Noah wore a dinosaur backpack. Lily wore purple rain boots even though the sky was clear.
Outside the school, Noah looked up at me and asked, “Did Dad want us to go here?”
I crouched in front of them.
“He wanted you to be safe,” I said. “He wanted you to be curious. And he wanted you to know you were loved before you were even born.”
Lily touched the ring on my necklace. “Do you miss him every day?”
“Yes,” I said. “Every day.”
Noah frowned. “Does it hurt every day?”
I thought about lying, but Ethan and I had promised each other that we would raise honest children.
“Some days it hurts a lot,” I said. “Some days it hurts softly. But loving someone is never wasted.”
Lily wrapped her arms around my neck.
Noah hugged my side.
For one second, I was back in that hospital bed, bleeding and terrified, watching my brother hold my son as though he were a prize.
Then the memory passed.
Because Noah was here.
Lily was here.
They had not been stolen.
They were not bargaining chips.
They were children, laughing beneath a bright Idaho morning, waiting to walk into school.
Mia waved from the parking lot, holding two coffees. Rachel had already sent a good-luck text with six heart emojis, which was very unlike her and therefore perfect.
I kissed both twins on the forehead.
“Go on,” I said.
They ran toward the school doors hand in hand.
I watched until they disappeared inside.
Then I touched Ethan’s ring and breathed.
The life I had now was not the life I had planned.
It was scarred, rebuilt, guarded, and hard-won.
But it was mine.
And no one was ever going to take it from me again.
