Epilogue

The door's echo faded, and I turned to Angel. Her blue eyes watched me, wide and unblinking, a silent witness to the storm that had just passed through our living room. I knelt, my knees pressing into the carpet, and opened my arms. Without a word, she toddled into them, her small body a balm to the raw edges of my heart.

"Mommy missed you so much," I whispered into her red curls, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and innocence. Angel squeezed me back, her tiny hands patting my back in a comforting rhythm that seemed beyond her years.

"Mommy wanna play with me?" Her voice was hopeful as she pulled away, looking up at me with a tentative smile.

"Let's play," I agreed, brushing away the dampness from my cheeks. I took her hand, her fingers warm and trusting in mine, and together, we walked to the corner of the room where a dollhouse and an array of stuffed animals awaited her imaginative command.

"Tea party," she announced, picking up a plastic teapot and handing it to me. Her freckles danced as she grinned, lost in the joy of the game. I played along, pouring invisible tea into tiny cups, watching her delight in the whimsy of our shared pretend world.

"More sugar, please," I said, playing my part with a goofy exaggerated accent that earned me a giggle. For a moment, the weight on my shoulders lifted, replaced by the lightness of her laughter.

"Mommy, you funny!" Angel declared, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Only for you, my little angel," I responded, allowing myself to be swept into the simplicity of the moment, cherishing the purity of her happiness. As we sipped our air-filled cups and chatted about her day, my resolve hardened. They would be my priority. This light, this love—I'd fight to keep it safe, always.

Through the laughter and clinks of plastic cups, I caught sight of Olivia lingering in the doorway, her slender figure uncertain. Christine came up behind her.

"Hey." My voice softened as I stood, abandoning the teacup. Angel's game momentarily paused as I moved toward them.

"Mom…." Olivia's word hung between us, cautious but hopeful.

"Christine. Olivia, I missed you guys." I opened my arms wide, an invitation they hesitated to accept before stepping into my embrace—one by one. Their bodies were tense at first but gradually melted into the warmth we'd missed for far too long.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, each apology tailored to the child I held. "For every night I wasn't here to tuck you in, for every game I missed, every school event… I'll make it right."

Christine's nod against my shoulder was subtle, her rebellious streak softening just this once. Olivia, ever the composed one, offered a squeeze that spoke volumes.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Mom," Olivia said.

Christine chimed in. "Yeah, you're out there making a difference. Not all moms can brag about that. I think that's pretty cool."

That made me smile. At least they seemed to understand and know who I was. It wasn't all lost.

We settled onto the couch, a tangled mass of limbs and hearts seeking connection. Their voices cascaded over one another, stories tumbling out about school projects and teenage dramas.

"Slow down; slow down!" I laughed, my heart swelling with every anecdote. "One at a time."

Olivia recounted her latest academic conquests with a pride that filled the room. Christine rolled her eyes affectionately at her sister's achievements but shared tales of her own adventures with a vibrancy that left us all grinning.

"Tell me everything," I urged, drinking in their words like a parched traveler. Their laughter, their squabbles, their dreams—I absorbed it all, recognizing the preciousness of these ordinary moments.

"I missed you, Mom," Olivia said quietly during a lull, her eyes reflecting wisdom beyond her years.

"Me too," Christine admitted, her goth facade slipping just enough to reveal the young girl beneath.

"Missed you more," I replied, the truth of it cutting deep. This was where I needed to be—where I should have been all along. My family, my heart, my home.

Matt suddenly edged into the room, a silent shadow detaching from the hallway's embrace. He hovered, a specter of mixed emotions, before sinking down beside me on the overstuffed couch. His presence was a gravitational pull, and I felt the shift in the room's atmosphere as the children's laughter dialed down to soft murmurs.

"Hey," I whispered, inching closer to him.

"Hey," he echoed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reach inside and steady my racing thoughts.

Our eyes met, a silent conversation weaving between us. I saw the storm clouds there, the hurt, the love too—it was all written in the depths of his gaze. He didn't have to speak; I read the acceptance in the slight nod of his head, the way his hand found mine and held it with a gentle firmness.

I squeezed back, a silent promise passing through my touch.

Taking a deep breath, I turned my attention back to the kids, but my mind was racing. The chaos of the case, the close calls—they'd been a tempest I'd navigated by pure instinct. But here, now, it was the stillness that confronted me, the quiet realization of what truly mattered.

Family. Their faces, their futures.

I needed balance.