“I’ve read the letter,” he said. “I’ve known for months.”

Her mouth opened, then closed.

“I knew everything,” he said. “And I chose to stand with the person who actually raised me.”

She looked between us, searching for a crack, for a way in.

She found none.

“After everything I’ve done for this family—” she began.

“You’ve done nothing,” I said. “You took. That’s all you ever did. And now I’m asking you to leave.”

“You can’t be serious.”

She stood up, her hands shaking with something between fury and disbelief.

She snatched her scarf from the couch and turned toward the door.

At the threshold, she paused and looked back at us.

Whatever she saw in our faces made her keep walking.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence settled over the living room, warm and steady, like a breath finally released.

Lucas turned to me, eyes shining.

“You were always enough. You know that, right?”

I pulled him into a hug, and for the first time in eight years, I did not feel like I was barely holding on.

“We did it,” I whispered. “We really did it.”

He laughed softly against my shoulder.

And in the quiet that followed, I finally believed him.