Chapter 7
I woke up 12 hours later, sore and groggy, a dull throbbing in my left side.
The first thing I heard was beeping—monitors, IV pumps, the distant hum of the hospital.
The second thing I heard was a familiar laugh.
I opened my eyes, blinking hard against the bright light.
Liam was in the bed next to mine, separated only by a thin curtain that had been pulled all the way back.
He was pale, still tired, but he was smiling, his color better than I’d ever seen it.
Evelyn was sitting between our beds, holding both of our hands, her head resting on the edge of Liam’s mattress.
She looked up when she saw me move, her face lighting up.
“Hey, you,” she said, standing up to brush the hair off my forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got punched in the side by a heavyweight boxer,” I said, my voice rough, but I was smiling. “Worth it, though. How’s he doing?”
“Perfect,” the doctor said, walking into the room, checking our charts. “Liam’s body already accepted the kidney. His levels are better than we expected. He’s going to make a full recovery. You both are. Just take it easy for the next few weeks.”
He left, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
The next two weeks were the slowest, most perfect weeks of my life.
We were moved into a private suite on the top floor, with a view of the sound.
Liam and I had a contest to see who could walk to the window and back first the day after the surgery.
He won, by three steps, and bragged about it for three days.
Evelyn fussed over both of us, making sure we took our meds, that we didn’t overdo it, that we ate all the terrible hospital food.
My team from the company came to visit, bringing laptops and reports, but I told them to handle everything without me.
For the first time in 10 years, I didn’t care about deals or profits or stock prices.
All I cared about was the two people in the room with me.
When we were finally allowed to go home, Liam was bouncing off the walls.
He’d spent the last three days texting his friends from the diner, telling them he was better, that he had a dad, that he had a truck to work on.
We walked through the front door of the penthouse to find Margaret waiting, a huge chocolate cake on the dining table, with WELCOME HOME written across it in blue frosting.
A week later, Liam asked if he could meet Victoria.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, going through some paperwork, when he brought it up.
I looked up, surprised.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “After everything she did?”
He nodded, picking at a loose thread on his sweatpants.
“I just want to look her in the eye,” he said, quiet. “I want to hear her say she’s sorry. Not for me. For Mom. For all the years she made her scared. And then I never want to see her again.”
I hesitated.
The last thing I wanted was to let that woman anywhere near my son again.
But I knew what it was like to need closure.
“Okay,” I said, slow. “But I’m coming with you. And we meet in a public place. No exceptions. If she says one wrong thing, we leave. Immediately.”
He nodded, relieved.
“Thanks, Dad.”
We met her at a small café downtown, far from the penthouse, far from anything that felt like ours.
She was already there when we arrived, sitting at a table in the back, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, no makeup, wearing a plain sweater instead of her usual designer clothes.
Claire had told me a week earlier that Victoria had lost everything.
Her houses, her cars, her friends.
All the people she’d spent years impressing had dropped her the second the news got out about what she’d done.
She was living in a tiny apartment on the other side of town, working at a department store to pay her bills.
She stood up when she saw us, her hands twisting in her lap.
“Liam,” she said, her voice trembling. “Jonas. Thank you for coming.”
We sat down across from her, Liam’s hand tight on my arm under the table.
“I’m not here to make small talk,” Liam said, his voice steady, stronger than I’d ever heard it. “I just want to know one thing. Did you ever feel bad? For what you did to my mom? For making us run for 18 years? For almost letting me die because you were too scared to let Dad be happy?”
Victoria’s face crumpled.
She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“Every single day,” she whispered. “I was young, and stupid, and scared. Your dad was sick, Jonas was all I had left, and I thought if he married that girl—if he had a baby so young—he’d never amount to anything. I thought I was protecting him. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I’m sorry, Evelyn. I’m sorry, Liam. I know saying it doesn’t fix anything. But I am.”
Liam stared at her for a long minute.
“I forgive you,” he said, and Victoria’s breath caught. “But that doesn’t mean you get to be in our lives. You had your chance to be family, and you chose to hurt us. Mom and Dad and I? We’re a family now. We don’t need you. I just wanted to hear you say you were sorry. Now I have. Goodbye, Victoria.”
He stood up, and I stood with him.
We walked out of the café without looking back.
Outside, the sun was shining, the street was busy, and Liam took a deep breath, his shoulders dropping like a hundred pounds had just been lifted off them.
“Feel better?” I asked, putting an arm around his shoulders as we walked to the car.
He nodded, grinning that crooked grin.
“Way better. Now can we go work on the truck? I ordered a new exhaust system for it, and it got delivered this morning.”
May you like
I laughed, loud.
“Sure thing, kid. Let’s go.”
