Page 107 of Loco

The blueprint in front of me was the near-final draft of the extension that was being added to my house—ourhouse. What’d started as a simple wall rebuild had become something bigger, a home worth restarting in.

“It’s nearly done,” I sighed quietly, running my fingers over the sketched outline of the addition.

Sayla nodded, her cheek resting against my shoulder. “I know. Took longer than we thought, but it’ll be worth it.”

“It will.” I kissed the top of her head and then flipped the page. “The plan is to be out of here in three weeks, maybe four. Final inspections, painting, all the last-minute crap.”

“I’ll miss having you all in this place,” she said. “But I can’t wait for the kids to see their new home.”

Outside, Kaida squealed with laughter as Kairo declared himself the fastest runner in the galaxy. The sound made something warm bloom in my chest.

The kids were thriving again. Back at daycare, with routines, friends, snacks, and naps. Things children were supposed to have—not memories of locked doors and painted windows. They didn’t talk much about what had happened anymore, but when they did, it was in little fragments. And when they looked at me or Sayla, it wasn’t with fear, it was trust.

The legal battles were still in full swing. Griggs, Russo, the corrupt officers, and half a dozen others were all in various stages of indictment and trial. Topper had survived the Hantavirus, sadly, and it’d turned out his criminal buddies were the ones who’d ensured he’d get it by injecting all of the bottles of water in his home with it. He’d also be standing trial for his crimes. Sayla and I would have to testify eventually, but we wereremoved from the day-to-day chaos for now. The justice system was slow, but it wasmoving, and that mattered.

And Palmerstown was rebuilding. Half the people who Griggs’s schemes had driven out had returned, accepting the town’s offer of restoration and new housing. The corruption had gone deeper than anyone imagined, but Ned, Hurst, and their teams had carved it out at the root. More arrests had followed in surrounding counties, and people slowly began tobreatheagain.

Hope felt real now—not just something whispered in the dark.

Even the CPS representative overseeing my guardianship of the kids had been rattled when they learned what had happened. But with Ned Dahl in our corner—and the mountain of documentation showing how hard we’d fought to keep the kids safe—they backed off.

And now, it was official—Kairo and Kaida were mine. No more paperwork. No more inspections. Just family. The governor had worked hard and made miracles happen for us.

Sayla turned in my arms and looked up at me, brow raised. “You going to tell them?”

“Not yet,” I hedged, smiling a little.

Only a few people knew what I’d decided. Once the house was finished, I was done with the police and done chasing ghosts and politics and red tape. I’d seen enough darkness to last ten lifetimes.

It was time to live a life that didn’t revolve around it.

One filled with morning cartoons and muddy footprints, pancake breakfasts, books read by flashlight under the covers,movie nights with popcorn disasters, and afternoons like this—just the four of us, sun-washed and safe.

“Let’s get you guys home,” Sayla whispered as if reading my mind.

I smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We are home.”

And this time, it was true.

Sayla

Three Weeks Later

The sky was still glowing faintly pink by the time I pulled into Roque’s driveway. My headlights swept across the front of the house—theirhouse, now fully rebuilt, extended, and shining with the quiet promise of a new start. The freshly painted porch railings caught the last of the sunlight, and I sat there for a moment, staring at it.

My chest ached in the best and worst way. We’d gotten here—they’dgotten here—after everything, and I was happy, so happy. But beneath the joy was this soft, slow crack forming down the center of me because they wouldn’t be living with me anymore.

No more sleepy morning cartoons with Kaida curled in my lap or Kairo wandering into the kitchen in oversized socks to ask questions about everything from dinosaurs to dreams. No more toys tucked into the couch cushions or mismatched sippy cups drying by the sink. No more Roque brushing past me in the hallway, his hand trailing across my back without even thinking about it.

This was a good thing. Itwas. But still, it hurt.

I turned off the engine and got out, gripping the little paper bag of their favorite muffins I’d grabbed from the café on the way. The air smelled like grass, sawdust, and the faintest hint of leftover paint.

Roque had asked me to come after work and said he’d grab the kids from daycare since I had to stay late. I’d smiled and agreed, but I’d felt this low hum in my chest all day, like anticipation and dread wound tight together.

The porch steps creaked under my shoes, and I knocked once out of habit, then pushed the door open.

And the second I did?—

---