“What the fuck do you want?” I ask, because Vic doesn’t function without Bernadette. I function because I have no other choice. Being a parent means you push on when all you want to do is curl up and die. And now I’m a parent to three girls. I’d always assumed Havoc would raise them with me, but … I don’t know anything anymore.

“Maxwell Barrasso is dead,” Sara tells me, and I nod. We know that, obviously. She glances briefly over at Hael, but he may as well be carved of stone. There’s a faint smile lingering on his lips, but it’s tainted with melancholy and colored with confusion. He isn’t sure what he should be doing right now. Because if we’re not protecting Bernadette, and we failed to protect Bernadette, then who the actual fuck are we? What the fuck is Havoc? “Anyway,” she continues, exhaling sharply. “I’m here to tell you that you’re all free to go.”

“Free to go?” I ask, and she gives me a smile that’s far too melancholic to be comforting. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I have all the information I need currently. Once you’re done here, you can … go home.” Sara tucks her hands into the pockets of her blue jacket. I just stare back at her because there are no words that I could say that would encompass my emotions right now.

I’m falling so fast and so hard that no matter where I land, my bones are likely to break. Shatter. Turn to dust. My knees feel weak, but Hael catches my elbow before I can collapse to the floor like the fool in love that I am.

Even though I know it isn’t true, I always wanted to believe that true love was stronger than anything else. That, if you had it, you could do anything. You had everything. I’m not sure what I believe anymore.

“That isn’t to say that I won’t have more questions later,” Sara says with a sigh. “But for now, we’re not charging your … family with anything.” She pauses again and then reaches out with a manila envelope. “If Bernadette somehow pulls through, give her this.”

Sara steps back and turns away, heading down the sterile hallway in the direction of the exit.

I watch her go and then look down, reaching inside the folder to see what Sara left in it.

It’s a page from a journal with thin pink lines and the faintest image of a rose in the background. The handwriting is looping and familiar. Penelope. I would recognize it anywhere. That same day, when Bernadette showed up at the playground and was instantly hated by everyone in it, Penelope was loved. I don’t think, at the time, she knew how to help her sister. By that time, she was already struggling with so much.

If only we’d had her back the way we had Bernadette’s.

I blink through what I think are tears, but I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.

“Shit,” Hael breathes as he reads the page ahead of me. “Bernie needs to see this.”

Dear Bernadette,

Sometimes I’m not good at saying all the things I need to say. So … I’m going to write it down here and maybe one day, I’ll feel brave enough to tell you.

Things have not been good for me for a long, long time. When I close my eyes at night, there are more nightmares than dreams now. It wasn’t always like that. Before Dad died, things were better. But now … You know that Dad’s mom lives in Nantucket, right? Well, she’s agreed to take me in.

I should’ve left a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure if Pamela or Neil would let me go. I’m afraid of them both, but I’m too afraid to stay, too. So, I’m leaving. I want you to come with me, but I know you won’t leave Heather. She can’t go with us because Neil will never let her go. They’ll come after us; they might even put us in another foster home like the Kushner’s.

I’m not sure if I could handle another place like that.

I’m leaving, even if that means I’m a coward. I have to. If I don’t, I’m pretty sure I’ll die here long before they kill me. Maybe I already am dead? Either way, I’ve known for a long time that I wasn’t going to be around to protect you.

That’s okay though because I know you can protect yourself. And I know that if you just reach out and ask, those boys will protect you, too. All you have to do is ask, Bernie. Call Havoc. Just say it. That one word. Utter it. Then I’ll be gone and safe, and you’ll have an army to fight for you and Heather.

Just know that I love you to the moon and stars and back. I always have. I always will.

No matter what.

XoXo

Penelope

I drop the letter to my side, offering it up when Callum moves over and takes it from me. He shows it to Oscar before handing it off to Vic. Once we’ve all read it, Victor hands it back to me and I slip the page into the envelope. Bernie, please, I think, praying harder than I’ve ever prayed. I’m not religious, but I still do it because I don’t know what else to do.

We’ve done everything we could to keep her safe. Somehow, we failed. Somehow, in the end, it didn’t matter because she was willing to sacrifice herself to save any one of us. Hael blames himself, but it wouldn’t have mattered who it was because Bernadette knew what she wanted—or maybe even felt she needed—to do.

The pair of swinging doors opposite the waiting area open, and the surgeon we met with earlier walks out. She pulls her mask down, and I swear that I can tell everything that’s happened based on the expression on her face.

Please no. Please, please, please. Dark god or goddess or benevolent universal energy, please don’t take my first and only love from me. Please. We’ll all break. Havoc will cease to exist. It’ll be the end of everything good and true in our lives.

“Victor Channing?” she calls out, because Victor is Bernadette’s legal husband. That’ll kill me if that’s how we end it all, with his ring on her finger and the rest of us waiting with bated breath. I want her to know that she doesn’t have to choose, that she never has to choose. Because we’re blood in, blood out. Havoc. Forever. Always.

Vic stands up from the chair, the wood creaking as he lifts his heavy body. I don’t turn back to look at him, waiting for the rubber squeak of his boots against the linoleum. He pauses beside me, on my right. Hael is on my left. Oscar and Callum wait behind us.

“I’m Vic Channing,” is all he manages to get out. His hands are shaking by his sides. The unshakeable Victor Channing. He’s trembling so badly that I wonder if he doesn’t need medical attention. My eyes slide closed, and I struggle to breathe.

If Bernadette is dead …

Then Havoc is dead.

The letter of her name might not be in the acronym, but she is Havoc. She always has been. We live and die by the cadence of her breath. We exist as rhythm and pulse to her heartbeat.

“Mr. Channing …” the surgeon begins.

Tick, tock.

I can hear the old-fashioned clock on the wall.

It swallows up the words that follow, and I tumble into an emotional rabbit hole.

Down, down, down, and even deeper still until I was down too deep to swim, and the water filled my lungs, and then … I had my epiphany.

Two months later …

Getting three little girls dressed for a birthday party is a skill I never imagined I’d have in my wheelhouse.