“I wonder where she is…”

Heaven feigns a loud sigh and blows out a dramatic breath, making the curls spilling over her face to fly forward before tossing down against her cheek. She pushes back a tendril and tucks it behind her ear. Shrugging and another feigned exhale accompany the way she looks at her nails. Short, almond, painted the perfect shade of white that matches the loose dress with flowy sleeves, a cinched waist, and brushes the top of her knees.

“I guess I won’t be able to find her…”

Her intentional announcement is accompanied by the way she carefully, slowly, and methodically takes step by step, the blades of forest green grass tickling the portion of skin exposed on her feet from her sandals. “I can’t believe she really beat me….” Continuing to lean into the performance, it’s only when she catches the the glimpse of an arm with a complexion several shades lighter than the tree she hides behind that Heaven makes her grand reveal.

“There she is!” 

The shout comes seconds after Heaven jumps forward and attempts to grab her. Happy, loud giggles as she breaks free from Heaven’s loose hold and starts to run away. Her little legs only taking her so far before Heaven grabs her again, this time the two of them falling into the ground.

The pasture absorbs their bodies like a memory foam pillow, molding around the curves of Heaven’s body as the little girl lays on top of her and continues to laugh happily from the way Heaven playfully tickles.

“You found me!” 

“I did,” Heaven’s smile deepens, her eyes narrowing from the fleeting glimpses of sun that rains down on her, peaking through the head of dark curls every time she writhes and wiggles from the tickle session.

It’s when she rolls over, however, and Heaven can feel the full strength of the sun that her smile settles, her shoulders sink deeper into the grass, and her eyes shut. There aren’t enough words to adequately describe the level of…peace she feels in this moment. The sun is bright but the heat is almost nonexistent. The aroma of fresh flowers that don’t crush under her weight but instead bow almost in reverence around their bodies. Faint whistles and swishing sounds of the wind brushing against the most beautiful example of God’s finest work that Heaven has ever seen.

Never an outside person, there’s nothing that she can list off as a con for the space that feels less like a pasture and more like a safe haven.

Rolls and valleys of endless greenery and forestry. There’s an aura that feels almost too good to be real. Like it contains and conveys a level of peace that defies and contrasts reality and what exists in the realm of capabilities. 

Heaven feels so….light.

She feels free.

The sort of free that one prays for but rarely ever achieves. 

At least….not in this life.

The laughter once more draws her focus as mischief flashes in her pretty eyes before she jumps up and starts to run off once more. Heaven’s smile deepens as she too sits up and starts to give chase when she stops. Turns her head just enough to where the breeze brushes past her hair, whipping it against her face as her brows start to cave inward and the smile falters.

Something…..

Something’s not right.

She continues to turn around, the peace that encompassed is now one that unsettles. It’s all so perfect. Too perfect.

And then she hears it. Hears the sound that makes her entire body still and toes dig into the ground that suddenly feels impossibly softer than before. As if it's adapted. As if it’s molding itself to her feet to keep her planted when her knees begin to wobble and balance falters. 

Giggles. 

That of a child. A little girl.

And not the one a few feet away.

“Macy…” 

Heaven turns around, eyes foraging the vast plains as if trying to seek out the voice. Seek her.

She starts to step forward when a small tug on her dress forces her to turn around. Heaven looks down to see the little girl staring up at her with that same gaze of excitement and with that happy smile that reveals a top and bottom row of small, perfectly straight, white teeth. Impossibly white, almost.

A recurring theme of this place, it seems.

Impossibility.

Releasing the fabric, she instead makes a beckoning motion with her fingers before reaching for Heaven’s hand, all five wrapping around and giving a light squeeze. 

It’s a grasp that the older woman allows, but it’s the extent of permission granted as Heaven plants her feet in the ground. The crumble of the young girl’s smile evokes a heavy lump in the back of Heaven's throat and births a weight that sits on her chest. Anchors her body down both physically and metaphorically, as she drops to her knees, hands to the child’s shoulders. 

She swallows, feeling that familiar burning sensation that’s intensified by the way the sun beams down on her. “You are an amazing little girl, sweetie.” Words that comes from a place she can’t identify, but it’s a place that feels familiar. Natural. Innate. “But I know another amazing little girl, and she needs me. She—she needs me more than you do.”

And Heaven needs her. Perhaps more than the other way around.

It’s a realization spurned simply from the sound of her daughter’s laughter. One of the best sounds in the world, and one that she can’t push from her head. Hears on repeat at a volume that feels like it only knows increase. 

But the space reserved for her sweet Macy is shared with concern for this girl in front of her who reminds her so much of her daughter. Heaven expects the disappointment that flashes in her eyes, but it’s when she briefly breaks away that the guilt forms. 

“Honey—”

Heaven stops when she realizes the girl isn’t going far. Just quickly scuffles a few feet away to a strip of flowers and picks two before quietly returning to Heaven who observes them with marvel and curiosity. It’s such a strange variation of which she’s never seen before. A crossbreed of roses and tulips. 

One pink and one blue.

But the curiosity travels when the girl reaches with her free hand and pushes past the swell of the material to touch Heaven’s stomach. It’s a touch that makes her gasp from the memory that instantly slams into her.

The baby…

For the first time since awaking in this sort of paradise, dread begins to seep in. But it’s monetarily paused when she watches the girl’s smile revive as she lifts her eyes to meet Heaven’s and offers the flowers that are easily and naturally accepted. Even as the confusion remains. 

“I don’t….” She stumbles. “I don’t und—”

Her small fingers rubbing gently against Heaven’s belly as she drops her eyes once more before lifting them and nodding happily. But once more, another unexpected act when the child lunges forward and hugs her.

Heaven’s shoulders instantly relax, the flowers still gripped in her hand as she returns the embrace. She closes her eyes, another wave of ardent emotion overtaking her. A sense of despondency and regret.

Like she doesn’t want to do this.

Like she doesn’t want to leave.

Like she doesn’t want to leave this little girl. Because leaving her almost feels like….it feels like she’s leaving Macy. 

But she’s not. She’s leaving her because of Macy.

So why does it feel like there isn’t much of a difference?

If any.

“It’s okay.” Heaven gasps as the child breaks her silence. Her small voice, light and pure, sounding and reminding her so much of Macy. “And it’s okay you didn’t keep me. I know you wanted to.” The quietest intake of breath is followed by the way Heaven's eyes shoot open, electricity dancing up her spine. Her fingers both somehow tingling and numb concurrently. 

What….what did she just say?

The little girl presses her body closer, as if wanting to mold the two of them together, to soak in and capture this moment as much as she possibly can. 

To never forget.

“Bye, mommy.” 

——————

A multitude of senses are triggered almost immediately and simultaneously, but the first thing that Heaven can detect in this new realm of consciousness are the sounds. A variety of them, most of which are sounded out by a consistent, regulated beep that’s both familiar and disconcerting. That discomfort is exacerbated by the way she struggles to open her eyes, several flutters and focused efforts needed to lift and maintain. An uphill battle similar to that of pushing a large boulder up the steep heel of setbacks but one she overcomes and largely because of the new sound that’s added to her immediate environment. 

“Heaven?”

Another familiar sound that's partially drowned out in the midst of Heaven also becoming more aware of her surrounding. The sounds. The sterile, non-existent smell in the room. The heaviness of her body and cool, foreign sensations up and down her arms. A throbbing one near her right shoulder. She manages a deep breath through her still closed mouth when the view of the still slightly blurred television is replaced with a set of eyes similar to her own.

Her mom’s.

“Oh, thank God.” Heaven groans lowly as her mother reaches to caress the top of her head, watery eyes locked on her. “My beautiful girl.”

Blinking several times over, Heaven continues to work to reach the point where she can communicate, but the grogginess is consistent and persistent. Awareness intermittent, to a certain extent. Enough to where she hears and sees the way her mother briefly turns her head and calls for a nurse before she’s focused on her daughter once more. “Heaven, do you know where you are?”

Heaven offers a small nod, and it might be the easiest thing she’s done. A hospital. She’s in a hospital. 

But why?

And because Shelia Jackson is nothing short of sharp—if not psychic—she reads the question that doesn’t even need to be asked. 

“Honey….” Heaven observes the subtle motion in the middle of her mother’s neck, a small bulge forming and disappearing. A swallow. A deep one. “You were attacked—”

Perhaps additional words follow the word ‘attacked,’ but it’s all incoherent mush that’s barely audible amidst the rush of memories that slam into Heaven with enough force to send her back if she wasn’t already lying down.

The fire.

Macy. 

Jey.

The hotel.

Roman.

Macy. 

Whatever time has passed since her entire world began to crumble before her very eyes is suddenly filled with horrifying remembrance of what initially brought her to the hospital. 

And she doesn’t mean her own admission.

“Macy,” Heaven croaks, a sting in the back of her throat as she forces herself to speak for what must be the first time in—how long has she been asleep? “Where—where’s Macy?”

An attempt to sit up brings about a sharp, sudden pain in her shoulder as Shelia drops her hand to Heaven’s forearm.

“Careful, baby. You—” She stops, Heaven’s furrowed brows lifting to meet her mother’s eyes once more. “You were shot.”

Once more, a stillness that halts her movements and attempted efforts at answers. Heaven….remembers it. Remembers being at the hotel, at hearing a knock at the door, expecting to see the woman in front of her on the other side. 

It wasn’t.

It was someone else she thought she knew. Someone she thought she loved. And maybe she did. But whatever love existed for the man she’s spent the better part of her life with died the moment he left her baby inside that burning building.

And once more, Heaven casts aside any thoughts and considerations for herself. She can work through that later. 

She needs to get to her daughter.

She needs to get to Macy. 

Heaven attempts to snatch her arm away from her mom, ignoring the stinging sensation of the IV in her arm shifting from the sudden movements. Shelia presses her lips together as Heaven continues to find her voice. “Where’s Macy?” 

Shelia opens her mouth, her own sympathetic expression unchanging when rushed footsteps draws the focus of both mother and daughter. Shelia straightens as Heaven remains steadfast in her efforts to, one, get up, and two, get up to find her daughter. Regardless of the nurses and doctor moving towards her.

The doctor, an older man with a balding head and crows eyes but a seemingly genuine disposition, steps closer. His voice calm and soothing. “Mrs. Uso—”

“I want to see my daughter,” she interrupts, uncaring of feigning pleasantries for the sake of it. Being nice and displaying manners is the last fucking thing on her mind. “Where—”

An additional set of hands and the feeling of being surrounded and overwhelmed heighten Heaven’s anxiety, as words and fragmented sentences continue to float in and out.

“….bullet missed the heart and lungs….”

“………significant blood loss…..”

“……hemorrhagic shock……”

“………..emergency surgery….....”

“……,…babies are stable….....”

“……..two days……”

All of it is relevant information, of that, Heaven is certain, but it’s the last portion of shared information that sticks with her and answers just one of her many questions. One that is near the top of the importance list.

“Two days?” She breathes, realizing only then on top of administering information as the nurses inspected her, he was also asking her a set of basic questions she’d apparently answered in the midst of growing internal panic. “I—I’ve been out for two days?”

Shelia, standing closely, hand on the railing of the hospital bed, opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by her daughter once more as another realization returns to Heaven.

“Macy….we—we’re supposed—supposed to know—” She shakes her head, ignoring the rising level of physical pain and discomfort in her body and face as certain facial motions evoke a stinging, throbbing sensation in her cheek. “Where’s Macy!” 

Because Heaven remembers. Recalls the conversation with Macy’s medical team. If she’s been unconscious for two days now, then that means it’s either time or close to the time where they should have a better understanding of Macy’s status.

If she sustained any brain damage. 

And if so….how severe.

Determination and resilience sometimes result in success, as is the case when Heaven finally manages to sway the doctor. Her mother’s cosign in the form of a whispered statement to the doctor also being a helpful additive. If the situation were different, Heaven would perhaps press on what was said, but it’s inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. 

The only thing that Heaven cares about, the only thing that matters, is seeing her baby girl.

That’s it.

It’s what remains the constant in the back, front, and all over her mind as she’s helped out of the bed and into a wheelchair that’s brought in a few minutes later. The journey from her room to the pediatric ward of the ICU includes the accompanying of her mother, two nurses, one who pushes her in the wheelchair and the other who guides the IV pole. Assisted ambulation eventually guiding Heaven to her destination. 

Energy shifts the minute she’s wheeled into the room as if making way and place for her arrival. Dread rebuilds and returns with a startling vengeance as the discomfort that’s floated through her body in a variety of ways since her return to consciousness is no longer germane in place of a greater calamity. The room, roughly the same size as the one she was excerpted from, suddenly feels so much smaller with the congregation of bodies. White coats. Scrubs. Machines galore making the same sounds she awoke to. All surrounding the bed to where the only thing she can make out is the thin, white sheets, faint outline of short legs, and slightly elevated feet. Hushed whispers and a set of eyes that land on her, wearing a variety of expressions. But it’s two in particular that capture her focus longer than the rest, that briefly distract her from attempts to obtain a better view of her baby.

“Heaven….”

Roman is the first to speak, Nathan only a few feet away, but Heaven locks gazes with the elder of the two, and her stomach twists into an abundance of knots. Flashes of their last interaction—the hotel, Jey, the gun—once more another flood of memories. Ones that she briefly remembered when she came to but shoved aside for the sake of her child. But only a few feet away from the man whose last statements to her were ones of disgust and hurt is another story. She can’t look way nor can she ignore how…..tired exhausted he looks. Deep, dark bags under his eyes. Frizzy hair lazily pulled back unlike the neat but he’s always ensured to perfect before leaving the house. Even his attire, the wrinkled fabric of his shirt and sweat pants, visibly thrown on in haste and with little regard for appearance, it’s so….unlike him. But it makes all the sense. 

He’s exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Truth be told, Heaven wouldn’t be surprised if he’s simply a reflection of herself with marginal differences.

Roman steps forward as Heaven squeezes her mom’s hand and holds onto the nurses forearm with her other hand while they help her to her feet. He gaze flicks between the two of them, unspoken communication as she naturally reaches for him, fingers snapping around his forearm. She swallows, an array of words needing to be spoken, truthful, honest communication never having a more appropriate time to be had. But once more, it’s a necessity that must be shoved to the back burner.

Her eyes water as he lifts one hand to her face that Heaven is almost certain must be slightly swollen, on top of bruised, given the flashes of intermittent pain that accompany her speech. “Macy…”

He mimics her motion, a prominent bulge and disappearance in the middle of his neck. “They’re about to wean her sedation to see….”

His inability to continue is all the answer she needs. 

Heaven can’t allow herself to think about the reason why for his difficulty in completing his answer. 

She motions with her chin towards the bed where Macy lays, offering a small smile to her nephew who simply returns the gesture with a small nod and a flash of regret in his warm eyes. Heaven recalls her last interaction with him, too, and mentally adds him to the list of people she needs to speak with. 

Just one of many. But as Roman assists her to Macy’s bedside, her mom and the nurse guiding her IV pole close behind, the emotion that was already brewing reaches its boiling point.

A sharp intake of breath when she looks down at her baby girl, eyes closed, face still scuffed up, arm still wrapped, far too many wires connected to her. Far too many medical personnel surrounding her. She shouldn’t be here. In this bed. In this sterile room. In this situation.

This should have never happened.

“Mrs.—”

“Heaven,” she corrects, hand trembling as she reaches to stroke Macy’s cheek before flitting her gaze to the doctor. “It’s just Heaven.”

He nods before offering a gentle explanation as to the steps seconds away from commencing. Similair to what Roman said, just verbalized in a mixture of medical and regular terminology. But it’s when the actions are initiated that Heaven’s chest feels like it’s about to cave in on itself. Seconds that feel as if they’re being stretched into hours. Announcement of each task accompanied by Heaven’s grip on Roman’s forearm tightening, her eyes, as well as his, never once leaving Macy’s peaceful expression. 

They’re paralyzed and frozen in time waiting and watching with a shared level of trepidation mingled in with burning hope.

Because in that moment, it’s all they have. 

“Macy,” Heaven whispers, stomach clenching as she works to find her voice. It doesn’t matter that Macy’s hair, pulled back and tucked under her head, reveal the absence of her hearing aids. Heaven isn’t speaking to Macy for her to hear. She’s speaking to Macy for her to feel. “Baby, you gotta wake up. Mommy…mommy and daddy are here waiting for you.” Though her focus is on her child, her eyesight doesn’t need to be set on the man beside her to know that he has a visible reaction to her words. Barely an hour out of her own sedation, Heaven also doesn’t need to have regained control of all her faculties to know that this is the first time she’s ever openly referred to him as such. 

As Macy’s father. 

She continues, ignoring the pain from her shoulder as she bends over, the arm of the bed digging into her stomach. “I came back for you, May May.” Her voice cracks. “Now I need you to come back for me.” 

Another reaction to poignant words, from both her lover and mother, are lost in the sea of irrelevance at the sight of something. Subtle. So so subtle and minimal that Heaven is partially surprised she can make it out through her blurred vision. And for a moment, she questions herself. Questions if her desire is overpowering her sense.

And then it happens again. 

That same motion with increased visibility that’s caught by others as well, Roman’s deep voice whispering from beside her.

“Macy?” 

Once more, voices are drowned out as Heaven feels the weight in her stomach dropping and caving when visible progression results into fluttering. Macy’s eyes begin to flutter, each motion evoking sounds from around but none more than her parents who stand her bedside. 

“Macy?” Heaven cries and watches as her little girls eyelids fully lift and remain open, granting the room with a set of soft brown eyes that haven’t been seen in almost three days. Heaven has to grip Roman’s arm once more to keep from fainting. The shock of her awaking temporarily halts what would be the most logical next step for her parents as the doctor says something that's lost in the midst of endless relief. 

Her lips press together, lines creasing in her forward, the faintest hint of a scowl similar to that of when she’s awoken premature from a nap. Confused. She looks confused, and understandably so. 

But as a nurse begins to sign what would be the start of a basic line of questioning, Macy’s eyes instead flick to the left where her teary eyed parents stand beside her overcome with joy. 

Joy so overwhelming that Heaven can barely make out what Roman says as he shifts just enough to lean over and kiss Macy’s forehead. But it doesn’t stop her, nor him, from following the length of Macy’s non injured arm as her fingers flex. Similar, small baby steps that lead up to the way she lifts her arms just enough to sign with her hands. Slow, laggard movements, tension in her fingers from days of non-movement causing her to take longer than usual, but the result is so so worth it. 

Mommy

Another heartfelt sob erupts from Heaven’s mouth right as Macy’s eyes shift to the left, to Roman, and her fingers makes a different motion. Her fingers move a smidge quicker than before. 

Daddy

Heaven places her hand over her heart, issuing an abundance of silent prayers as the tension of the room immediately melts away to make way for immense gratitude. If not for the vast amount of relief felt at Macy awake and coherent, perhaps Heaven would have focused more on it. Sensed the swell of emotion from beside her at Macy's acknowledgement.

The acknoweldgment of her father.

Her real father.

But it’s the final signing she does that allow humor to mingle in with gratefulness.

Cookie. 

Only then as several of the adults in room break into light laughter does Heaven start to tune back into the conversations at hand. The nurse who was signing with Macy cracks a small, meaningful smile. She talks while signing. “I definitely think we can see about getting you some cookies, sweetie.” 

At that, Roman clears his throat, still caressing the top of Macy’s head as Heaven reaches for her hand. “No. It’s….it’s her stuffed animal.”

“She doesn’t go anywhere without it,” Heaven finishes. Nathan and her mother move closer, attempting to interact with Macy whose hands have returned to her side, her expression unchanged. But the mere fact that Heaven is looking into her baby girl’s open eyes instead of them closed and indicating an outcome from the worst sort of nightmare is more than enough for her. 

The doctor begins to task the nurse with signing a set of basic questions for Macy, most of which, Heaven is sure, is standard protocol. Most likely to gauge her level of awareness, though her being able to identify her parents is more than enough for Heaven.

Macy simply being awake is more than enough for Heaven. 

With everything transpiring, the array of voices filling the room that’s suddenly far less morose than when she initially entered, Heaven is moderately surprised when she overhears a set of footsteps. Perhaps it’s the almost rushed pace, or maybe it’s the lingering essence of always being daddy’s little girl that has her turn around to see her father enter. But it’s the way he stands closer to the door, away from Macy’s bedside and how he beckons over her mother that gives Heaven pause. Especially when she watches the way her mother’s smile dips and transitions into a confused frown as she walks over. 

Her attention is especially secured when her father angles his and Shelia’s body away, not once seeming to pay attention to the fact that Macy, his only grandchild, is awake. Ignoring her is one thing, but Macy?

Concern spikes, however, when, even without seeing their faces, Heaven can infer from their tense postures that something….something is wrong. 

That nagging, uncomfortable feeling dancing up her spine as she speaks up. “What is it?” 

And the feeling intensifies when her parents turn to her and cook up the quickest, most insincere “nothing” that she shoots down immediately. “What is it?”

Shelia presses her lips together. “Heaven.”

“Tell me.” 

Heaven doesn’t intend to raise her voice as much as she does. She especially doesn’t intend to snatch away the focus from Macy via Nathan and Roman’s confused expressions, but Macy’s lack of her hearing aids leave her oblivious to the conversation at hand.

Thus, Heaven pushing once more. Something in the base of her stomach tells her that she needs to. That she can’t and shouldn’t accept whatever excuse or lie her parents want to feed her for the sake of avoiding whatever fallout the truth may carry with it. 

That’s what caused all this mess in the first place.

But the truth that’s disclosed is a truth she could have never anticipated.

“They found him,” her father answers. “They found Jey.”

Something about hearing his name sends chills up Heaven’s spine. Evokes a myriad emotions. Anger dominating them all. But the anger is shoved aside in favor of clarification. “What—what do you mean they found him?” 

Heaven remembers Jey attacking her. Recalls the struggle for the gun. Everything after that is nothing more than a blank page, but in her mind, Jey should be locked up somewhere. He attacked her. Tried to kill her. Almost killed her daughter.

He should be buried under that damn jail. 

“He went on the run after….” Shelia trails off, her husband taking her hand as he offers a small nod.

“They located him though. Received an anonymous tip,” he continues. The pause, however, increases Heaven’s anxiety. The omission of what she would guess is a key piece of information having her press once more.

“What—”

“He was shot, Heaven,” he finally answers, voice void of any emotions and the concern in his eyes undoubtedly reserved for her and Macy. But primarily her and having to share such jarring news. “They found him unconscious. Beaten and shot. He’s apparently in critical condition. It doesn't look good. They don’t think he's going to—”

She’s unsure if it’s the way she turns her head away, staring at the ground, working to process the information, that makes her father pause in his explanation. Most likely. It’s certainly not from being choked up or holding any ounce of remorse or grief.

Jey’s sins are far too great and grave for her to extend any sort of compassion. Empathy has limitations, and Jey reached his the moment he left her daughter in their burning home. Perhaps the shock of what occurred has her in a state of emotional paralysis, but him attacking her, trying to kill her, isn’t even what drives her fury with him. It’s Macy. His crimes against Macy are unforgivable. 

Though lack of empathy doesn’t deprive her brain from springing out several thoughts, most of which circle around a single word.

Who.

Who attacked Jey?

It’s an unasked question, however, that still has little to no emotion attached to it. 

Nothing that Heaven actually feels. Truth be told, she’s not exactly sure what she feels. At least not until she happens to look behind her, wanting to ensure that Macy, though not physically possible, has not overheard news Heaven hasn’t the slightest idea how she’s going to break to her sweet little girl. 

Especially if….

But it’s halted when two other expressions snag her focus. 

Roman and Nathan. Twins in so many different ways, their personalities and dispositions almost identical. The first few seconds reveal brief, minor distinctions that, if not for how well she knows both father and son, she could have easily missed. The subtle tick of Roman’s jaw and motion of his bushy brows, weary eyes flashing with something unidentifiable. Similarly, there’s a discreet rise and fall of Nathan's shoulders followed by his mouth shifting before his expression lands in the same place as his father’s. Identical, nonchalant, calm, stoic look on their faces. And while she certainly wouldn’t expect either to emote any sort of despair or sorrow, it’s the lack of something she would expect to see that makes her still.

Shock.

They don’t….they don’t look shocked. 

Not even a little.

And there’s something unsettling about that for completely different reason. Something that has her stomach in knots and spurns widespread disquiet. “What—“

An interrupted, unasked question lost in the midst of another sound inserted into the commotion of the room, voices layered over one another, but that consternated tone overpowering the rest.

“Macy?”

Her daughter’s name being called is what forces Heaven to return her focus to her child, the sight of which immediately makes her stomach churn.

“Macy.”

Macy doesn’t respond though, and her silence isn’t due to the lack of her hearing aids and thus inability to hear. It’s because of the sudden, jerking motions of her body as medical staff swarm around her right as several of the machines connected to her baby start alarming loudly and frantic, some slow and intermittent, some speedily and with urgency that matches that of the team around her.

“She’s seizing.” 

“Her oxygen is dropping.” 

“She’s coding.” 

“Clear the room now!”

All sentences that whip past Heaven as she attempts to close the distance between her and her innocent baby, the view completely obscured by scrubs and a white coat. Arms and hands moving and reaching with purpose and necessity, some of which, however, serve as barriers.

“Macy!” 

It’s an out-of-body experience, the heartfelt sound of her baby’s name ripped from her mouth. From Roman’s. Both of them being restrained and forced away from a scene neither can look away from. Their efforts valiant and without respite, even as Heaven feels the sharp pain of the IV ripping out from her arm what with her desperate flailing and swinging of her arms against the nurses holding her back. Her and Roman's voice nothing but heartbreaking echoes of the deepest sort of terror as they scream for their child.

“MACY!”  

And similar to the same sight that haunted her that night, as she once more poured every ounce of energy in her body to get to her daughter, Heaven. continues to push. As does Roman. They continue to fight and resist. Tenacity undeterred as the cacophony of noise is usurped by a single, continuous, uninterrupted sound. 

A flatline.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⟡ ＮＥＸＴ⟡

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐚𝐦⠀— 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

“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.”

“Mickey,” 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."