Chapter 131: Sofia
**A year later**
The soft morning sun filters through the curtains, warming my face, and I stretch under the sheets, feeling the gentle weight of calm that’s settled over everything. From the other room, I hear muffled voices—Nate and Danny, mid-conversation, their tones halfway between serious and seriously lost.
“Hold his legs up like this, Danny,” Nate’s voice insists, trying to sound all authoritative. “Or he’s going to—”
“I know what I’m doing, Nate! Just hand me the—" There’s a sudden yelp, followed by a loud groan from Danny. “Oh, no. He just peed on me! That’s disgusting!”
I can’t help but smile, holding back a laugh as I listen. Typical. They’re trying to tackle a simple diaper change, and already it’s turned into a scene. I can practically hear the smirk in Nate’s voice as he tries to keep from laughing, probably loving every second of Danny’s misery.
A soft, gurgling baby laugh joins their argument, like he’s in on the joke, too, and it fills me with this warmth I can’t even explain.
The warmth of the morning fades a bit as I sit up, a single tear slipping down my cheek. It’s been a year—a whole year since that night. Since the fire. Since Cole. A year of waking up every day with this ache in my chest, of crying for him in quiet moments, of wondering what he would think of all this, of his son. Our son. The pain doesn’t fade, not really, but it’s woven itself into me, a bittersweet thread running through everything.
Nate and Danny come in, pulling me from my thoughts. They’re both grinning, holding the tiniest, squirmiest bundle in their arms—our little boy, just four months old. They’ve dressed him in the cutest miniature dress shirt and soft cotton pants, like he’s all ready for a big day out. He’s blinking sleepily, his tiny fist clutching Danny’s finger, and his little face scrunches up as he looks around.
They hand him to me, and I take him in my arms, pulling him close. His warmth seeps into me, and I press a gentle kiss to his soft head, breathing in his baby smell. He stirs, letting out a little sigh, and I hold him tighter, as if somehow, holding him close keeps Cole’s memory alive too.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I stroke his tiny hand. His fingers wrap around mine, his grip surprisingly strong, and I can’t help but smile through the tears.
I hand our son back to Nate, giving his little fingers a soft squeeze before I stand up. In the closet, my fingers brush over the fabric of a blue sundress, one that Cole bought me when he first moved in with us. I slip it on, smoothing the soft material over my shoulders, letting it settle as a quiet comfort, as if somehow it keeps him close.
When I step outside, Riley and Leo are waiting for us, smiling as they see me holding our boy close. We’re in a new house now—far, far away from the place that once held so many nightmares. Here, there are no lingering shadows of Moretti, no echoes of my parents, no reminders of the past we fought so hard to escape. This town is quiet, calm, with nothing but the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun.
The boys have put down roots here, opening up a small gym by the edge of town, teaching self-defense to the local kids, passing on the strength they’ve built and learned. I work part-time at the library, and spend my days writing, the words flowing as I try to make sense of everything that’s happened, everything we’ve lost.
As we walk along the beach in front of the house, I feel the soft sand beneath my feet, grounding me. The waves lap gently against the shore, and I hold our baby close, his tiny face relaxed as he dozes in my arms. Ahead of us, nestled by a cluster of wildflowers, is a small stone, smooth and simple, with "Cole" engraved across the top and a quiet quote below it, one he always loved:
_"Strength isn’t in never falling—it’s in rising every time we do."_
I kneel in front of it, my fingers tracing the letters, and I feel the ache in my chest, both heavy and comforting. I place a hand over the small stone, whispering a soft “I miss you,” my voice catching as I take in the quiet beauty of this place we’ve made in his memory.
I lower myself down in front of the stone, holding our son close as I sit him gently in front of it. His big eyes take in the bright flowers around him, and he reaches out, his tiny fingers brushing over the petals. I smile, feeling a warmth mixed with a bittersweet ache.
“This is your other daddy, Ethan Cole,” I whisper, my voice soft but steady. “He loved you so much, even before he knew you were here. He was kind and smart… strong. He made me feel safe, loved, every day.” My voice trembles a little, but I keep going. “He was a doctor, you know, and he helped so many people. He was… everything.”
Ethan coos, a soft giggle escaping as he picks a flower and waves it around, his innocence filling the air with a lightness that eases some of the heaviness in my heart.
The boys kneel down beside us, each of them resting a gentle hand on my shoulder, on Ethan, on the ground near Cole’s stone. Nate’s voice is quiet, reverent. “Cole… he was one of the best people we ever knew. Always looked out for us, kept us in line.” He chuckles softly, eyes bright with memory. “And we loved him for it.”
Danny ruffles Ethan’s hair gently, his face a mix of grief and warmth. “And we’ll always take care of you and your mom, little man,” he says, his voice thick. “We’ll love her… for him, too. Every day.”
Riley adds softly, “We’re a family. We all carry him with us. You’ll know him through us, Ethan Cole.”
Ethan babbles, waving his flower toward the stone, and for a moment, it feels like Cole’s here with us, woven into the sunshine, the laughter, the memories. We stay there, together, a quiet family built from strength and love, carrying Cole’s memory forward, passing it on, making it a part of everything we are and everything we’ll become.
_The End_