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I know it won’t allay her agony. If anything, her tears intensify. But it’s a promise that emanates from the fiery center of my soul, the very core of my fucking being. It’s an oath I plan on keeping, no matter what filthy tricks Faline has waiting for us now. The bitch took my freedom, my hope, my body, my blood—and in a lot of ways, even my innocence. She’s not getting my family. My children. I’ll escort her to hell myself on a lightning bolt right through her beating heart if I have to.

I’m getting ready to repeat the vow to myself, ensuring it sticks to my psyche in all the right places, when another utterance breaks in on it.

“Dada?”

So soft. So innocent.

So perfect.

I gulp hard, my throat a shaft of fire and my gut a knot of doom. Shit. I’m even hearing the kid as if he’s really here, and my soul splitters into a million shards because of it. Six months of physical torture, another six of lonely solitude, and the insane ride of the last three and a half years have been nips of pain compared to the gouge of this grief.

“Mama, Dada. No cry. Please!”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I’m ready to snarl it out loud before banishing the torturous taunt—but in the moment that I suck down air for the task, my lower thigh is brushed by a tangible touch. Then another.

“Dada?”

And then my knee is wrapped beneath five small fingers.

And then the discernible swipes again, compelling me to dare a tentative glance down…

To be slammed by the hugest tidal wave of joy in my life.

“Dear fuck!”

Yeah, I just dropped the F-bomb in front of my kid. And as I drop myself along with it, I don’t fucking care. Every etiquette lesson on the planet can kiss my ass because I don’t care about that either. All that matters is the human burrowing into my arms, and then the other one who joins him. The center of my world is suddenly complete again, as Emma and I clutch and kiss and bawl all over our perfect, incredible, remarkable son.

“Oh, thank fuck! Thank God!”

Emma’s weeping burst has me laughing through my tears. Guess I’m off the hook for the profanity. At least this time. Maybe for the rest of time. None of it feels so important anymore. Lux is here. Right here. In our arms. In one piece. Alive. Alive.

But…alone?

The alarm slices through my jubilant haze, making me jolt back and whip my gaze around. “Lux?” I manage to query. “Are you—where did you come from, son?”

Our little dude bobs up his towhead and shoves a hock of the white-gold stuff out of his eyes. “I chase them, Dada.” As he points toward the little valley of wild brush and trees between our memorial marker hill and the house, the hair tumbles back into his face. “Through the woods. Over there.” As his voice cracks, my heart snaps in a thousand places. “I try. I try, Dada. The lady wasn’t Mama. She not talk or smell or love like Mama.”

This time, Emma’s face crumples too. There’s not time to tell her that I know how the kid feels. A love like his mama’s is a rare and recognizable force of nature, easily discernible if one knows what their soul is searching for. It’s not Sawyer’s fault that he didn’t recognize it, but it speaks volumes about Lux’s soul that he did.

“I knew she was prob’ly the bad lady, coming to take back Mis and Ira.”

Emma nestles him close again. The tips of her fingers are trembling and appear dipped in liquid gold. “Yes, buddy. She was the bad lady.”

Despite Lux’s testimony, the revelation looks frightening to him. He turns, gripping her with all the ferocity in his little body before declaring, “I ran from her, Mama.”

“As you should have, sweetheart.” She drops a tender kiss to the top of his head. “But Mis and Ira…they didn’t?”

His face, so cherubic and perfect, seems to double in age from its infusion of dark memories. “She tricked them,” he growls, and I damn near high-five him. Fuck yes, my kid just growled. “She had the foofy ballet dresses. One for each of them.”

“Tutus?” Emma asks. Better her than me, because I would’ve used the same terminology Lux just did.

“Yeah.” Though he still looks aged beyond his years, he tilts his head to the side and starts toying with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “She said they could wear them, but they had to wait to put them on.”

“Wait until what, buddy?”

Lux’s expression gains a fresh wave of tension.