Chapter 137 – Damon's POV
If life had been different, I would've brought Arya home.
Not to our house — but home, the one I grew up imagining she'd one day step into. A place where laughter echoed from the kitchen, where my mother would pull her into a hug, and my father would shake my hand with pride. A place where stories were told over dinner, and generations blended like warm colors on a canvas.
But that home never existed.
And now, it never would.
I sat in the quiet of our living room, Arya's laughter drifting in from the nursery as she played with Hope and Liam. The sound filled the house like sunshine, but a part of me — a small, silent part — still ached.
Because she would never meet them.
Not my mother, who died in a car accident when I was fifteen.
Not my father, who died beside her that same night.
And not the grandparents I never got to meet, the uncles and aunts who were just names in old photo albums Amara and I rarely opened.
It had always just been the two of us. Me and my little sister. A team built out of grief and survival.
I stood up and walked outside, needing air. The wind was gentle, brushing against my skin like a memory. I leaned against the balcony rail, staring at the horizon, and let the truth wash over me again.
I had no family to bring Arya into.
She had never asked — never pushed, never pressed. But I knew. I knew she deserved to meet the people who raised me. She deserved to be welcomed by more than just a man and his demons. She deserved roots. A legacy. A full picture.
And I had nothing to give her but a graveyard.
I remembered the night of the accident as if it had happened just yesterday. The flashing lights. The police officer's grim face. The way Amara sobbed into my chest, and I had no idea how to hold her because I was breaking too.
I was fifteen. She was ten. And just like that, we became orphans.
The world moved on, but we were frozen in that moment — forced to grow up too fast, forced to fend for ourselves. We bounced between temporary guardians and cold foster homes until I turned eighteen and took legal custody of Amara.
No birthdays after that were ever truly happy. No holidays felt whole.
I'd promised myself back then that if I ever had a family again, I'd protect them with everything in me.
And now I had one.
Arya. Liam. Hope.
But when I looked at our life now — the joy, the laughter, the second chances — I couldn't help but feel that bittersweet ache again.
What would my mother have thought of Arya?
She would have loved her, I think. They were so different, but they would have met in the middle — my mother's fire and Arya's quiet strength. I could imagine them cooking together, arguing about ingredients, then laughing like old friends.
And my father… he would've respected Arya. He always believed in resilience, in people who stood tall even when life tried to break them. Arya was the definition of that.
God, he would've been proud of her.
Of us.
Of what we built after all the pain.
I closed my eyes and let the wind sting my face.
"I wish you could've met her," I whispered, voice raw. "I wish she could've met you."
I stayed out there for a while, letting the ache settle, not trying to push it away. Because grief doesn't disappear — it just folds itself into the corners of your joy. And sometimes, on quiet nights, it unfolds again.
Later, when I walked back inside, Arya was sitting on the floor, Liam nestled beside her, Hope asleep in her arms. She looked up at me and smiled — that soft, knowing smile that told me she could sense the heaviness in me without me saying a word.
"Hey," she said gently.
"Hey." I sat beside her and brushed a stray curl from her face. "I was just thinking about something."
She didn't ask what. She didn't need to.
Instead, she leaned her head against my shoulder, careful not to wake Hope.
"I wish they were here," I admitted quietly. "To see this. To see you."
Arya didn't speak right away, but her hand found mine and squeezed it.
"They'd be proud," she whispered.
"You didn't even know them."
"No," she said, lifting her gaze to meet mine. "But I know you. And I know you loved them. I know they mattered. And because of that, they matter to me too."
I swallowed hard, throat thick.
"I wish I could give you more. A family. A place to belong."
She smiled softly. "You did, Damon. You gave me you. You gave me Liam. Hope. Amara. That's more than I ever dreamed of."
Her words wrapped around me like a balm.
She didn't need history or photo albums. She needed now. Us. What we were building together.
I kissed the top of her head, holding her a little closer.
One day, I'd tell Liam and Hope about their grandparents. I'd show them the pictures. I'd tell them stories about the way my mom used to hum when she cooked, or how my dad taught me how to fix bikes in the garage.
And maybe… just maybe… they'd feel a little less alone too.
Because even though the past was filled with loss, the future was full of love.
And that was something worth holding onto.
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