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I bite my lip. “With my mom. We have an estranged relationship, that’s another story, but he doesn’t know where she is and I thought that until this was…well…”
“Safe?” he finishes, and I nod. “Bring them here. I’ll start looking into this, and I’ll make sure he never puts a hand on you again, Harper. Just trust me.”
He pulls me in for a hug, and I cry into his shoulder, realizing that I do trust him.
We don’t have to run anymore.
19
HARPER
What was I thinking?
I can’t believe I told Antonio as much as I did last night, yet I also can’t help but feel a sense of…relief? I really do believe him when he says he’ll do anything to protect me. I think all of the boys will. And I’ve never felt like that before.
Still, my breath comes in short, ragged gasps as I gaze upon my childhood home. It’s nothing special, not even two stories. We didn’t have enough money to afford a house with stairs. A pang of nostalgia hits me as memories flood my mind. The house stands out like a sore thumb amidst the festive neighborhood, as if it refuses to partake in the joy and warmth of the season. Its dark windows and lack of decorations seem to mirror the coldness I feel in my chest.
I clench my fists, trying to steady my breathing. This was never going to be an easy confrontation, but I can’t put it off any longer. It’s time for me to face my mother, for better or for worse.
Benedict seems to sense my apprehension, his warm hand finding mine. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, gray eyes filled with determination as he asks, “Are you ready to face your mother?”
“Ready” is debatable, but I know that there’s no other choice. It’s time for my children to be reunited with their mother. I’ve missed them like crazy. I steel myself, focusing on the support that Benedict offers, and nod. “Yes, I have to be.”
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the car, feeling the cool winter air tingle against my skin.
The sound of laughter from inside the house sends a jolt through my heart. It’s my children—Olivia and Peter—their voices a symphony of happiness that I’ve missed more than anything else in this world. For a moment, I pause, soaking in the sweetness of their laughter before steeling myself for the confrontation ahead.
“Let’s do this,” I say, looking to Benedict for reassurance. He nods, his eyes locked on mine, full of determination and support.
I lift my hand, hesitating only briefly before knocking on the door—three short raps echoing through the quietness that the neighborhood offers.
“Who’s there?” my mother’s voice calls sharply from inside, her tone laced with irritation. In the background, my children’s laughter continues, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just outside their doorstep. My chest constricts at the thought of them caught in the middle of this conflict, but I know that I must see this through—for their sake, and for mine.
“Mom, it’s Harper,” I reply, my voice strained but steady. “I need to talk to you about the kids.”
For a few tense seconds, there’s only silence. Then, the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. I brace myself, ready for whatever may come next, my resolve unyielding.
“Harper, you have no right.” My mother’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife, her words dripping with venom. “You don’t deserve to be around them. Just leave.”
“Mom, please,” I beg, my voice cracking under the weight of her rejection. “I just want to see Olivia and Peter. I need to bring them home with me.”
“Carmen, we’re not leaving without them,” Benedict interjects, his voice firm but calm, clearly unwilling to back down.
“Stay out of this!” she snaps at him.
“Let’s just talk, Mom,” I plead, my heart aching for the family that lingers just beyond the barrier of this door. “Please, let me in.”
The door swings open, and my mother stands there with a deep frown etched into her face. Her cold eyes meet mine, and I feel as if she’s staring straight through me. “Leave, Harper,” she says sharply, her voice brittle.
“Mom, please—” I start to say, but the words die in my throat. My heart clenches at her sudden hostility, but I force myself to stand tall, determined not to be cast aside so easily.
Before my mother can slam the door shut, Hudson steps forward, wedging his foot firmly between the door and the frame. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, and his steel-blue eyes hold a spark of defiance that mirrors my own determination. “We’re not leaving yet,” he states firmly, his voice smooth, like molasses on gravel.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” my mother snaps, glaring at him with a mix of anger and indignation.
“Someone who cares about Harper and her children,” Hudson replies evenly, his gaze never wavering. “And we won’t leave until we’ve had a chance to talk.”
A bitter laugh escapes my mother’s lips as she shakes her head, her eyes glinting with condescension. “You think you deserve to be around your children after everything you’ve done?” she sneers, her words like a slap to the face.
