Chapter 20
Vivian
Years passed.
Matteo got a little sister, then another. The house was never quiet—there were always toys on the floor, tiny shoes in the hallway, laughter or shouting echoing up the stairs.
Alejandro taught the kids to swim, to ride bikes, to speak three languages before they started school. He told them stories about my parents, about his own, about the strength that comes from loving someone more than yourself.
Sometimes I caught him looking at me over the breakfast table, eyes shining with the same awe as the first time we held Matteo.
I never stopped feeling lucky.
The scars faded. The old pain became a story I told myself when I needed to remember how far we’d come.
Every day, I was grateful for the life I almost lost.
Every day, I chose us again.
Maybe that’s what family is: not the one you’re born into, but the one you make, day by day, with every act of love.
Holy. Freaking. Heck.
And as the years rolled on, I was never afraid again.