And just like that, we’ve reached the end. This book has been such a journey—messy, emotional and thrilling—and I’m so grateful you chose to walk through every chapter with me. Thank you for reading, for rooting for these characters, and for letting them take up space in your heart. If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review and recommending it to others. Your support means the world, and it helps more readers discover this little universe we’ve built together. It’s bittersweet to say goodbye here, but the good news is......I’m not done yet. My new story, Ashes Don’t Bleed, will begin updating next week, and I’d love for you to join me there. Also watch out for the Epilogue and Bonus chapters. Until then, thank you again for being part of this journey. You’ve made it unforgettable. ♥
VENUS Hospitals weren’t meant for firsts, but somehow ours kept happening here. The first time I felt the twins kick against the weight of my fear. The first time Aaron stirred after weeks of silence. And now, the first time we named our children. The doctors had left, satisfied with Aaron’s early responsiveness. Rosemary sat in the chair on his left, refusing to move, her hands clinging to his like she’d never let go again. I was on his right, holding our son, watching the way Aaron’s gaze kept drifting toward him even through exhaustion. His body was weak, trembling with each breath, but the fire in his eyes… that was untouched. “They’re beautiful,” he rasped, his voice raw but steady. His hand lifted shakily, fingers twitching toward the small bundle in my arms. I guided our son closer, pressing the tiny weight into his chest. Aaron cradled him with a care that stole my breath. This was the man who crushed enemies without hesitation, who carried the world on his shoul
VENUS Hospitals had their own kind of silence. Not the soft, peaceful kind. No, this one was heavier, a silence that pressed in from every corner, humming with machines and antiseptic, whispering of lives that dangled on fragile threads. I hated it. Every night, after everyone else was gone, I sat in that silence with Aaron. The twins curled against me, their tiny bodies warm, their breathing uneven but steady. One on each arm, their heads nestled close to my heart, like if they listened hard enough they’d hear the missing beat of their father’s echo inside me. I whispered to him like always. Told him about the twins, about how Sabine had gotten into a fight with Rosemary over which stuffed animal belonged to who, about how Connor was suddenly obsessed with baby-proofing every corner of the house, about how Colton visited and stood silently for hours, pretending not to care while his eyes betrayed him. But tonight was different. Tonight, the words tumbled out broken, raw, shar
VENUS Love had a way of sneaking up on you. Not the kind that blindsided with fire and chaos—that was Aaron, always Aaron—but the kind that bloomed slow, like dawn seeping over the horizon. Quiet, patient, impossible to ignore once you noticed. That was Connor and Sabine. Sabine had clawed her way back from the pit Gerald had thrown her into. She wasn’t the fragile, trembling shadow that had first walked back into the hospital. She was herself again—sharp-eyed, sarcastic, impossibly warm. And she had the twins wrapped around her little finger in a way that made me both laugh and ache. She spoiled them rotten. Every time she came through the door, it was with something new: soft blankets embroidered with their initials, ridiculous tiny hats that made Rosemary roll her eyes, toys they couldn’t even hold yet. She’d scoop them up, kiss their little cheeks until they squealed, and whisper promises about all the adventures they’d one day have. “They’re going to grow up fearless,” she
VENUS The twins didn’t care that the world was broken. They didn’t care that their father wasn’t here, or that my chest felt carved out each time I looked at the space beside me and found it empty. They didn’t care that I still dreamed of monitors beeping, of Aaron’s stillness, of promises half-fulfilled. All they cared about was milk. Warmth. The comfort of a body that would hold them through the night. And I gave it. God, I gave everything I had. But it was never enough. Not when every cry pulled me in two directions—toward them, and toward the man who should have been here, who should have been the anchor I leaned on when the exhaustion hollowed me out. Rosemary was God sent. Gianna too. She stayed up with me and helped me all the time. She really was the mom I never had. The days blurred. Nights even worse. Feeding, burping, diapers, rocking, soothing—then again, and again, and again. My body had already been worn thin by pregnancy, but now it felt like something far cr
VENUS The world has a cruel sense of timing. I’d spent weeks sitting at Aaron’s side, whispering to him, updating him on the pieces of our lives he couldn’t reach, begging him to come back. Weeks watching monitors and counting the seconds between the steady beeps. Weeks feeling the twins roll and stretch and kick inside me, a constant reminder that time was still moving even if he wasn’t. And then—when the day was the same as every other, when I was simply brushing my hand over his, murmuring his name into the sterile quiet—pain slammed into me like a lightning strike. It stole my breath. Made my vision blur. My hand clenched around his so tight that the monitor’s alarm beeped in protest. For one wild second, I thought it was just stress. Exhaustion. My body finally giving in to the weight of waiting. But then the pain pulsed again, sharper, heavier, low and insistent. My stomach tightened hard beneath my palm, and I knew. It was too soon. The twins weren’t supposed to be here