Page 12 of Beautiful Vows

“I’m ready,” Aurora says softly, her voice tinged with both resolve and sadness as she wipes away the tears from her eyes.

I spin away from Lia away when I hear my true love speak.

“She’s ready?” my daughter whispers.

Her words hang in the air as suspicion swirls between us.

I glance at Lia and nod, and back to the screen at her mother. I know she’s about to share something so profound that it will shape the course of our daughter’s life.

I don’t feel ready.

I never will be.

“I was already recording you.” My voice comes from the screen. It’s steady despite the weight of the upcoming revelation. The camera was already capturing the rawness of the moment, ready to preserve the truth.

“Record over it. I don’t want her to see me upset,” Rory pleads, her voice spiked with a touch of desperation.

I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a comforting presence. “Aurora, she needs to see you. Not the brave persona you are about to put on. The real you. Her mother,” I insist, my gaze locked with hers.

“Tony...” Her voice trembles with anxiety, her eyes searching mine for reassurance.

“Rory...” I warn gently, invoking the nickname that only I use for her. “One day, she will want answers. Give her the full truth. Give her you.”

She swallows hard; her struggle is clear, as is the sadness in her eyes. I offer her a reassuring smile.

My heart is aching with the knowledge of the pain she is about to reveal. I know our daughter needs to witness the unfiltered truth, to see the woman behind the mask of strength. She deserves to know her mother, the real essence of the woman I love.

On the screen, I assure her once more that it is necessary, that our daughter needs to see the depth of her love if she wants her to see everything else.

But here in this room, my heart aches. I underestimated the gravity of this moment. I knew it would be hard, but this is so much tougher than I could ever have comprehended.

I pause the video as a flood of varying emotions washes over me. Torn between wanting to shield Aurelia from the pain she is about to endure, but knowing she needs the truth.

“You have to do it,” Dominic says, giving me a reassuring nod, urging me to go on. The small exchange resonates deep within me and is a testament to the bond we’ve shared since that day, and the sacrifices he made for my sake.

My shoulders sag, unable to contain the rush of emotions flooding my being.

I press play again, ready to watch my memories come alive once again.

I watch Aurelia’s face as she listens to her mother, telling her how much she loves her, her sisters, her fathers. But she still hasn’t gotten to the sacrifice she is about to make.

The sacrifice she made for her daughter ... daughters, because if anything should happen to Aurelia, her sisters are still next in line. What Rory did was safeguard her family from the clutches of darkness. Darkness I’m part of. Once, I became a first son.

The weight of Aurora’s love for her children is overwhelming, pressing down on me with every breath.

Aurora sniffles, drops her head as she closes her eyes; two tears slide over her dark lashes. She sucks back a breath before raising her head to the camera. “My beautiful girl. As I stand here, I hope I provided enough time for my family to have gotten the safe passage we planned for you. And I hope you lived a life away from this brutal one, but if you’re watching this, it probably means I failed.” Her voice shakes as she glances at the ground.

Blood pounds in my ears as I turn and stare at Aurelia. She was never supposed to come into this world, but here she is. But something tells me Rory never failed.

I turn back to the screen to see Aurora's gaze back on the camera, staring for a few moments.

“And I am so sorry for upsetting you when I left. That day was the hardest one of my life. Hearing your sobs was much harder than what I’m about to do today. I’ve shed more tears from seeing your face, begging me not to leave you, than I have for myself.”

“No,” Lia whimpers, tears slipping over her closed lashes as she listens to her mother acknowledge the pain of leaving her behind.

“You won’t remember the day I left when you get to see this—that hurts me more to say than anything else,” Rory chokes out her words, like they are the hardest words of all. She wipes her cheeks as she looks back at the camera. “I’m so sorry.”

The image of her tears breaks something inside me, releasing the sorrow I’ve held back for far too long.

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