The Twisted Wedding Night
“Mama, read me a story!”
I laughed softly, a sound I hadn’t realized I’d missed so much. “Okay,” I said, taking her little hand in mine. “Which one should we read first?”
As we moved to the couch together, I felt the shift inside me—the acknowledgment of what I had been avoiding for so long. The motherly love I had hidden, the connection I had denied, it was real. And for the first time, I didn’t hesitate to embrace it.
Ace watched quietly, his expression unreadable but patient. I didn’t need him to say anything. He had seen the change, and that was enough.