Chapter 49: The Way Home

Rosalie’s first instinct was to close the door.

Giovanni saw it immediately. Her fingers tightened on the edge, her gaze fixed on the car parked beyond him.

"No."

"Auntie."

"I can’t."

Giovanni didn’t move closer.

"They know you’re here."

Rosalie looked at him. "How?"

"An investigator."

Her eyes closed.

Of course.

Alejandro.

Who else would’ve kept looking after all these years?

"Please tell them to go."

"I can."

That made her open her eyes.

"If that’s what you really want, I’ll tell them," Giovanni continued. "But I think you should decide after you’ve seen them, not because you’re afraid to."

"I’m not afraid."

Giovanni didn’t argue.

Rosalie looked past him again. "Is that Alex?"

"Yes."

Something in her expression crumpled.

"He looks like his father."

"He does."

"Does he hate me?"

Giovanni considered the question. Lying would’ve been easier, but probably not kinder.

"I think he’s hurt."

Rosalie lowered her gaze. "He should be."

"And your husband has been waiting for you."

Her eyes filled immediately.

"Don’t."

"I’m not trying to make you feel guilty."

"You don’t have to." A brittle laugh escaped her. "I’ve managed that perfectly well by myself."

Giovanni remained silent until Rosalie finally stepped back from the doorway.

"You can tell them to come in."

Alejandro entered first.

Alexander had expected that. What he hadn’t expected was his father stopping just inside the doorway, as though he’d forgotten how to move.

Rosalie stood several feet away.

Years had changed both of them. Alejandro’s hair had grayed, while Rosalie had become painfully thin, her clothes hanging more loosely than they should. There was no obvious sign of some dramatic illness, only the quieter evidence of someone who hadn’t been taking particularly good care of herself.

The little house reflected much the same. It was clean and orderly but almost devoid of comfort, with several things that looked as though they’d broken months ago and Rosalie had simply learned to live around them.

Alejandro finally found his voice.

"Rosalie."

Her lips trembled.

"I’m sorry."

That was all it took.

Years of anger and unanswered questions collapsed into two words as Alejandro crossed the room.

Rosalie started crying before he reached her.

"I shouldn’t have left."

"I know."

"I shouldn’t have blamed him."

Alejandro’s arms tightened around her.

"I know."

"I knew it wasn’t his fault." Her voice broke. "I knew, Alejandro."

Alexander remained near the doorway until a light touch landed against his arm.

Giovanni.

"I’ll wait outside."

Alex looked at him. "You don’t have to."

"You need privacy."

Which was precisely why Giovanni quietly stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Rosalie clung to her husband.

"I kept thinking about Ben," she whispered. "Everywhere I looked, I saw him."

Alejandro closed his eyes. "So did I."

"No. Not like me."

She pulled back enough to look at him.

"I looked at Alex and thought it should’ve been different."

Alejandro’s expression changed.

"I hated myself for thinking it."

"Then why did you punish him?"

Rosalie flinched.

His voice hadn’t risen, but the anger beneath it was unmistakable.

"I don’t know."

"Yes, you do."

Her gaze dropped.

"Because Ben was all I had left of his father."

There it was.

The truth she’d apparently spent years being ashamed to say aloud.

"I still had feelings for someone who’d left me," Rosalie whispered. "After everything you did for us, some stupid part of me still carried that."

Alejandro’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"You married me anyway. You raised his son, and you fought your father for us." Tears slipped down her face. "Then Ben died, and it felt like I’d lost the last piece of the life I had before you too."

She looked away.

"What kind of wife thinks that?"

"A grieving one."

"Don’t make it kinder than it was."

"I’m not."

Alejandro took her hands.

"You hurt me, Rosalie."

She closed her eyes.

"And you hurt our son."

A sob escaped her.

"Leaving didn’t fix either one."

"No."

"Then why didn’t you come home?"

Rosalie stared down at their joined hands.

"At first, I was angry. After that, I was ashamed."

One day away had made the next easier, until enough time had passed that coming home began to feel impossible.

"How was I supposed to walk back into that house?" she whispered. "How was I supposed to face Alex after what I’d done to him?"

"You could’ve started by trying."

Rosalie looked at him.

Alejandro’s eyes were wet now, but he didn’t look away.

"I waited for you."

"I know."

"No, Rosalie. I don’t think you do." His grip tightened around her hands. "I waited because I thought you needed time. Then I looked for you because I realized time wasn’t bringing you back."

Her face crumpled.

"I kept thinking I’d come home when I could face all of you."

"And when was that supposed to be?"

"I don’t know."

"That was the problem."

Rosalie had no answer.

Alejandro looked around the little house.

"You were going to keep punishing yourself here until what? Someone found you?"

She looked away.

"Are you eating properly?"

The silence answered for her.

Alejandro exhaled slowly, some of the anger leaving his face and giving way to exhaustion.

Then Alexander stepped forward.

"Mom."

Rosalie froze.

Whatever she’d prepared to say disappeared the moment she saw him standing there as a grown man, far removed from the injured boy she’d once looked at through the fog of unbearable grief.

"Alex."

He didn’t embrace her.

Not yet.

Rosalie seemed to understand.

"I’m sorry."

Alexander swallowed. "I know."

"No, you don’t."

She stepped closer but stopped before touching him.

"You were driving, and I blamed you because I needed someone to blame. The investigation said it wasn’t your fault. Your father told me it wasn’t your fault."

Her voice shook.

"I knew it wasn’t your fault."

Alexander’s jaw tightened.

"But you were alive."

Rosalie nodded through her tears.

"And Ben wasn’t."

Silence settled between them.

"You still treated me like I was responsible."

"Yes."

The answer hurt, but Alexander appreciated that she hadn’t tried to soften it.

"I lost him too."

Rosalie covered her mouth.

"He was my brother."

"I know."

"No." Alexander looked directly at her. "I don’t think you did."

She visibly recoiled, but he couldn’t stop now.

"I woke up asking for Ben. Then, while everyone was grieving, I found out we weren’t even full brothers."

"Alex—"

"And suddenly it felt like I wasn’t allowed to miss him as much as you did."

"Oh, Alex."

"You made me feel like the wrong son survived."

Rosalie broke.

Alejandro didn’t rescue her from the words.

He let them land because, perhaps, they should’ve been said years ago.

Rosalie cried quietly, then forced herself to look at her son again.

"I was wrong."

Alexander’s eyes burned. "I know."

"And I’m sorry."

"I know."

"I don’t expect you to forgive me."

That answer took longer.

"I don’t know if I already have."

Rosalie stared at him.

Alexander released a tired breath.

"But I’m here."

For now, that was enough.

He reached for her hand, and Rosalie’s fingers closed around his.

Then she stepped closer.

Alexander let her.

When his mother finally folded against him, the first thing he noticed was how little she weighed.

Too little.

Whatever else he was feeling, that frightened him.

It took considerably longer before anyone discussed leaving.

Alejandro eventually said it.

"Come home."

Rosalie looked at him. "I can’t just walk back in and pretend nothing happened."

"I’m not asking you to."

That stopped her.

Alejandro held her gaze.

"I’m still angry. Alex is still hurt, and you’re going to have to live with the fact that coming home doesn’t erase any of it."

Rosalie’s eyes filled again.

"But you still want me there?"

"I’ve spent years without you." His voice softened. "I don’t want to spend any more wondering whether we could’ve fixed this."

"What if we can’t?"

"Then at least we’ll finally know."

Rosalie looked toward Alexander.

He nodded toward the little house around them.

"Your lease ends in two months anyway."

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

"The investigator."

"Of course."

Alexander almost laughed.

"You investigated my lease?"

"Dad hired thorough people."

Alejandro looked entirely unapologetic.

"What were you planning to do afterward?" Alex asked.

"I hadn’t decided."

That answer told him enough.

"Then decide later. Come home now, and if you eventually decide you don’t want to stay, we’ll deal with it then."

Rosalie looked between them as though she still couldn’t quite believe they were offering her something she’d spent years convincing herself she no longer deserved.

Then Alexander added, "You’re also seeing a doctor."

Her expression changed immediately.

"I’m fine."

"No, you’re not."

"I’m thin."

"You’re malnourished."

"Alex."

"You’ve apparently been surviving on stubbornness."

Alejandro cleared his throat. "That does run in the family."

Alexander looked at him.

"Not helping."

For the first time, Rosalie laughed.

It was small and rusty from disuse, but it was a laugh.

Outside, Giovanni heard it through the door.

He didn’t interrupt.

By evening, Rosalie Vance sat in the back seat beside her husband with several hastily packed bags in the trunk. Everything else could be collected later.

As they pulled away, she looked back at the little rented house where she’d spent years hiding from people who had apparently never stopped wanting her home.

Giovanni drove while Alexander sat in the passenger seat, leaving Alejandro beside Rosalie with his hand wrapped around hers.

When the familiar gates finally appeared ahead, Rosalie sat straighter.

The ancestral home emerged beyond the trees.

She stared at it.

"What happened to the roof?"

Alexander turned around.

Of all the things she could’ve said...

"The roof?"

"It’s green."

"It was leaking."

"That doesn’t explain why it’s green."

Alexander glanced toward Giovanni, whose expression wasn’t remotely helpful.

"Gio had it replaced."

Rosalie looked toward the driver’s seat. "You?"

"Partially."

Alexander snorted. "Don’t listen to him."

Something between confusion and amusement crossed Rosalie’s face before the car finally stopped.

For the first time since they’d left, nobody spoke.

Rosalie looked through the window at the house she’d walked away from years ago.

The front door opened.

Mr. Tomas Reyes stood there, with several longtime household staff members gathered behind him, despite clearly being instructed not to make a spectacle.

Rosalie didn’t move.

Alejandro waited. So did Alexander.

No one told her what to do.

Finally, she opened the car door and stepped onto the stone pathway.

She reached the foot of the stairs, then stopped.

"Are my things still here?"

Alejandro’s face changed.

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"As much as I could save."