Chapter 25 Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE~
The next few weeks passed in a blur of police interviews, therapy sessions, and sleepless nights. Maya and Nathan seemed fine—the pediatrician said they were too young to remember what happened—but I couldn't stop watching them, checking on them, making sure they were really there.
"You need to sleep," Declan said one night, finding me in the nursery at 3 AM. "You're going to make yourself sick."
"What if someone else comes?" I asked. "What if there's someone we haven't thought of, another person with a grudge?"
"Then we'll handle it," Declan said firmly. "But Anita, you can't live like this. In constant fear, never resting. Our children need a mother who's present, not someone who's so worried about the future that she misses the present."
He was right, but knowing that didn't make it easier.
Dr. Martinez, my therapist, suggested medication for anxiety. I refused at first—I was still breastfeeding the twins—but eventually the panic attacks got so bad that I agreed to wean them early and start treatment.
The medication helped. Not completely, but enough that I could function.
Rick was never found. The FBI tracked him to Mexico, then lost the trail. He'd taken his ten million dollars and disappeared into thin air.
"At least it's over," Sarah said when she visited one afternoon. "Victoria's in prison, Marcus is in prison, Elena is in psychiatric care, and Rick is gone. There's no one left to threaten you."
"That we know of," I said darkly.
"Anita, you can't think like that," Sarah said gently. "You'll drive yourself crazy."
But I couldn't help it. Every stranger on the street looked suspicious. Every unexpected noise made me jump. I'd been through too much to just relax and trust that things would be okay.
When the twins turned one year old, we had a small party at home. Just Declan, me, the twins, my parents, and Sarah. I couldn't handle more people than that.
"Next year will be easier," my mother promised. "The first year after trauma is always the hardest."
I hoped she was right.
The twins were growing so fast. Maya had started walking and was into everything. Nathan was more cautious but loved books—he'd sit for hours looking at picture books, babbling as if he was reading.
"They're perfect," Declan said one night as we watched them play. "Despite everything they've been through, everything we've put them through, they're happy and healthy and perfect."
"We got lucky," I said.
"We got strong," Declan corrected. "We survived things that would have destroyed most couples. We protected our children when people tried to hurt them. That's not luck, Anita. That's strength."
Maybe he was right.
Work had become my escape. I threw myself into projects at Norex, grateful for problems I could actually solve. Numbers made sense. Data was predictable. Unlike people.
But three months after Rick disappeared, something happened that shook my carefully rebuilt sense of stability.
I got a letter.
Not threatening this time. Just... sad.
Dear Anita,
I know you probably never want to hear from me again. I don't blame you. What I did was unforgivable.
But I wanted you to know that I'm getting help. Real help, not just therapy I quit when it gets hard. I'm in a facility in South America, working through my issues with jealousy and self-worth.
Turns out, my whole identity was wrapped up in being Declan's friend. When I felt like I wasn't needed anymore, like I wasn't important, I completely fell apart.
I'm not making excuses. Taking the twins was wrong, no matter what I was feeling. They're innocent, and I traumatized you and Declan. I'll carry that guilt forever.
I just wanted you to know that I'm trying to be better. Trying to figure out who I am when I'm not standing in someone else's shadow.
I hope Maya and Nathan are doing well. I hope you and Declan are happy. You deserve happiness after everything you've been through.
I'm truly sorry.
- Rick
I showed the letter to Declan.
"He sounds sincere," Declan said quietly.
"Does it matter?" I asked. "Sorry doesn't undo what he did."
"No," Declan agreed. "But maybe it means he won't do it again. To us or to anyone else."
"Are you going to respond?" I asked.
Declan thought for a long moment. "I don't know. Part of me wants to. We were friends for fifteen years. That has to count for something."
"And the other part?"
"The other part remembers him taking our children and holding them for ransom," Declan said, his voice hardening. "That part wants nothing to do with him ever again."
"I think we should go with that part," I said firmly.
We didn't respond to Rick's letter. But we didn't throw it away either. It stayed in a drawer, a reminder that hurt people hurt people, and that forgiveness is complicated.
Life gradually returned to something like normal. I stopped checking the security cameras every five minutes. I started sleeping through the night. I even started enjoying taking the twins to the park without constantly looking over my shoulder.
"You're doing so much better," Dr. Martinez said during one of our sessions. "How do you feel?"
"Cautiously optimistic," I admitted. "Like maybe we really are past all the danger."
"That's progress," she said with a smile.
On a bright spring day when the twins were fourteen months old, Declan surprised me with a picnic in the park. He'd packed all our favorite foods, brought a blanket, and arranged for Sarah to watch Maya and Nathan for a few hours.
"What's this about?" I asked as we sat under a tree, eating strawberries and cheese.
"Nothing," Declan said. "I just wanted to spend time with my wife. Is that so strange?"
"We spend time together every day," I pointed out.
"Yes, but we're always dealing with something. Work stress, parenting stress, leftover trauma stress," Declan said. "When was the last time we just... existed together? No agenda, no crisis to manage, just us?"
I thought about it and realized he was right. "I don't remember."
"Exactly," Declan said. "So today, we're just going to be. No phones, no worries, just enjoying this beautiful day."
We lay on the blanket, watching clouds, talking about silly things that didn't matter. It felt like being young again, before all the chaos.
"I love you," I said suddenly.
"I love you too," Declan replied, turning to look at me. "More than I thought it was possible to love anyone."
We kissed, and for the first time in over a year, I felt truly at peace.
That peace lasted exactly three more days.
I was at work when I got the call from Sarah.
"Anita, don't panic," she said, which immediately made me panic. "But the daycare called. Maya has a really high fever and she's lethargic. They want you to pick her up and take her to the doctor."
I left work immediately and drove to the daycare. Maya was lying on a cot, her little face flushed and hot to the touch.
"Has she been sick recently?" the daycare worker asked.
"No," I said, scooping Maya up. "She was fine this morning."
At the pediatrician's office, Dr. Rivera examined Maya thoroughly.
"It's probably just a virus," she said. "But her fever is quite high—104. I want to send you to the emergency room just to be safe."
At the hospital, they ran tests. Blood work, urine sample, everything. Maya cried through all of it, and I held her, feeling helpless.
"We're going to keep her overnight for observation," the doctor said. "The tests show elevated white blood cells, which means she's fighting some kind of infection. We're starting her on antibiotics while we wait for the culture results."
"Is she going to be okay?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"Most likely, yes," the doctor assured me. "We're just being cautious."
Declan arrived with Nathan—Sarah had watched him until Declan could leave work. We took turns holding Maya while Nathan played in the hospital room, oblivious to the worry surrounding him.
That night, Maya's fever broke. By morning, she was smiling and trying to eat crackers.
"The antibiotics are working," the doctor said. "She had a urinary tract infection, which is common in little girls. She should make a full recovery."
I cried with relief.
"You okay?" Declan asked, rubbing my back.
"I just... for a moment, I was terrified we were going to lose her," I admitted. "After everything we've been through to keep them safe, the idea that a random infection could—"
"But it didn't," Declan interrupted gently. "She's fine. We caught it early, got her treatment, and she's going to be fine."
He was right. But the scare reminded me how fragile life was. How quickly things could change.
We took Maya home the next day, both of us exhausted but gratefu
l.
"No more drama," I told Declan that night. "I think we've had enough to last a lifetime."
"Agreed," he said.
But the universe wasn't done with us yet.