Page 73 of Better as It

She’s thinner than I remember. Her hair down instead of pulled tight like always. She’s wearing a pale cardigan and holding a single white flower.

I take a step forward, body between her and Dia by instinct.

But Dia reaches for my wrist. “Let me.”

I glance back. She’s not trembling.

She’sready.

Patricia’s eyes are glassy when she speaks. “I didn’t come to cause trouble. I just wanted to see his headstone.”

“You’re out on bail,” I say.

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t be near her.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?” I ask flatly.

She looks at Dia, not me.

“I didn’t come for you. I came for my son.”

“You already came for my son,” Dia replies, voice tight. “When you hired people to take me. And your son would hate you for that.”

Patricia flinches.

“I didn’t know they’d hurt you.”

“You drugged me,” Dia says, stepping forward. “You planned to take my child. What exactly did you think would happen?”

“I was grieving,” she says, voice cracking. “I lost him. And you?—”

“You were grieving yes,” Dia interrupts. “So was I. So were all the Hellions who loved him too. But that doesn’t excuse what you did.”

Patricia looks down at the flower in her hands. She doesn’t offer it. Just stares at it like it’s the last thing she’s got left.

“I don’t hate you,” Dia says softly. “That would be easier.”

Patricia looks up, eyes wide.

“I think some part of me understands you,” Dia continues. “That kind of loss? It rips everything apart. It makes people do things they never thought they would.”

She steps forward again, slow.

“But you came for my family. And no one touches what’s mine.” She gestures toward Benjamin in my arms. “That boy ismine. Mine and Justin's. And I would die before I let you take him. And you should know none of us will ever go down without a fight.”

Patricia says nothing.

Dia’s voice is calm now. Steady. “You crossed a line. And even if I can forgive the grief that drove you there, I can’t ever forget what it cost.”

Patricia blinks fast, fighting tears.

“You don’t have to like me,” Dia says. “You don’t even have to look at me. But you’ll never come near my child again.”

The wind picks up. Patricia nods once. Silent. She sets the flower on the headstone. No ceremony. No apology.

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