𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓈 ♡

“I’m getting really worried.”

Leya’s whispered confession draws the focus of her siblings. Her eyes remain down on her lap, on the intricate design of the pillow that she has hugged against her chest. It’s a sort of therapeutic technique she learned a long time ago. When she was younger and her OCD was the worst it’s ever been. Brie would instruct her to hold a pillow close to her chest, holding and squeezing it while taking deep breaths, pretending that the combination and eventual release of her breath and the tension in her body represented the “bad thoughts” being released.

It was helpful. Very helpful in some cases.

But right now, it’s not doing much.

“He’s still not back home,” Nic adds, frown deepening. His eyes flick around the room, his jaw shifting in the same way their dad's does when he's in the midst of thought, working and mulling over scenarios in real time while still maintaining verbal communication. “And he and mom are talking less and less.”

“Not even that,” Aria speaks up, looking among her brothers and sisters. Like once before, she sits only a few inches away from Leya. A symbolic seating of sorts considering they are two of the few siblings who still live at home. All for obvious reasons, whether it be them still being minors or situations like Leya where it just makes since given her having RJ. But their residing in the home also means that they've been granted a front row seat to the tension that's marred their family home over the past few weeks. “You could….you could tell they were upset with each other before, but now…now they don’t even seem angry anymore. They just seem….sad.”

It’s a shared sentiment among the older of the Reigns kids. Even Aroha, on the verge of her twelfth birthday, has pressed her siblings for questions regarding their parents obvious conflict. Both Aria and Leya have done their best to answer without answering, but Aroha isn't the baby of the family anymore with a limited ability to understand what's going on. She knows that something is very wrong, and there's only so many different ways they can dodge the obvious before she becomes aware of how dire the situation is.

Soon enough, Aubrey, Tavita, and RJ will be the only ones spared from the glaring realization that something is definitely, deeply wrong.

The kids were hoping that the joint therapy session Aria saw on her dad’s calendar when updating his phone for him would be the thing that did it. That helped their parents get through or over this hurdle that they’ve seemingly encountered.

But the evening of said session, Solana returned home alone. Roman didn't walk into the front door until they were setting the table for dinner, and Koa and Kai were feeding the pets.

And once all the younger kids were down for bed, Leya checked the camera app on her phone to see her dad climb into one of the family's many cars, start it up, and drive off.

She must have stared at the empty spot where the car once sat for a good ten minutes. At least until the image was blurred and distorted by the tears that were burning her eyes.

The displeasure of having a front row seat from the moment this all began, when her mom marched into the home carrying with her an energy that would change everything, has meant that Leya has, in many ways, been affected the most by it all. Lost in the chaos of a storm that has no visible end in sight and leaves in its wake destruction that's gradually starting to feel irreparable with each passing day of no reconciliation in sight.

For her and all of the rest of her siblings outside of the OG's 2.0, it’s been the most fucking uncomfortable thing ever. When the rough patch hit years prior, there were at least attempts to feign and maintain the role of a happy couple. Their efforts were not without the holes that the older kids were able to spot plain as day, but the fact that their parents at least tried to pretend that everything was fine, for the sake of not wanting to worry their kids, meant something.

But this isn't then.

Their parents aren’t even trying to force or fake shit. They’re just….there.

“I briefly overheard them talking last night—”

“Really?” It’s the most hopeful Leya has felt and sounded since they all arrived at Lina’s place, needing the space to speak and talk freely without Aroha or their parents overhearing. “What—what did they say?”

Koa shakes his head. His foot taps against the floor, his fingers also moving in rhythmic patterns against his knee. “I couldn’t make out all of it, but something about waiting until after Aroha’s birthday—”

“Waiting for what?”

Kai fixes his gaze on Lina. “He just said he couldn’t make it out.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Guys,” Tama’s deep voice cuts through what’s sure to be a part two from the last time they gathered together, except this time, he’s not about to let things get as far as they did before. He wasn't for it then, and he damn sure isn't for it now. Things were just bad then, but they're significantly worse now, and that's saying something. “Stop it. Now.”

“What if it’s happening this time?” Leya whispers. To herself. Maybe her siblings. She’s not sure. She just knows the sensation of her eyes burning is followed up with a wet feeling against her cheeks. “What if…what if they’re getting a divorced?”

“No way.” Nic's rebuff is quick and sharp. His voice drops an octave, deepening in the way almost all of the boys' voices do when they're irritated or uncomfortable. Again, just like their dad. “No one loves each other more than mom and dad.”

“Certainly doesn’t feel that way anymore.”

“Koa!”

“What?” He snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been over two weeks, and things aren’t getting any better. They’re only getting worse.”

“I can’t believe he had a stroke and didn’t tell mommy,” Lina voices what she’s been wondering since her sister broke the shocking, alarming news. “They tell each other everything.”

“Not this,” Kai mutters.

Tama starts to check his younger brother once more but opts to try to keep the conversation focused and on topic. “He probably didn’t want to worry her—”

“He’s done a great job with that.”

“Sissy,” Leya sighs. Lina looks at her twin, the solemn expression on a face that’s hers but also not making her shoulders drop. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “I just—” She swallows, eyes growing watery. “This can’t be happening. Mommy and daddy are soulmates. They can’t—they can’t get divorced.” She looks around the room, a sense of helplessness that’s foreign and suffocating. “They still love each other. I know they do.”

Lina has always been the problem solver of her siblings. Tama as well, but the final say has always been run past her. It’s always been her gift in life. A gift she inherited from her father. Underneath an often rough, tough exterior is a problem solving brain that is typically the source of countless, possible solutions.

But she sits among her brothers and sisters, stunned and damned to the silence that represents failure.

She can’t solve this.

Doesn’t know how.

Her words, however, trigger something within Aria. She lifts her head, slowly, mouthing something to herself. It’s faint and low but heard and noticed by Leya who looks at her with glossy eyes.

“What is it?”

The question manages to temporarily relieve the rest of kids from the depressing realization that the life they’ve always known, loved, and appreciated might be on the path of change.

And not the good type.

Samaria licks her lips, looking around the room, her gaze settling on Tama and Lina.

“I think I have an idea.”

————

The sound of the front door slamming and the soles of her foot slapping against the wooden floor serve as blurred background noise. Everything outside of racing thoughts, most of which were intrusive in nature, have clouded up her headspace. Ever since her phone lit up as she was in the midst of vacuuming out the OG's 2.0 playroom and saw a text from her eldest son. Simple in nature. Heavy in meaning.

We need you.

Solana was out the door in under twenty minutes. The short distance from the Reigns estate and the home of her eldest two children has never felt so far away as she sped through traffic, uncaring of any laws being broken in the process.

All she could think about was the fact that it was rare for her son to send such a short, non-descriptive message. Even more, especially since he moved out, Tama has always preferred to talk over text. At least with her.

So Solana knew that something had to be very wrong, hence the urgency that guided her movements and relentless efforts to make it to her babies.

Except the minute she rounds the entryway and heads for the living room, calls for her son and daughter left unanswered, worry is swapped for something else.

Shock.

Emerging from the kitchen, most likely through the backdoor entrance off said kitchen, Solana stands across from the man she's barely spoken more than ten words to over the past several days.

Roman.

His expression, she's certain, mirrors hers. He eyes her skeptically before his mouth settles into a line and her own mouth parts once and then twice before she manages to speak.

"What—what are you doing here?"

Though the minute it comes out, she immediately both regrets and answers her own question. If Tama reached out to her because something is wrong, of course he'd reach out to his dad as well.

Roman must realize this, too, as his answer never comes, or rather it's intercepted by the sound of footsteps as she turns around to see several of her oldest children. Tama is included in said group, but the expression on his face, on all of their faces, doesn't indicate a level or urgency.

It indicates….anxiety.

Like they're nervous about something.

Roman finally breaks his silence, voicing what Solana is thinking. "What's going on?"

Lina steps forward, her siblings eyes fixed onto her as she motions with her arm to the living room. "Please. Sit." She leans to the side just enough to ensure locking eyes with her father. "Daddy, you too."

And just like that, the concern about what had happened shifts to what's about to happen. Solana, however, would like to believe that her kids wouldn't have called both herself and Roman over here for nothing. So instead of pushing back the way she wants to, she silently walks into the living room, placing her purse on the space beside her.

Roman follows suit, sitting across the way, of course.

Though she understands it and prefers it, she also hates it. As upset and angry and hurt and everything else as she is towards and with her husband, it hasn't dulled the wound in her chest that's been birthed and only grown day after day since this all went down.

"Kids." Solana turns to see Roman is focused on their children who've also joined them in the living room, lined up almost in front of the television. Lina. Leya. Tama. Aria. Nic. "I'm not gon' ask again."

As much as Solana dislikes the almost irritated tone he's taken with them, the question is valid. Though she has a feeling she's not going to like the answer any more than he will.

Tama takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. "Look, we know….we know you guys aren't in a good place right now."

Solana shuts her eyes. Her suspicions have now turned into confirmations.

"Tam—"

"And we know that you've always told us to stay out of it," Lina cuts in, the only one in the group other than Tama, that would have the balls to interrupt Roman like that. "That your marriage is none of our business and between the two of you."

Solana licks her lips, gradually willing her eyes open. "Lin—"

"But whatever is happening between you guys right now is affecting all of us," Nic's additive does nothing more than increase that weight on Solana's chest. She's not stupid. As much as she would like to believe she and Roman have done their best to not allow their situation to impact the kids, that's just not a feasible nor realistic expectation. With the exception of Aubrey and Tavita, Solana knows her children well enough to know they inherited their father's discernment.

They can see what doesn't need to be stated.

Aria takes another deep breath as she takes over for her brother." We know something is wrong, and we love you both too much to sit back and do nothing."

Solana doesn't need to be looking at her husband to see the way his jaw shifts and moves as he works to find the right, best words. “Samaria—”

“Please,” Leya cuts in, stepping forward, lips pressed together as her parents focus on her. “For…for us.”

It’s a bit of a cruel string to pull. A manipulation tactic if not for who it was to evoke it.

The only thing that neither Solana nor Roman can ever say no to.

When it comes to their kids, it’s always a yes.

It’s why, despite them sitting on opposite sofas—Solana on the one facing the TV and Roman on the one adjacent to the TV—they're on the same page for a first time in a long time.

Aria is the one to walk over to them, breaking from her brothers and sisters. “We know that we’re obviously biased since we’re your kids. Not to mention it’s not really our place, but we thought....” She stops, looking over at someone else to take over as she grabs the remote, setting up the television, the emotion in her voice indicative of her struggle. “We thought maybe if you hear it from someone other than us, it’ll help you remember.”

Solana shifts on the sofa, hating the way she struggles to maintain her volume. Indication and reminders of her immense difficulty over the past two weeks in trying to keep it all together. “Remember what?”

Lina is the one to handle the question, the final one, as the kids start to spill out the room.

“That you’re RoSo.”

The term makes both husband and wife still. But whatever is felt from hearing something that carries so much history and weight is redirected when music starts to play. A song she recognizes almost instantly.

Aren't you somethin' to admire?

'Cause your shine is somethin' like a mirror

And I can't help but notice

You reflect in this heart of mine

The dark screen lights up, cursive black font set against a white backdrop.

RoSo

Solana’s hand drops to her stomach at the transition to Dwayne and Matteo, clearly at the Warehouse, in the midst of a workout. The music remains playing in the background at a lower volume to accommodate the sounds of the interviewees.

“Uncle Dwayne. Uncle Teo.” Tama’s voice is loud and clear, confirming he’s the one filming the two men who stand with light sheen of sweat splayed across their forehead, hands on their waist. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of RoSo?”

Dwayne chuckles, looking at Matteo. “You wanna go first, Fabio?”

Matteo casts a wry smile and glances at the camera. “That’s easy.” He shrugs. “Love.”

Roman’s jaw clenches.

“Fucker stole my answer,” Dwayne curses, also looking at the camera. “But like he said, love. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen, either.”

The clips switches as a smiling Afia and Bayley stand next to each other. Like the men, dressed in workout/training attire and clearly at the Warehouse but caught right before the beginning of their sparring session.

“Tias.” It’s Lina’s voice this time as she presents the same question as her brother. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of RoSo?”

Bayley scoffs. “Douche, but that only applies to the first half.”

Afia lightly slaps Bayley on the arm, shaking her head before taking a soft breath. Her pretty eyes flick upward, narrowing slightly in the way she does when in deep thought. “Soulmates.”

“As much as I hate to say anything remotely good about your irritating ass dad, she’s right.” Bayley feigns an over-dramatic sigh before her mouth settles into a small, genuine smile. “Soulmates for sure.”

'Cause I don't wanna lose you now

I'm lookin' right at the other half of me

The vacancy that sat in my heart

Is a space that now you hold

Another transition to another clip that reveals Cameron, Melina, and Mickie, also at the Warehouse, which instantly has Solana convinced that the kids must have asked everyone to meet them there.

That faction of Solana’s friend group only attends the Warehouse for fight nights and major matches, primarily when Roman is fighting, and even then, they’re more there for her than for the actual fights.

And just like the last two times, the same question is presented, but the timbre of Nic’s deep voice is heard instead of Lina’s much lighter, softer one. Mickie is the first to answer in the way that only Mickie would.

“Hot.”

Nic’s exasperated sigh makes Solana smile. “Aunt Mickie.”

Cameron, however, quickly jumps in with her own answer accompanied by a soft smile. “Inspiring.”

Melina casts her a sideways glance, playfully nudging her. “You make them sound like motivational speakers.”

She shrugs, pushing her braids back over her shoulder. “I mean, Solana kind of is.”

It’s hard for Solana to pinpoint exactly what part of what she’s watching affects and impacts her the most. The words. The participants. The effort her children have clearly put in to make all this happen, and in such a short period of time, it seems. Each compliment, however, seems to do something to her. Lessens just a little bit the weight she’s carried with her nonstop the past two weeks.

But she's tuned back in, resisting the desire to look over at Roman who’s also watched quietly thus far, as Mickie makes a ‘pfft’ sound. “Roman isn’t.” She rolls her eyes, lifting her hand to examine her nails. “He’s the meanest person I know.”

“Mickie,” Melina mutters, gesturing to the camera. “That’s his dad.”

“Oh my God, it’s not a secret. Literally everyone knows Roman is mean.” She throws her hands up, looking away, gasping. “Here. You.”

Confusion dwells as the footage becomes shaky before the camera refocuses on an unfamiliar face, but he wears a solid black shirt with a familiar, red insignia on the right side, just above his pectoral muscles.

Bloodline.

However, Solana’s guess would be he’s not of the…..field type. Perhaps something related to tech. Slim build, greasy hair, some strings clinging to his forehead, and the way he pushes his thick rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose as well as the overall startled expression all but confirm it.

There are numerous positions available throughout the Bloodline, and despite popular misconception, not all of them require the ability to maim and kill. There are many other roles that need fulfilling, some of which include sitting behind a desk.

This man is clearly a desk type.

“What’s your name?” Mickie asks but immediately waves away as if physically pushing her initial query to the side in place of what’s most relevant. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Isn’t Roman Reigns an asshole?”

“Mickie!”

Another smile appears on Solana’s face as the nervous expression on the man’s swiftly morphs into something of horror. His widened eyes and dilated pupils magnified 10x over.

“The—the Tribal Chief?” His eyes switch to the camera, slightly above the frame, which Solana would guess is him realizing just who is holding said camera. He gulps. “No. N—no. The—the Tribal Chief is a great man—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” A quiet laugh actually spills over when Mickie literally shoves the man away, prompting outcry from Cameron and Melina. “See, even strangers are afraid of him. Why?” She mouths she word, sound absent but lips easily readable. “Asshole.”

“Ignore her.” Solana watches Melina shake her head when Nic refocuses the camera on her, and even before she can fix her mouth to say it, Solana just knows. Can tell by the gleam in her eyes what the answer is.

“Amor.”

Love.

Additional clips interviewing closest family and friends continue to flash across the screen, but Solana feels frozen in place and time from that word. A word that so deeply encompasses so much of her life. Of her relationship.

Carved into her, metaphorically and physically. The latter of the two further emphasized when she realizes her hand is placed against her chest, fingers covering the black and red ink near her clavicle.

Her tattoo.

The one she got for Roman.

For them.

She swallows, emotion continuing to build as the lyrics burn into her soul.

Show me how to fight for now

And I'll tell you, baby, it was easy

Comin' back here to you once I figured it out

You were right here all along.

Except the emotion only extrapolates when unexpected participants fill up the flat screen TV.

Aubrey, Tavita, and RJ are sitting at the table she recognizes from being the one in their shared playroom. Naturally, all three are wiggly, but only Aubrey is smiling happily. RJ and Tavita instead carry pouts and scowls that remind her so much of….of Roman.

Roman

“Okay, guys—”

Koa’s voice is cut off by a whining, pouting Aubrey as she reaches up with her arms. Tavita and RJ present a question Solana can’t entirely make out. “Can you hold me?”

A heavy sigh makes her chuckle as she wipes at her eyes. Koa offers, in the nicest voice he can, she’s certain, a delayed acceptance. “After, Aubrey.”

Kai’s irritated voice sounds from elsewhere, most likely behind Koa, with his arms crossed and frustration written all over his face. Neither of her twin boys have ever been very good with….little kids. “Why does she always want to be held?”

“I don’t think she knows how to use her legs.”

“Leave her alone. She’s only three.” Aria snaps, and it causes the tears to spill over at a faster, heavier rate. All the kids. All of her kids partook in this, the older ones handling the filming with her younger kids partaking in the answering portion. Hence why she would guess this interviewing of the OG’s 2.0 would be the last set. “And would you two shut up? I don’t want to have to edit this out.”

“Guys.” Kai cuts in, forever the one to keep everyone focused. “Do you know what RoSo is?”

It’s a shared answer with a loud “yeah!” coming from all three.

“Who is RoSo?”

Again, another joint answer, naturally, RJ’s answer differing from that of his technical aunt and uncle.

“Mommy and daddy!”

“Grandpa and abuela!”

Solana sniffles, smiling at the kids’ enthusiastic replies, Aubrey clapping happily. And for the first time since the start of the video, Solana’s eyes drift over to the other side of the room where Roman sits on the edge of the sofa. Leaned over, his hands fisted together over his mouth, brows furrowed and and focused on the screen with the same level of intensity and intrigue that’s sat with her from the moment the video started.

It makes her heart swell.

“That’s right.” Aria giggles and gasps dramatically. “And how do you feel about RoSo?” A beat. “Do you guys love RoSo?”

That final question, however is what really evokes the biggest smile, laughs, and glee from the children with a loud, unanimous “yes!”

The timing is synced perfectly, it seems, as the final refrain begins and all of the clips fill the screen, one by one, sounds muted to allow the music to play louder and without interruption. But it’s when the post-chorus begins that Solana nearly loses it.

“Oh my God.”

Clips of herself and Roman.

From their wedding in Mexico shortly before the girls were born. Solana smiling and holding onto his arm.

Several from their vow renewal ceremonies over the year.

Her dancing playfully as he spins her around and tugs her against him, craning his head down to kiss her shoulder, her own over his forearm. Smiling.

Them in the pool, him holding her as she smiles down and kisses him. Right before he squeezes her ass under the water, prompting her to gasp and swat at his shoulder.

Of her in the kitchen cooking and him sneaking up to hug her from behind. Her hand over her chest, smile on her face and head tilted back to cradle the back of his head as he kisses her.

Roman sitting at the table talking to the kids, giving them one of his many lectures, hand gestures and all. Solana behind him, nodding and playfully mimicking his non-verbals. The amused smile on Leya’s face giving her away as Roman turns to look at her. Her expression immediately dropping, eyes widening with faux innocence. Lighthearted mockery veiled by her quickly kissing his temple and darting away.

Them on the beach, her giggling and attempting to run only for his long legs to easily allow him to catch her. Though the original audio is muted to allow for Timberlake's volalization, Solana can hear her laughter through the screen as he picks her up and spins her back around.

Hospital footage from several of the kids’ births. Roman sitting at the edge of the hospital bed, holding their baby, her peering over his shoulder.

Him holding her against him as she leaned her forehead into his chest, squeezing his arms while he swayed gently with her to ease the pain and discomfort from her contractions.

Her standing between his open legs, comb in hand as she parted his hair while saying something to the kids only to jump when his hands lifted to her waist, clearly squeezing playfully. The smile on her face as she looked down and captured a kiss before gently tugging at his beard before resuming.

Roman's head back, lips slightly parted as she was curled into him, hand on his chest. On the family's private jet, clearly on the way home from one of their vacations. Both of their eyes shut as they stole a rare moment of the peace and quiet needed for a quick nap.

So many clips.

So many stolen moments, some of which, she hadn't even realized her kids captured on video.

So many memories.

By the time, it’s finished, Solana can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t anything. She’s overwhelmed and filled with an abundance of unnamed entities that have her heart heavy, her stomach tight, and her hand over her chest. It’s a trick of the mind, she’s certain, but she can almost feel the thud of her heart against her shaky palm. Her eyes burn and jaw trembles. It’s only as the sight ahead of her becomes blurry and the weight travels down to her legs that she has to move.

Has to find escape, her legs carrying her out of the living room and to the back of the townhouse, through the kitchen and out the back sliding door.

Her vision remains disrupted, big gasps of breath taken to inhale as much of the fresh air as she can handle, but it’s a shaky process. Her inability to regulate her breathing fueled by the sob making its way up the back of her throat. She continues to walk, feet carrying her into the patch of grass the outlines the patio and recently uncovered pool.

The same grass that cushions her knees when she falls to the ground, one hand over stomach, the other covering her mouth as the sob finally breaks through the surface. She’s doubled over, emotions overflowing and manifesting in the way she wails loudly. Intermittent gasps and sharp intakes of breaths as crying battles with the crippling somatic sensations that feel an awful like the early stages of a panic attack.

It most likely is one, too.

It’d be the third one she’s had over the past week.

But new sensations, different yet familiar, gradually seep in and manage to de-escalate. A gentle touch, fingers grazing against her arms. A gentle tug that has her back against against something firm but soothing as the hands shift to where solid, strong arms circle her waist. Solana’s hands naturally fall on Roman’s forearms that secure and lock her to him.

It makes her stomach twist tighter and tears fall harder.

Neither stop her, however, from uttering the first real, authentic words to him since their disastrous therapy session. Any interactions and conversations since then have been forced, fake, and inauthentic.

There’s nothing inauthentic about the heartbroken words that she manages to force out in between gut wrenching crying. “I’m sor—I’m sor—”

“Sol—”

“We’ve—we’ve built a life t—together.” It’s a life she never envisioned for herself. Before Roman, Solana didn’t see herself making it to thirty. But because of him, she’d had her first set of kids by thirty. “I can’t lose—that. I can’t lose you.”

Despite the tightness in her chest and the way her eyes burn from how much she’s cried over the past few two weeks, she manages to channel enough strength to turn to look at him.

It’s like looking at herself. A different side of herself. Harder, stronger, firmer. A pillar. The other and best parts of her in so many ways.

His glossed eyes burn into her, hand lifting to palm her cheek. “Solana—”

“You’re my best friend.” She sniffles, shaking her head as his thumb brushes away her tears. “I don’t know how to do life without you, Roman, and the fact that one day, a day that's sooner rather than farther, is a reality that I will have to face terrifies me. I don’t—" Another deep, sharp intake of breath that makes her chest tighten and shoulders slump once more. "I should have told you about the pregnancy."

"Sol—"

"I hated—hated lying to you. I—I shouldn't have, but I—I thought if I could—if I could spare you from feeling that pain, then—then I was going to do that for you. All you've ever done is protect me, and I—I wanted to be the one to protect you for once. "But in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter anymore. It was selfish of her to keep such a thing from Roman. Yes, just as she stated, she wanted nothing more than to protect her husband the way he'd always protected her. Intentions, however, matter not in the face of the outcome and reality. She was wrong, and there's no way around that. Plain and simple.

She bites down on her bottom lip, realizing that this is the moment to lay it all out. Good, bad, whatever it may be, Roman is more than deserving of the truth. He always was.

"For almost twenty years, there wasn't a single day where I wasn't haunted by the —the memories of my rape or—or my mother's murder, and sometimes—sometime both." Solana manages a shaky breath, powering through it all. "I couldn't help it. Couldn't control it. But that…that I could. I—I know you don't believe me, but I hadn't thought about it in years, Roman." She lifts her eyes to his once more, having to push back the next wave of tears just beyond the horizon. "When—when we got pregnant with Nicky, when we had him, I pushed it so far to the back of my mind that it wasn't until we were arguing—"

And just like in the days following both the discovery and the loss, an immense weight on her chest and in her heart. That weighs her down and makes her desperate to reach for something. For someone. Because there wasn't a day that passed that Solana didn't want to tell Roman, didn't want to share the truth as to why they couldn't be intimate. What'd happened. What they'd lost.

But she didn't. And that is a mistake she will have to carry with her for the rest of her life. A mistake that she'll regret for the rest of her life.

Looking at him once more, seeing the emotion dancing in his eyes, a rare display and reflection of vulnerability that's never felt stronger, Solana is overcome once more.

“I love you.”

A combination and accumulation of everything that’s transpired over the past two weeks. Emotions that have deprived her of peace, stripped her of calm and layered her with the weight of loss.

Solana’s children have always been her greatest source of joy, but the fact of the matter is that she has them because of him. Because of Roman.

And as frustrated and upset as she’s been with him, that she was, the bulk of her emotions hasn’t been anger.

It’s been hurt.

A type of pain that she hasn’t experienced in years. Old wounds gradually and torturously ripped open that, prior to this, she was sure she’d healed from. A level of unhealthy codependency.

She would never ever do anything to hurt herself. Would never do that to her kids, nor does she have any desire to not be alive.

But….

There’a sick, twisted feeling that’s sat with her since that session. Since Roman more or less, and maybe she did, too, confirm that their marriage is over. A feeling she hasn't experienced since before he entered her life. Before he turned her existence into living. And just the thought of that living not including him in any sort of capacity….it's something she can't bear.

She can’t. It's why her initial approach to the deeper reason as to why she reacted so strongly to learning of his stroke was traded in for another heavy truth that needed to be addressed. Upsetting to discuss, of course, but not nearly debilitating as that truth.

"I know…" She closes her eyes, hand over his that's still on and hasn't left her face. Same with his intense stare and the presence of his body before her as they remain on the ground, unmoving and frozen in space and time. "I know you're upset with me, and—and that you don't want to see me, s—"

"Solana."

It's not like it's the first attempt he's made to speak in the midst of her verbal catharsis, but something about the pleading undertone of his deep voice penetrates through her dense wall of contrition, regret, and remorse. She blinks away the next set of tears, incapable of ignoring the wave of relief that stems from him looking at her, touching her even, in a way he hasn't in weeks. His regard and disposition towards her, as well as hers towards him, have been nothing short of frigid. But the warmth felt from his touch, seen in his face, and heard in his voice almost instantly melts away the icebergs that formed perimeters around her heart.

And perhaps maybe his.

One hand dips to her waist as Solana realizes at some point in the midst of her sentiment fueled soliloquy, he'd angled them so that her body was facing his. The press of his fingers into her skin as he gently tugged her close made something thud in her chest. A precursor for what would follow following his next statement.

His eyes narrow, gleaming with intensity and adoration she hadn't realized she'd been craving and yearning for so deeply. The absence of his affection has been a sort of torture she hadn't realized she was gradually succumbing to in the midst of their impasse. "All I see is you." Her lips part as a shaky exhale is lost in the midst of her anguish and relief at words that carry more weight than anyone outside of herself and the man in front of her could ever know or understand. "You said you can't lose me, right?" The faintest, smallest hint of a smile weighed down by reciprocated sentiment is preceded by the way he shakes his head in a small, subtle motion. "Well, that makes two of us, cause I can’t be without you, either.”

The combination of the words, the emotions, and the echoing of her own vulnerable confession, is what forces the next wave to the surface. And Solana will never deny that there's a continued theme of selfishness as she throws her body against his, allowing him to hold and cradle the back of her head as she sobs into his chest. Recognizes that there's certainly some level of relief he also feels at this devastating rough patch of theirs finding some sort of path to resolution in comparison to the alternative that was dangerously close to being the final decision. But it, if she had to guess, doesn't outweigh what weight is pulled from off her as he once again reiterates his love for her.

"Tell—tell me—" she hiccups, grasping at his shirt once more. "Tell me what to do to fix this. I'll do—I'll do anything, Roman. Just….just tell me what you need me to do." And she means it. Whatever frustration and anger still lingers towards his concealment of the stroke is heavily outweighed by her desire to heal. To fix.

Whatever it takes.

"We need to get away," he finally answers and pulls back to look down at her. She continues to hold onto his shirt, as if release means releasing him as well. Never. Roman lifts his hand to stroke the top of her head. "This weekend. Leya and Rashad can watch Aubrey and Tavita." Solana nods, her willingness to blindly accept not even allowing her to consider who would watch their youngest set of kids. But of course, Roman is already several steps ahead. He's always been the one to plan and arrange so she doesn't have to. Always done everything he can to make her life as easy as possible.

But ease doesn't exist in her world without him.

She can't imagine a world without him.

"And we'll talk," he continues. Her eyes flutter shut once more when he lies his forehead against hers, minty breath fanning her face. "Okay?"

In perhaps most settings, the promise to "talk" would ignite a massive wave of anxiety. But for Solana, it's exactly what she needs to hear. Exactly what they need to do. Should have done a long time ago. Such a simple but powerful necessity to maintain and sustain a marriage. A marriage she's not willing to give up on. She won't.

She can't.

Whatever it takes.

Nodding in acknowledgement, she can't stop herself from moving her arms around him, holding him as another round of tears accompany her heartfelt, "I love you."