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Ember’s face went soft.
“We’re lucky, Gabe,” she said. “This could’ve… this could’ve gone so much differently.”
I knew that.
Over the two years that Luca had been gone, we’d both done a lot of soul searching.
Nobody ever wants to hear that their son, their child that they were supposed to protect, was
missing or possibly hurt.
It’d been a very bad two years.
Rough—both emotionally and physically.
But our boy was back now.
And our baby now had a baby.
As I watched my son get his now-clean little girl, pulling her in close seconds after she was
placed in his arms, I knew without a doubt that he’d make the very best of fathers.
Much better than we could’ve ever hoped for.
Luca turned then, his face happy, and saw us.
He walked to us and I got the first chance to hold my new granddaughter in my arms.
Emotions like I’d never felt before poured through my chest at holding the third generation of
Maldonado in my arms.
Ember pulled her phone out and took a picture.
And for once, I didn’t care.
I smiled like a goddamn loon.
And so had my son.
My granddaughter, though?
She cried.
And I loved the picture all the more.
It now hung, front and center, in my office.
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