Page 89 of Playing with Fire

"But people can change, right?" I looked up at him, searching his face for answers I knew he couldn't give. "They remembered my birthday. That has to mean something."

"Maybe," he allowed, his expression softening slightly. "People surprise you sometimes." A shadow crossed his face, and I knew he was thinking of Algerone again, of that final sacrifice that had rewritten everything he thought he knew about his biological father.

"Do you think I should contact them?" I asked, needing his guidance even as I knew this was a decision only I could make. "Or am I just setting myself up for more pain?"

"I think," Xavier said carefully, "that you need to decide what you want from them. Reconciliation? Closure? Just to know they're okay? Figure out what you're looking for, then decide if it's worth the risk."

His pragmatism cut through the emotional tangle in my head, creating a path forward where before there had been only confusion. "I don't even know where to start," I admitted.

"A message," he suggested. "Something simple. 'I saw your post. I'm doing well. Hope you are too.' No pressure, no expectations. Just an opening if they want to take it."

I considered this, the simplicity of it appealing. Just a message. A small step back toward something I'd thought permanently lost. "And if they don't respond? Or if they respond with more of the same religious condemnation?"

Xavier's hand slid from my hair to cup my cheek, turning my face toward his. In the blue glow of the laptop screen, his eyes looked almost supernatural, pale and intent. "Then you'll know. And you can move forward without wondering. Without this hanging over you."

The logic was impeccable, as always. Xavier might appear cold to those who didn't know him, but his reasoning was never cruel, just ruthlessly clear. "You're right," I said, placing my hand over his. "Better to know than to keep wondering."

He nodded, satisfied. "Write the message now. Before you overthink it."

"Now? It's four in the morning."

"So? You're awake. They'll see it when they wake up." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, the gesture unexpectedly tender. "Stop finding reasons to delay. Just do it."

With Xavier’s hand on my shoulder, I opened Messenger. The blank composition window stared back at me, cursor blinking expectantly. I took a deep breath and began to type.

Hi Mom. I saw your birthday post. It meant a lot to me. I'm doing well, all things considered. I hope you and Dad are too.

I stared at the words, so inadequate compared to the storm of emotions behind them. But Xavier was right. Simple was better. An opening, not a novel. I hit send before I could second-guess myself.

It was done. The first contact in three years. A bridge, however tenuous, extended across the chasm I'd thought unbridgeable.

"There," Xavier said, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Now we can go back to sleep."

But I knew sleep would continue to elude me, my mind now racing with new possibilities. What if they responded? What if they didn't? What would I say next if the conversation continued? Would they ask about my life? Would I tell them about Xavier? About the fires? About everything that had happened since I walked away?

"Stop," Xavier murmured, as if reading my thoughts. "You're overthinking again. Come back to bed. Whatever happens with your parents happens. You've done what you can for now."

I allowed him to guide me back to bed, settling against him as his arms wrapped around me, his chest warm against my back. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my spine should have been soothing, but my mind refused to quiet.

"What are you going to say to Maxime?" I asked, the question escaping before I could reconsider. It wasn't fair to burden Xavier with my curiosity when he needed rest, but the parallel between our situations felt too significant to ignore. Both of us facing conversations about fathers. About loss. About the complex tapestry of family.

Xavier was quiet so long I thought he might have fallen asleep again. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful, measured. "The truth. That Algerone saved my life. That his last words were about wanting Maxime to be happy."

"Do you think that will be enough?"

"No," Xavier admitted. "But it's all I have to offer."

I nodded, understanding. Some wounds couldn't be bandaged with words, some losses couldn't be mitigated by explanation. Maxime had lost someone essential to his world, just as I had lost my family three years ago. The paths to healing were never straight, never simple.

"Try to sleep," Xavier murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "Morning will come whether we're ready or not."

I closed my eyes, focusing on his heartbeat, on the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back. On the knowledge that, whatever happened with my parents, I wasn't alone anymore. I had Xavier. I had this strange, dangerous, wonderful family we were building together.

And maybe, just maybe, I could have both. The family of my past and the family of my future, different but equally important, each offering something the other couldn't. The thought was almost too hopeful to bear, a fragile seedling I was afraid to nurture lest it wither under harsh reality.

But hope, like the tiny message now racing through digital space toward my mother's phone, had been planted. And despite everything, despite the danger still lurking in Phoenix's shadows, despite the uncertainty of tomorrow's conversation with Maxime, despite the precarious nature of everything we'd built, I found myself holding onto that tiny seed.

Sleep finally claimed me just as the first pale light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, my dreams filled with garden paths and rosary beads and the sound of my mother's voice calling me home.

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