Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Max’s eyes stay sharp, protective, as his eyes rove all over me. He kneels beside Jason, his hand gentle on his son’s shoulder, his voice low but firm. “Buddy, you gotta go easy on Amelia, okay? She’s still healing.” There’s a tenderness there, but also a father’s quiet command.
I shake my head, my smile softening. “It’s okay, Max. Really. It's okay.” My eyes drift to the bedside table, catching a bouquet of lavender and lilacs, their purple petals vibrant, their scent weaving through the sterile air, sweet and familiar. My heart lifts, a warmth spreading through my chest, chasing away the last shadows of the lake. “These are beautiful,” I murmur, my fingers brushing the petals, their velvety texture sparking a quiet joy.
Max’s eyes crinkle, a grin tugs at his lips, warm and boyish. “Yeah,” he says, his voice low, threaded with something deeper. “Lavender and lilacs. Every time I see purple flowers, I think of you, Amelia.”
I swallow, and my gaze locks on his, the room shrinking to just us.
“When can I go home?” I ask, my voice hopeful, trembling with the need to leave this cold room, to be with them.
Max’s grin widens, his eyes brightening, a spark of relief in their depths. “Good news. The Doctor says you’re healing well and are clear to go home today.” He pauses, his hand finding mine, his fingers warm, calloused, grounding me. “We’re ready to take you home whenever you are.”
I smile, so immensely relieved that my heart feels like it’s soaring.
Jason bounces on his toes, his grin wide, and we start packing. My movements, though slow, are careful since my body is still tender. Jason helps, folding my sweater with clumsy, eager hands, his chatter filling the room with light. Max watches, his eyes soft, and then he leans close, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Sara’s gone,” he tells me, his gaze holding mine, steady and sure. “She was escorted out yesterday, so you don't have to worry, okay? Ever. I know you were worried about us, but it’s over now. It’ll just be you, me, and Jason. Forever. Unless we have some kids.”
My breath catches, and relief floods me. A flicker of fear lingers, though— from the memory of Sara’s rage, the ashtray’s cold weight crashing against my temple. I push it down and focus on Max’s warmth.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my heart full of gratitude, of love for them both. We finish packing. Jason insists on carrying my small bag. We exit the hospital and head to the SUV. Max’s arm brushes my shoulder while Jason’s hand clings to mine, and it all feels like heaven.
The drive home is quiet, the city encased in the magic of dusk. Jason dozes in the backseat, his soft snores filling the car with a gentle rhythm. Max’s hand rests on the console, close to mine, and I feel it—the newness of our beginning. The family I’ve dreamed of having since that summer.
We pull into the driveway, the gray stones of the house warm and inviting. Stepping inside, the foyer feels reborn, the air clean, scented with fresh flowers, Sara’s shadow gone. The memories of her violence tug at me, sharp, but only fleeting. I shove them away. I won’t let her spoil my life. I cling to Jason’s warmth, to Max’s steady presence.
“You must be starving,” Max says, his voice soft, his eyes searching mine for any sign of discomfort. “How about dinner? The table has been set up for the three of us. Something special.”
I nod, my heart light, a smile curving my lips. “Sounds perfect,” I say, squeezing Jason’s hand. “Come on, little angel.”
He tugs at me, his eyes bright with excitement, and his voice bubbling. “Wait, Aunt Amelia, you gotta see the studio first!” he says, pulling me toward the stairs, his small hand insistent. “I made something while you were in the hospital!”
I laugh, my body still weak but my spirit lifting, warmed by his enthusiasm. “Okay, okay,” I say, my voice teasing, soft. “Let’s see this masterpiece of yours.”
We climb the stairs, his hand in mine, the past fading with each step. The studio door swings open, and I stop dead, my breath catching in my throat.
The room is full of purple flowers—lavender, lilacs, violets, their petals spilling across tables, shelves, the hardwood floor, their scent wrapping me like a warm embrace. Candles flicker on every surface, their golden glow dancing on the walls, casting soft shadows. Above, a white banner stretches across the room, bold, hand-painted letters proclaiming,
Will You Marry Me?
Fingerprints—Max’s large, Jason’s small—dot the fabric, smudged in bright colors, a testament to their shared effort. My heart stops. Tears flood my eyes as I take it all in, unable to process. I look down at Jason. I wonder what his father told him. Perhaps that I’m not his sister and that he loves me.