Page 92 of Birthright

I tell her about Roman, and how he died for me.

I tell her about what almost happened in that shack in the Bayou.

I tell her about how my heart shattered when Sam left me.

“I’m sorry, Mom. You were right; I never should have moved here. If I would have listened to you, I’d still be home and safe and–”

“No,” she interrupts, startling me. “I wasn’t right, Olivia. I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But not you. What you did was brave. I’m sorry I didn’t see that before.”

“How… how is this brave?”

“Because it would’ve been easier to stay here. It would’ve been easy to stay with Rhett, even though you didn’t love him. And I’m not naive, Olivia. I know you never loved him. I think I just wanted to pretend you did because I wanted you to be happy.”

A new wave of tears builds as I listen to my mother.

“Sometimes, love is hard. Not because you have to change yourself or force it to work. Love is hard because you have to face yourself. Your deepest fear. You have to be vulnerable. I’ve never been able to be vulnerable…with anyone. That’s why it didn’t work with your father. And Richard and I are happy, butwe’re not in love. It sounds like you found something bigger than I ever have.”

“How can you tell?” I ask.

“When he called me...” She sighs thoughtfully. “He was so upset with himself, apologizing to me for not protecting you. He was putting himself through hell over this situation. And I can hear it in your voice too. You only do that when you truly love someone. So, do you?”

I think about it for a long moment. Replaying her words.

Do I love Sam?

I’ve tried so hard not to. Pushing him away or keeping him at a distance all in an attempt to not fall for him. Afraid that he’s too much like my father.

But he’s not my father. My father didn’t care about my mother the way Sam cares about me. He could’ve chased her to Montreal, he could’ve fought for her. But he didn’t. But Sam came for me. And then he pushed me away. But not because he doesn’t love me. Because he’s scared.

“Yeah,” I finally say.

“Good. Then fight for him.”

And for the first time in my life, I actually think my mom has good advice.

FORTY-NINE

Sam

The stone feels cold beneath my fingertips as I trace my mother's name. Giulia Costello. Eighteen years gone, and sometimes the wound feels as fresh as yesterday.

"I miss you," I whisper to the marble slab, my voice barely audible over the distant sounds of mourners gathering for Roman's funeral one row down.

The cemetery stretches around me, a city of the dead with its above-ground tombs gleaming white in the New Orleans sun. I've funded everything for Roman's service — the best casket, the finest plot, flowers covering every surface. Money can't bring him back, but it's the only way I know how to shoulder this weight.

Roman died protecting what was mine. What I failed to protect.

My mind flashes to images of Olivia in that shack in the Bayou. So much like my mother all those years ago. The parallels claw at my insides — a small room, the smell of water nearby, the sound of desperate breathing.

But this time, the ending was different.

This time, she survived.

I close my eyes, remembering the moment I burst through that door, expecting to find her broken body. Instead, she stood there, gun in hand, Axel's blood pooling at her feet. She'd saved herself when I couldn't reach her in time.

John's hand lands on my shoulder, breaking me out of my thoughts, a silent question in the gesture.

"I'm good," I tell him, though we both know it's a lie.

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