Chapter 180
Lena's POV
The drive to Diana's place was quiet but not uncomfortable. Rowan kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us, close enough that I could have reached for it if I wanted to. I didn't, not yet, but the option being there felt significant somehow.
When we pulled up outside her building, he put the car in park and turned to face me.
"Take your time," he said. "Text me when you're done, and I'll come pick you up. We can grab lunch somewhere."
"Wouldn't that be way out of your way? I can grab something myself."
"Lena." He said my name like a gentle reprimand. "I want to. Let me do this."
I nodded, throat tight, and reached for the door handle. But before I could get out, his hand caught mine.
"Hey." His thumb traced across my knuckles. "Last night wasn't a fluke. I meant everything I said."
"I know." The words came out barely above a whisper. "I'm just... still getting used to it."
"That's okay." He lifted my hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it that sent warmth flooding through me. "We'll take it slow. But I'm not going anywhere."
I managed a shaky smile and slipped out of the car, my heart doing complicated things in my chest as I watched him drive away.
---
Diana opened the door with a knowing grin. "Well, well. Look who got the full boyfriend treatment."
"It's not—we're not—" I stopped, realizing I had no idea how to finish that sentence.
She laughed and pulled me inside. "Relax. I'm teasing. But seriously, Lena, that man just drove you across town and promised to pick you up later. That's pretty damn romantic."
"He's trying," I admitted, following her to the living room. "We both are."
"Good." She settled onto the couch, gesturing for me to sit. "You deserve someone who tries."
We spent a few minutes on lighter topics—her physical therapy progress, Jack's continued attentiveness that hadn't quite crossed into anything official. Diana seemed both charmed and frustrated by his caution, and I found myself offering the same advice Rowan had given me: give it time, let him show up consistently.
"You really think he will?" she asked, a hint of vulnerability showing through.
"I know he will." I thought of Jack's face in the hospital, the way he'd looked at her. "He's not the type to run when things get real."
Diana relaxed slightly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. But I knew we couldn't avoid the real reason I'd come much longer.
"Diana," I said, my tone shifting. "There's something I need to tell you. About Katya."
Her expression sobered immediately. "What is it?"
I took a breath and told her everything—Derek, Lily, the kidney transplant, Maria's impossible choice. I watched emotions flicker across her face: shock, grief, anger, and finally a terrible understanding.
When I finished, she was silent for a long moment, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
"So Maria wasn't just a participant," she said finally. "She was a mother trying to save her child."
"Yes." I leaned forward. "It doesn't erase what happened to Katya. But it means the real villains are the people who built that system, who profit from desperation."
Diana wiped at her eyes roughly. "I spent so long hating her. Hating everyone involved. And now..."
"Now you can hate the right people," I said gently. "The traffickers, the corrupt officials, the system that forces parents into these choices."
She looked at me, and I saw something shift in her expression—grief transmuting into determination.
"We need to do something," she said. "Not just prosecute individuals, but change the system itself. Make it so desperate parents don't have to turn to black markets."
"I was thinking the same thing." I felt a spark of excitement, the same sense of purpose that had driven me to law in the first place. "We could use these cases to push for reform. Transparency in organ donation, better regulation, stronger penalties for traffickers."
"A coalition," Diana said, sitting up straighter despite the obvious discomfort it caused her. "Victim families, medical ethicists, legislators who actually give a damn."
"Exactly." I pulled out my phone, already making notes. "We document everything, build an airtight case not just for criminal prosecution but for systemic change."
"It won't bring Katya back." Diana's voice cracked slightly. "But maybe it'll mean her death wasn't for nothing."
"It'll be her legacy," I agreed. "And Maria's redemption, in a way. Showing that even people who make terrible choices can be part of the solution."
We spent the next hour sketching out a rough plan—who to contact, what evidence we'd need, how to frame the narrative for maximum impact. By the time we finished, Diana looked exhausted but energized, the old fire back in her eyes.
"Thank you," she said as I gathered my things. "For telling me. For not letting me keep hating the wrong people."
"We're partners," I reminded her. "That means we face the hard truths together."
She pulled me into a careful hug, mindful of her injuries. "You're different lately," she murmured. "Lighter somehow."
"I'm trying to be," I admitted. "Trying to believe I deserve good things."
"You do." She pulled back, holding my shoulders. "And anyone who makes you doubt that can answer to me."
I laughed, feeling the weight of her friendship like armor. "I'll keep that in mind."
---
I texted Rowan as I left Diana's building, and he was there within ten minutes—faster than should have been possible unless he'd been waiting nearby. The thought made something warm unfurl in my chest.
"How'd it go?" he asked as I slid into the passenger seat.
"Hard. But good." I buckled my seatbelt, glancing at him. "We're going to try to use the case to push for medical reform. Make sure what happened to Katya leads to actual change."
"That's ambitious." But his tone was approving. "You'll pull it off though. You always do."
The casual confidence in his voice startled me. When had he started believing in me like that?
"Lunch?" he prompted, and I nodded.
"Somewhere quiet," I requested. "I need to decompress."
He drove us to a small café I'd mentioned liking once, months ago. The fact that he remembered made my throat tight.
As we settled into a corner booth, menus in hand, I felt something settle in my chest—not quite peace, but the beginning of it. The fear was still there, the old wariness that whispered this couldn't last. But underneath it, fragile and new, was hope.
Rowan reached across the table, his fingers finding mine.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?"
"For letting me try. For giving me another chance to get this right."
I looked at our joined hands, at the way his thumb traced gentle circles against my skin, and felt the last of my morning's doubts begin to dissolve.
"We're both trying," I said. "That's what matters."
His smile was soft, full of promise. "Then we'll figure it out together."
And for the first time in a very long time, I believed him.