My phone buzzed. A text from Aria: *Can't sleep. Thank you again. For everything. I love you.*
I smiled and typed back: *I love you too. Sleep well. You're safe now.*
And she was. They all were.
I'd make sure of it.
I got out of the car and headed inside, ready to check on my daughter, ready to sleep soundly for the first time in weeks.
The case was closed. The threat was neutralised. My family was protected.
In the courtroom, I'd call that a win.
In life, I called it everything.
Twenty-Eight
Aria
The irony wasn't lost on me as I stood in my apartment watching Gabriel direct two burly movers on where to place my newly purchased couch.
"A little to the left," he instructed, his cop voice coming through. "No, your other left."
He'd given me a complete apartment makeover for Christmas—new furniture, fresh paint, the works. It was gorgeous. Modern but cosy, with soft grays and warm wood tones that made the space feel twice as big. He'd even had my landlord agree to let him repaint.
And I was moving out.
"You know this is ridiculous, right?" I said, unable to keep the smile off my face.
Gabriel turned to me, his expression sheepish. "I know. But I wanted you to have it anyway. For when you need space, or..." He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. "I just wanted you to have something that was yours. That you chose."
My heart squeezed. Even now, after everything, he was thinking about what I needed.
"Besides," he continued, his lips quirking up, "we can donate most of it. There's a women's shelter that could use it."
"That's perfect," I said softly, crossing to him. I stood on my toes and kissed him. "Thank you. For understanding why I need to do this."
"You're not running away this time," he said, and it wasn't a question. "You're running toward something."
"Exactly."
The truth was, I'd never felt at home in this apartment. It had been a place to sleep, nothing more. A way station between my old life and whatever came next. I'd been so focused on survival—on making rent, on proving I could do it alone—that I'd never actually lived here.
But the houses where the dads and kids were? That's where I came alive.
A crash from the hallway made us both jump.
"I got it!" Wyatt's voice called out. "I'm okay!"
Gabriel and I rushed to the door to find Wyatt sitting in a pile of packing peanuts, grinning up at us. Mason stood next to him, looking guilty.
"We were trying to help," Mason explained, his little voice earnest. "But the box was slippery."
"I can see that," I said, biting back a laugh. The hallway looked like it had snowed Styrofoam. "How about you guys help me pack the kitchen instead? No more boxes in the hallway."
"Okay!" They scrambled up, packing peanuts clinging to their clothes and hair.
Gabriel shook his head, but he was smiling. "I'll get the vacuum."
