Anger twisted my gut just thinking about it.

“Rika was so alone for so long,” she murmured. “Quiet, meek, always pressing her nose against the glass, trying to see into a world she was waiting to be invited into. She had no voice, because I had none to give her.”

I remembered.

“The years faded in and out,” she continued, “and any moment of clarity was like a knife in my brain. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t stand to remember you. I was so weak.”

I knew what that was like. I had the scars to prove it. She had pills. I had razor blades.

But it wasn’t weakness for me. It was coping. I had to do something.

“But she eventually found her way, didn’t she?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “Michael, Kai Mori, Will Grayson…you. I should’ve known life would find a way to take care of her when I failed to. I should’ve known you’d find each other.” A gentle smile flashed across her lips. “She speaks like she has ten-thousand soldiers behind her now. You did that. Not me.”

Rika learned everything she didn’t want to be by seeing firsthand every day what a wasted life looks like, just like Banks and I did in my house.

“And you’re happy,” she told me. “Winter did that. Not me.”

Christiane had finally learned what she should’ve taught her children—instead of them teaching her—you’re one-hundred percent responsible for your own happiness.

“I’m grateful the lessons she learned didn’t come at too great a cost,” she said, approaching me. “And I’m forever regretful yours came at so much.” Her chin trembled. “I’m sorry. God, I wish I could go back and do it all differently. I would do everything differently, even if he killed me for it.”

I forced down the lump in my throat, my head aching, trying to hold back the tears.

He would’ve killed her. Maybe she should’ve fought. Should’ve tried. Should’ve gotten ready for when I was old enough to approach, or gotten some help from people my father feared, but maybe it would’ve still ended badly, and instead of having a sick mother, Rika and I would’ve ended up without one.

Enough time had been wasted.

“I will be forever sorry, but I needed you to know that I love you,” she said. “Always have, and there is one more present under that tree out there that those beautiful children can’t have, because it was always yours. You can open it after I leave or never at all, but I needed to give it to you.”

She started to leave, always ducking out, because she didn’t want to overstay her welcome, but while I was curious what she got for me when I was a kid that she left under the tree, I didn’t want her to leave yet, either.

“Christiane,” I said.

She stopped, and I looked over at her next to me, not sure I had the stomach for this. I didn’t trust parents, and I was too old to start.

But I didn’t want to hurt her anymore.

Maybe I could be her son, eventually. Maybe not.

But we could try to be something.

“How is it you don’t know how to dance?” I asked.

She blinked at me. She and Matthew looked like two middle schoolers at their first Spring Fling back there. I thought she was cultured.

She shifted, looking uncertain. “I don’t know a lot, I guess.”

The dull hum of the music drifted through the walls, but I was able to make out the tune as I turned to her.

Holding out my hand, I waited as she stared at me, looking a little shocked.

Finally, she took hold. I pulled her in, her cool hand fitting in mine as I slipped my other around her waist. My heart skipped a beat, feeling my mother in my arms for the first time.

She gazed up at me, the lines around her eyes giving away her age, but the look in them still like a child.

“Follow my lead,” I instructed.

Pushing off, I moved her around the empty room, the music barely audible as we twirled and stepped. I looked down at her, something swelling in my throat, and it hurt, but I couldn’t look away, either.

I didn’t need her. I’d made a beautiful family, not just my wife and children, but my friends too. I had everything.

And still, holding her in my arms, I realized something that had been missing. I realized how much I wanted to bring her in closer and hold onto something.

Sometimes I was so tired. I could ask for help, lean on the guys or vent to the women, but I wouldn’t. Not ever.

I wanted to be strong for them. I never wanted Banks to see me scared again, or Rika to see me lose my shit and not be able to handle something.

I never wanted my children to see me as anything less than a man.

I wasn’t sure why, but with Christiane, I didn’t care if I wasn’t the strongest in the room. Even well into my thirties, I had to admit, I kind of still wanted a mom.

A mom might be there for the times you were vulnerable.

Pulling her in closer, I carried her around the floor, hearing her breathe out a laugh as we spun, her feet barely touching the ground the faster I moved.

How strange it was to be a parent. For so many years, I couldn’t see myself in her shoes, and even though I knew I’d do so many things differently if I’d been her, I could at least understand how hard it probably was to be desperate for your child and watch another woman raise him.

Between Christiane, Natalya, and Gabriel, they did everything wrong.

But I was still here.

Banks was still here. Rika was still here. Despite everything, we survived our parents.

Not once had Banks or Rika ever blamed theirs for anything. I had done nothing but blame Christiane for the past decade.

How easily could my own kids turn around and do the same? All this love I had for them, and they could still hate me.

I slowed my feet, a weight settling on my shoulders, and I was so tired all of a sudden.

And scared. She wanted to be more, but she failed. How did I know I wouldn’t? How could I stand there and judge her, acting all high and mighty? No one knew what the future held.

Christiane looked up at me, her smile falling as we stopped, but I didn’t say anything.

Slowly backing away, I left her and headed back into the ballroom, immediately searching for Winter.

The music grated on my ears, and I spotted her talking to Michael and Emmy. I walked for her.

Taking her hand, I saw her smile as she instantly recognized the feel of me and grabbed hold with both of her hands.

“Where’s Octavia?” she asked.

“Treasure hunting with Mads,” I mumbled, pulling her with me without a word or look to the other two. “Come on.”

Without question, she held onto me as I guided her into the foyer, underneath the candlelit chandelier, and to the door to the catacombs.

I pulled open the latch, ushered her inside, and closed it behind us, immediately scooping her into my arms and stepping down the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“I need to hold you.”

“You are holding me.”

“You know what I mean,” I said, kissing her lips.

She didn’t press further, just let me carry her into the bath and set her back on her feet. The candlelight extended into the catacombs, the jacuzzi already filled with water and steam rising off the surface.

Reaching over, I turned the knob, the spouts in the ceiling springing to life, and water poured into the small pool in a circle of about twenty different streams, almost like a fountain pouring down.