Like the occasion was a wedding or someone’s bar mitzvah. The detail to which my mother had gone to plan her own death made me sick to my stomach.

Frazzled, I reached for the hanger. My fingers were shaky. Withdrawal was a bitch even though they’d kept me in the hospital a few days and given me a ton of shit to help wean me off all the crap in my system.

I’d had every single goddamn symptom in the book—shaky hands, fever, sleepless nights, and blood pressure so low, it’d make a thrice-dead corpse proud. I was still taking medication that was supposed to help, and Dad had slapped me with a twice-a-week therapist for coping, maintenance, and all the other bullshit.

I’d hated every single part of my existence during those days in the hospital—especially because it kept me away from Mom. But I also finally knew I had no choice. There were so many things on the line. My family. Luna. My friends. Oh, also, my fucking existence.

So, I hadn’t sipped a drop of alcohol in six days—this was my seventh. Pills were out of the question, too. Only reason I hadn’t had a seizure and died from the abrupt cut off was, I suspected, that I wasn’t asshole enough to steal Mom’s thunder.

After I was discharged from the hospital, Luna and Vaughn had walked into my house, emptied the alcohol shelves and medicine cabinets, and then proceeded to empty all the mouthwash bottles and throw them in the trash. They’d concluded by double-locking the wine cellar downstairs. Vaughn had installed the second lock and did a jacked-up job, too. My dad was going to kill him for chipping both the door and the frame when he was finally in a mood to pay attention to anything that wasn’t Mom.

Which, let’s be honest, wasn’t going to be anytime soon.

On the third try, I managed to snag the dress from the hanger. Instead of bringing it straight to Dad, who was to help her into it, I just clutched it between my fingers, staring.

I needed a few more moments in this room, knowing what was about to happen next was going to put everything in motion and change my life forever.

My mother was downstairs, getting ready for her bath. She was back home. She was awake. After a week of back and forth, Dad had made the decision to take her out of her chemically induced coma so she could say goodbye. He’d made it clear—after fighting with the entire hospital staff and having Vicious, Trent, and Jaime walking the corridor with a harem of lawyers—that my mother was going to go peacefully, as she wished.

At home.

In her favorite white gown.

Surrounded by her loved ones.

And only after saying goodbye to each of us, personally.

I knew why Dad had given me the task of bringing the gown. He could have asked anyone. Like Emilia, who was so good at being practical and moving things around. Or Luna, who’d stepped up and was resilient, quiet, and determined to help. He could have asked Edie, or Melody, or any of his friends. But he’d asked me.

He wanted me to be a part of this.

The second man of the house.

I brought the gown to my nose, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply. It smelled like Mom—freshly baked goods, vanilla, citrus shampoo, and her sweet, natural scent.

Shuddering, I stepped back, opened the door, and stepped out of the walk-in closet, fingering the wood of the doorframe. I paused when I felt the uneven surface under my fingertips and looked sideways, frowning.

Carved on the dark wood, sloppily, like it was done with car keys, were the words that had kept me from drinking myself to death for the past six days. The words I couldn’t bear not hearing Luna say again.

Ride or die.

I’d once asked my sister, Emilia, what it felt like.

To be normal. To be healthy. To be genetically privileged.

She’d said, “Days tick by, as you expect them to. Like fanning pages in a calendar. You make plans. Sometimes you forget them. Sometimes you keep them. Sometimes cancel them. But you never doubt you can make them. You let things—mundane things, like bad traffic or getting caught in the pouring rain or rude, inconsiderate people—ruin your day, not realizing how precious said day is. How unique. How this day will never come again. No day will look quite like it. And that’s how you look back, years after, wondering where all the time went.”

When she saw what was on my face, though, she’d added quickly, “But I learned a long time ago that maybe a reminder of the fact that we aren’t here forever is exactly what we need to make the most out of life. And I learned that because of you.”

This was why I’d decided to adopt my beautiful son.

To bring my younger son into the world.

To get married. To start a family. To love hard. Fiercely. With abandon.

This is why I never denied myself anything I wanted. Not only was life too short, but I wanted my beautiful family to remember that, too.

Plenty of times I’d wondered if I was selfish to have a family.

But was breaking Dean’s heart and walking away from him the selfless thing to do? I didn’t think so. I knew in my heart that Dean would be miserable as long as I was alive and away from him. Just like he had been until we got together.

Was not adopting Knight going to help him? What if he’d ended up handed over from family to family in the foster care system? What if he’d been given to a family that didn’t give him all he deserved? I knew I would be the best mother for him. And what if Dixie had been forced to keep him somehow, when she wasn’t equipped, nor in the right emotional place to care for her child?

As for Levy, he was a pleasant surprise. I hadn’t been expecting him, didn’t think I could ever get pregnant. But once I’d found out I was, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. He was the most precious gift, and loved beyond words and actions.

I’ve lived a full life.

A beautiful life.

I wouldn’t take anything back. If I could do one more thing before I left this earth, it would be to give—give my loved ones a piece of advice, my love, and my approval.

Now I was living the picture as I’d imagined it in my mind, every day since I was a little girl and found out I wouldn’t live to ripe old age, that I would probably never see myself with completely gray hair, deep-set wrinkles, and surrounded by beautiful grandchildren. The gown was beautiful, comfortable, and angelic. I lay on top of my bed, dizzy, but smiling nonetheless, as I hugged my sister Emilia.

She stood up from my bed, wiping her eyes. “Who do you want to see first?”

“Levy.”

When my young son entered my room, the first thing I noticed was how not completely young he was anymore. Of course, I’d seen him every day, save for the week I’d been in a coma. But he seemed to have gotten tall almost overnight. He was lanky now, his jaw squarer, his eyes less wide and exploring, more suspicious and slanted. He was going to be a gorgeous man one day, and I absolutely refused to be upset over the fact that I wasn’t going to know what he would look like. Or over the nagging, eternal question of whether he was going to be with Bailey or not. I couldn’t allow my thoughts to roam this way. I had to keep them on what was important. I patted the space next to me with a smile.

“H-how are you feeling, Mom?” He glanced at me from under his lashes.

He had great lashes. Like mine. I smiled at the fact I was going to stay on this earth forever. Through him. Through Knight. Through my husband.