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Once we hung up, I texted Justice.

Me: Aria’s in labor. She’s alone. I’m going to the hospital.

Immediately he called me back.

“You going where?” I could hear the anger in his voice.

“She asked me to come,” I responded.

“After all that shit?”

“I know. But I need to talk to her about Keenan.”

“You think now’s the time?”

“She’s vulnerable right now. I just want her to sign her rights to my son over,” I replied.

He exhaled while I gathered my things.

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Security stays with you the whole time. I mean that,” he instructed.

“Of course.”

“And you call me if anything changes.”

“I will.”

I gave the driver the address and sat back while he pulled away from the café.

I wasn’t sure which part of me Aria was getting today. The sister who remembered braiding her hair before school was still somewhere in there. So was the woman who wanted to spit in her face again.

By the time we got to her room, she was crying through a contraction.

“Melody.”

She reached for me before I got close to the bed. I took her hand, and she squeezed so hard I had to shift my rings.

For the next few hours, I did what the nurses asked. I helped Aria sit forward when she needed to, counted while she pushed, and wiped her face with a cool cloth.

Once, she grabbed my wrist and told me she couldn’t do it.

“You’re already doing it,” I told her. “Come on. Listen to her.”

The nurse started counting, and I joined in.

I remembered staring at a hospital ceiling while Roman acted irritated that my labor was taking so long. I knew that giving birth to Justice’s baby would be different.

I pushed the memory aside when Aria cried out again.

“You’re doing good,” I encouraged.

When her daughter finally cried, Aria started sobbing so hard I thought something was wrong. Then they laid the baby against her, and my sister kept saying hello in a voice I hadn’t heard from her in years.

I stood beside the bed with the cloth still in my hand.