Chapter 58

Chapter 58
Chapter 58
SOPHIA
But I also couldn't tell him the truth. Couldn't risk him feeling obligated to keep me out of pity or guilt. Couldn't bear the thought of him looking at me with anything other than genuine desire.

So I was stuck. Trapped in this beautiful lie, loving him silently while pretending it was all just performance.

It was going to kill me eventually. I knew that. But at least Adam would be okay. At least my brother would have the life he deserved.

That had to be enough.

\---

Adam was sitting up in bed when I arrived, working on a coloring book with intense concentration. His tongue stuck out slightly as he carefully stayed within the lines, and my heart clenched at how normal he looked. How healthy.

"Mama!" He looked up when he heard me enter, his face transforming with joy. "Look! I colored the whole truck by myself!"

"I see that, baby. It's beautiful." I crossed to his bed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Dr. Gray says you're doing so well. You might get to come home on Friday."

"Home?" His eyes went wide. "To Papa's house?"

"To our house," I corrected gently. "It's our home now, remember? You, me, and Papa."

"And Grandmama," he added seriously. "Papa said I have a grandmama."

"That's right. And an uncle too. Uncle Louis. He lives far away right now, but he's coming to visit soon."

Adam processed this information with the gravity of someone much older. "That's a lot of family."

"It is. Is that okay?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "I like family. Will they like me?"

The question broke my heart. My baby brother, worried about being liked, about being accepted into this family that had taken us in.

"They're going to love you," I promised. "Grandmama especially. She can't wait to meet you. And Uncle Louis is going to spoil you rotten."

"What does spoil mean?"

"It means he's going to buy you lots of presents and let you stay up late and probably teach you bad habits that Papa and I will have to fix."

Adam giggled, and the sound was so pure, so joyful, that I had to blink back tears.

"Mama, why are you crying?" His small hand found mine. "Does something hurt?"

"No, baby. I'm just happy. So, so happy that you're okay."

"Because I protected you from the car?" His expression turned serious. "I remember that. The car was coming, and I pushed you, and then everything hurt, and then I woke up here."

I'd been dreading this conversation. Dr. Gray had warned me that Adam would likely have questions about the accident, about the time he'd lost.

"You did protect me," I said carefully. "You were very brave. But Adam, you didn't have to do that. You're the kid—I'm supposed to protect you, not the other way around."

"But you're my mama. I have to keep you safe."

"And I have to keep you safe. That's my job." I squeezed his hand gently. "So from now on, no more protecting me from cars, okay? Let the grown-ups handle dangerous things."

He considered this. "What if there's another car?"

"Then you yell for help and get out of the way. You don't push me and get hurt yourself." I cupped his face, making sure he was looking at me. "I love you more than anything in the world, Adam. But I need you to stay safe. I need you to let me be the mama who protects you. Can you do that?"

He nodded slowly. "Okay. But if there's a really big car—"

"Even then. Promise me."

"I promise." He held out his pinky, and we did our pinky swear ritual that we'd established when he was three.

We spent the next hour coloring together while Adam chattered about everything and nothing—the nurses he liked, the food he wanted to eat when he got home, whether Papa would teach him to ride a bike. He was so animated, so alive, so completely himself that I couldn't stop smiling.

This was worth it. All of it—the contract, the lies, the heartbreak I was storing up for later. Adam's laughter alone made everything worthwhile.

"Mama?" Adam's voice went quiet suddenly. "Where's our old house? The one before the accident?"

I tensed. This was another conversation I'd been avoiding.

"We don't have that house anymore, baby. But we have a new home now. A really nice one, with your own room and—"

"Did I take too long to wake up?" His eyes were worried. "Did we run out of money because of me?"

God, he was too perceptive. Too smart. How did I explain to a five-year-old that yes, his medical care had bankrupted us, that I'd lost everything trying to save him, that I'd literally been on the verge of suicide before Lucas came along?

"You didn't do anything wrong," I said firmly. "Getting hurt wasn't your fault. Needing medical care wasn't your fault. And we're okay now, Adam. We have a home and a family and everything we need. You don't have to worry about money or houses or any of that. You just have to focus on getting strong again."

"Because Papa helps us?"

"Because Papa helps us," I confirmed.

"Is that why you married him? To help me?"

I froze. How did he know? How could a five-year-old possibly understand the dynamics of our arrangement?

"I married Papa because—" I stopped, trying to figure out how to phrase this. "Because he's a good man who wanted to help our family. And because I care about him very much."

"Do you love him?"

The question was so simple, so direct. And the answer was equally simple, even if I couldn't say it out loud to Lucas himself.

"Yes, baby. I love him."

Adam smiled, satisfied with this answer. "Good. I love him too. He's nice. And he said I could have a dog when I'm bigger."