Chapter 15 - Always
Ten years later.
The rain in Chicago fell in a steady, rhythmic sheet, drumming against the large Gothic windows of the brownstone library.
Maya sat in a comfortable wingback armchair by the fireplace, a thick manuscript resting in her lap. The gold-embossed title on the cover read: The Architecture of Silence: Understanding Trauma and Recovery in Children.
She wore a soft cashmere sweater, silver streaks threading gracefully through her dark hair, carrying the quiet, confident elegance of a woman who had spent the last decade building a renowned career as a youth advocate and clinical social worker.
Across the room, the heavy oak door creaked open.
A tall, broad-shouldered young man with dark brown hair and an easy smile stepped inside, shaking out a wet umbrella. He wore a crisp university blazer, carrying a heavy stack of art history textbooks under his arm.
Seventeen-year-old Noah Moretti paused, wiping his shoes on the mat, and looked across the room.
"Hey, Mom," Noah said easily, the word rolling off his tongue with natural, effortless affection—a word he had chosen years ago and never stopped using.
Maya smiled, setting her manuscript aside. "How was your art history final at Northwestern?"
"Brutal," Noah groaned good-naturedly, tossing his backpack onto the sofa and dropping into a chair opposite her. "Prof wanted a ten-page analysis on Renaissance structural dynamics in under two hours. But I survived."
"Of course you did," a deep, familiar voice rumbled from the doorway.
Vincent stepped into the library, his dark hair touched with silver at the temples, wearing a comfortable cardigan over a collared shirt. The jagged scar on his jaw remained, but the eyes above it were entirely at peace—the eyes of a man who had won the only war that ever truly mattered.
Vincent walked over to Maya’s chair, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the top of her head before resting his hand on her shoulder. He looked down at his son with a quiet, fierce pride.
"He's got your stubbornness, Maya," Vincent chuckled. "There's no way he didn't pass."
"I did pass, Dad," Noah rolled his eyes with a grin, standing up and stretching. "Actually, I'm heading out to meet some friends for dinner. I'll be back before curfew."
"Drive safe," Vincent instructed. "And call if you need anything."
"Always," Noah said, offering a quick wave before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door, the heavy front door clicking shut behind him with a soft, secure thud.
The library settled back into its comfortable, warm silence, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the steady drumming of the rain against the glass.
Vincent pulled a small chair close to Maya's armchair, sitting down and taking her hand in his. He laced his fingers through hers, exactly as he had done on the curb, in the armored car, and beneath the floral arbor years ago.
"Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Moretti," Vincent murmured softly.
Maya looked from the flickering fire up into her husband's dark, loving eyes. She smiled, squeezing his hand.
"I was just thinking about that sandwich," Maya said quietly.
May you like
Vincent raised an eyebrow, a fond smile touching his lips. "The turkey on dense rye?"
"The best investment I ever made," Maya whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder as the rain washed over the city outside, safe, warm, and home at last.
