There was a strange kind of peace in having your life together again — even if it meant pretending the nightmares never happened.
I walked through the office halls, heels sharp against marble, tailored pantsuit flawless, my assistant trailing behind with a tablet and a list of urgent emails. Heads turned, interns straightened, and executives made way like I was royalty.
But all I could think about was whether Adrien's lunchbox had the right snacks.
"Remind me to text Mrs. Clarke. I want to know if Adrien ate the strawberries or threw them at Evan again," I said over my shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am."
I was Ava Sinclair. CEO. Strategist. The woman whose morning meetings could make grown men cry. But the second the clock struck 3, I transformed into Adrien's mom — the cheerleader, the human pillow, the voice that sang lullabies too loud and off-key.
When I reached my office, I shut the door and took off the armor — the blazer, the boardroom tone. A small frame of Adrien sat proudly on my desk. He had my eyes and that ridiculously mischievous smile that only kids with too much sugar and not enough fear had.
I picked up my phone and hit speed dial.
"Hi, baby," I cooed the second he answered. "Did you eat your lunch? Hmm? Did you miss Mommy today?"
His giggle was my serotonin. I sank into my chair, the tension sliding off my shoulders.
"Mommy is gonna bring cookies later. Yes, the chocolate ones. Only if you didn't punch Evan again."
He gasped — I grinned. It was a game now. Him pretending to be innocent, me pretending I didn't adore every second of it.
I hadn't thought of Alex in a long time.
Not in the way that hurt.
Maybe I had finally healed enough to separate him from my present. Maybe Adrien was enough. Maybe this life I built — from ash and trauma and sleepless nights — was finally real. I was finally me again. Or at least the version of me I liked best: affectionate, a little annoying, overly loving — and entirely unafraid.
I didn't know a pair of eyes were watching me from across the street. Eyes that once made me feel like the sun rose just for me.
I had no idea that the past was already bleeding into my present.
Because right now, all I knew was this:
My son was happy.
I was safe.
And for the first time in years… I was finally okay.