Varina Ryder

Dominic Reynolds, man just as handsome as ever.  Varina didn’t move right away, just studied him for a second longer before she finally got up and stepped closer, “Hey there stranger,” she greeted him easily, like the years had only stretched the distance instead of erased it. A faint, knowing smile tugged at her mouth as she leaned lightly against the bar nearby. “I guess the rumor is true. The prodigal son returns. How long has it been, Dom?”

She only woke up to it. Morning light, phone already lit with messages she hadn’t asked for, names and screenshots and half-finished jokes that weren’t jokes anymore. By the time she sat up, the story had grown teeth overnight. Ashton, March, speculation dressed up as certainty, and someone’s inevitable tagging of sports pages like someone throwing a match into dry grass and pretending they didn’t mean to start a fire, then a response with careless “whoopsies” as if it was entertainment instead of her son’s life being dragged into headlines before he even had the chance to speak on it himself.

So when she text him, it was out of intention. Varina had already chosen how she was going to meet this. When he finally arrived, she opened the door gently, not rushing him, not weighing him down with panic. “Hey,” she said softly, stepping aside to let him in, her eyes steady on his face. “I saw it this morning…but I’m not here to react to gossip.” A pause, warm and deliberate. “I’m here for you. Tell me where you’re at with all of this, and we’ll figure out how to handle it together.”