21. Chapter 21
Mia wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell.
Bringing Freddy home from the hospital had been like unleashing a whirlwind inside the Elizabethan house.
The first few days were a blur of pain medication schedules, ice packs, pillows constantly being rotated to support his legs, and a revolving door of follow-up appointments.
The hospital discharge nurse had rattled off instructions at lightning speed, as Mia had frantically scribbled notes she could barely read.
Luckily, Raffe had handled most of it—he seemed to already know what to ask, what to double-check, and when to push back.
And push he did.
Raffe took a week off from his mysterious job, claiming he needed to “handle family business,” and Mia hadn’t missed the wry expression on his face when he said it.
She still had no idea what he actually did for a living, but whatever it was, people listened when he called.
Papers were signed faster, appointments were scheduled sooner, and Freddy’s recovery seemed to go into overdrive.
Then, there was Jenny. The social worker had shown up with donuts one day, hot chocolate another day, and books or a new board game for Freddy to play while he was recovering.
Jenny seemed to genuinely care, and she had news: the other kids from the Fullers’ house had been placed in new, safer homes.
“I’ll continue to check in on them,” she promised, adjusting her glasses while jotting notes on her clipboard.
“Just to make sure no one slips through the cracks.” Freddy had listened quietly from the couch, his face blank, but Mia had caught the relief in the way his shoulders relaxed.
Yes, this was chaos. Absolute chaos. But heavenly chaos.
In the middle of it all, Raffe had taken control of their kitchen.
He cooked all week, refusing to let Freddy or Evangeline subsist on sugar and fried foods.
He teased and challenged them into trying grilled chicken, fresh fruit, even kale, disguising vegetables with spices until Freddy devoured them without complaint.
The boy was all in—determined, focused, eating every bite of broccoli like it was fuel for his future.
Evangeline, on the other hand, was another battle entirely.
At seventy-five, she had declared it her mission to sample every fast-food joint in the area—burgers, tacos, fried chicken, even a milkshake taste-test. Since she couldn’t drive, she had grudgingly compromised: one binge day a week, in exchange for healthy eating the other six.
Raffe had also convinced Evangeline to set an example for Freddy.
Since the boy needed to rebuild his upper body strength to prepare for physical therapy, she agreed to work out alongside him.
Freddy pumped heavier weights while Evangeline used smaller dumbbells, both grimacing and sweating in rhythm under Raffe’s watchful eye.
That was the heavenly part, Mia thought as she walked into the living room one afternoon.
The space had been transformed into a makeshift gym.
Evangeline, who had once seemed so frail and diminished in the nursing home, now sat upright with a pink resistance band in her hands, pulling with determination.
Freddy, focused and sweaty, was pushing through his reps with a gleam in his eyes.
He still couldn’t work out his leg, but he was busy lifting arm weights, saying he was getting mentally prepared for the next steps.
And Raffe—Raffe stood at the center of it all, coaching, correcting, encouraging. His voice was firm but patient, steady as a drumbeat.
It was chaos, yes. But maybe this was what heaven looked like—her grandmother strong again, Freddy hopeful again, and a man with shoulders broad enough to carry all of them when they stumbled.
Of course, it was also hell—because the more she watched Raffe move through her home as if he belonged there, the harder it became to remind herself that he didn’t.