hurts. If he was there, I wouldn’t be and that’s the tragedy of all of this.
“He’s everything we never planned,” she goes on. “And somehow still everything we needed.”
She looks at me. “Us. All of us. You too.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Then I hear the gravel shift behind us.
I stand up fast, eyes narrowing.
Dia follows, body tense.
And then we see her.
Patricia Henderson.
Clutch’s mother.
She’s thinner than I remember. Her hair down instead of pulled tight like always. She’s wearing a pale cardigan and holding a single white flower.
I take a step forward, body between her and Dia by instinct.
But Dia reaches for my wrist. “Let me.”
I glance back. She’s not trembling.
She’s ready.
Patricia’s eyes are glassy when she speaks. “I didn’t come to cause trouble. I just wanted to see his headstone.”
“You’re out on bail,” I say.
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t be near her.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?” I ask flatly.
She looks at Dia, not me.
“I didn’t come for you. I came for my son.”
“You already came for my son,” Dia replies, voice tight. “When you hired people to take me. And your son would hate you for that.”
Patricia flinches.
“I didn’t know they’d hurt you.”
“You drugged me,” Dia says, stepping forward. “You planned to take my child. What exactly did you think would happen?”
“I was grieving,” she says, voice cracking. “I lost him. And you—”
“You were grieving yes,” Dia interrupts. “So was I. So were all the Hellions who loved him too. But that doesn’t excuse what you did.”
Patricia looks down at the flower in her hands. She doesn’t offer it. Just stares at it like it’s the last thing she’s got left.
“I don’t hate you,” Dia says softly. “That would be easier.”
Patricia looks up, eyes wide.
“I think some part of me understands you,” Dia continues. “That kind of loss? It rips everything apart. It makes people do things they never thought they would.”
She steps forward again, slow.
“But you came for my family. And no one touches what’s mine.” She gestures toward Benjamin in my arms. “That boy is mine. Mine and Justin's. And I would die before I let you take him. And you should know none of us will ever go down without a fight.”
Patricia says nothing.
Dia’s voice is calm now. Steady. “You crossed a line. And even if I can forgive the grief that drove you there, I can’t ever forget what it cost.”
Patricia blinks fast, fighting tears.
“You don’t have to like me,” Dia says. “You don’t even have to look at me. But you’ll never come near my child again.”
The wind picks up. Patricia nods once. Silent. She sets the flower on the headstone. No ceremony. No apology.
And she walks away.
We stand there for a long time. Dia doesn’t cry.
Neither do I.
Benjamin stirs, small and quiet.
I look down at him.
And I know.
The future doesn’t live in the past.
It lives here—in our arms.
We get home and settle in. I hold Benjamin while Dia showers. He’s finally quiet, fed and swaddled and blinking slowly at the world like it’s too big to take in all at once.
I sit in the rocker in the nursery and hum something under my breath. A lullaby I didn’t even know I remembered until he was born.
He rests one tiny hand against my chest.
I cover it with mine.
“I’ll protect you,” I whisper. “With every breath I’ve got.”
Dia walks in, towel wrapped around her hair, one of my shirts draped over her swollen postpartum belly. She leans in the doorway and watches us.
“You okay?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Better now.”
She crosses the room, presses a kiss to my temple, and kneels beside me.
“Our family starts here,” she says, her hand joining mine over Benjamin’s.
And I believe her.
Because we’ve already walked through fire.
And come out holding love.
TWENTY
DIA
Like a bear protecting its cubs, fiercely guard your dreams and aspirations." — Unknown
The cancer center smells like bleach and peppermint gum.
Toon stands next to me in the hallway, one hand resting on the stroller handle, the other in mine. He’s wearing his favorite worn-out hoodie, and his eyes are tired—but his shoulders are straight, and his skin doesn’t look as gray as it did last month.
This is his final treatment.
Final.
God, I can barely believe it.
Benjamin’s chewing on his fist in the stroller, wide-eyed like he knows this day matters. Maybe he does. Maybe some part of him remembers all the times we sat in these halls, waiting for his dad to come out pale and worn down and stubborn as hell.
The nurse waves us over with a warm smile. “Mr. Miller. Last round.”
He nods.
I squeeze his hand.
He squeezes back.
He doesn’t need to say anything. I already know.
This has been the longest fight of his life.