Page 212 of Bossy Hero

With a voice thick with emotion, he asks, “Mom, do you love yourself now?”

My shoulders rise with a brisk inhale, gradually falling with my steady exhale. “You’re not pulling any punches tonight, huh?”

His eyes widen comically. “Really?That’sthe phrase you choose?”

I chuckle, grateful for the reprieve from the sadness of the moment. “Sorry. Too soon?”

Answering with a subdued laugh, he nods before asking, “Well, do you love yourself? The way we love you?”

More tears fall, one after another. “I’m a work in progress.”

“That’s fair.”

For a while, we sit together in silence. I study his hands, always full of love and tenderness for the women in his life. Violence only for those who mean us harm.

He’s the opposite of his father in every way.

“I’m proud of you, Leo. So proud.”

The creases by his eyes tighten. “For what?”

“Proud that you’re my son. Proud of the man you’ve become despite having the worst father. You’re such an honorable man. An amazing husband. And I know you’ll be the best damn father a child could ever ask for. It couldn’t have been easy. But you broke the cycle.”

One cheek tugs up his lips into a crooked grin. “I had a good teacher.”

Dammit. Now I’m crying again.

My chin quivers as I force out, “I didn’t break the cycle, baby.”

“Oh really? Could have fooled me.” He presses his lips firmly together, casting a knowing look at me. “After all, you’re with a man who would never hurt you. Who will move the stars to protect you and make you happy. Who loves you with all his heart. And who will never stop working to be the best man he can be for you.”

A sob springs forth from my chest, bringing with it a cathartic release of pent-up emotion. My shoulders shake, and tears stream freely.

Leo scoots close, wrapping his big arm over my shoulders. And he holds me through it like the good man he is.

Once my latest bout of waterworks recedes, he says, “Seems to me like you finally learned how to recognize healthy love. Whether or not you feel you’re worthy of it, I can’t tell from here. But you certainly have it regardless.”

He’s right. I do have it.

Yet I keep holding Alan at bay, waiting for the other shoe to drop or for him to realize I’m not worthy of his love.

Because I still haven’t learned to love myself.

Craning his neck for a better look at me, he reaches up to wipe my tears away with his giant thumb. I bet his hand looks mammoth next to my face. The mental image brings forth a much-needed laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks through a toothy smile.

“Your hand is bigger than my entire head two times over.”

He joins me in a brief laugh, then kisses the top of my head. Rising swiftly, he retrieves a box of tissues from the bathroom. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, my darling.”

After I’ve dried my face and blown my nose about six thousand times, I peek at him from under my lashes. “Are you mad at me for not telling you sooner about Alan?”

The vibe shifts, and his face sobers. “I was. And I am. But I’m also not, which I know makes perfect sense.” He shrugs, returning to the couch. “I’m honestly more bothered thathedidn’t tell me, rather than you.”

“Why? That seems unfair.”

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