Page 87 of Code Name: Grit

Before I could respond, a commotion outside the door caught our attention. Voices raised, one of them achingly familiar.

The door burst open, and my mother stood there, her face pale, eyes wide as they fixed on Cassio.

“Amelia,” he breathed, rising slowly to his feet.

The name hung in the air between them, laden with decades of history.

“I came as soon as my flight landed,” she said, though she was speaking to me while staring at him. “Dante picked me up.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, moving to her side. “We were just talking.”

Her hand found mine, squeezing tightly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom.” I glanced between them. “Maybe you two should talk as well.”

Cassio hadn’t moved, his eyes fixed on my mother as if drinking in the sight of her after a long drought.

“I thought you died—” His voice caught. “You’re as beautiful as the day I last saw you,” he said quietly.

Color touched her cheeks. “Don’t.”

“It’s truth, not flattery.”

She took a hesitant step forward, then another. “It’s been a long time, Cassio.”

“Twenty-six years, eight months, and thirteen days,” he replied without hesitation. “But who’s counting?”

A startled laugh escaped her, the sound breaking some of the tension in the room.

The door opened again, and Dante appeared with Lark beside him. His expression was guarded as he looked at Cassio, but softened when his eyes found me.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded, a smile spreading across my face at the sight of my brother and his wife. “I’m better than okay.”

Summer arrived minutes later, engulfing me in a hug that smelled of the vanilla perfume she’d worn for as long as I could remember.

“Look at this gathering,” she said, stepping back to survey the room. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

I looked around at the improbable collection of people—my mother and Summer, who had raised me in hiding; Dante, the brother I’d only known for a short time; his wife Lark, carrying the future of our family; and Cassio, the father I never dreamed I’d know. Would want to know.

And then there was Grit, who had reappeared at my side. He’d become the center of my world in ways I was only beginning to understand.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” I said, addressing the group. “All of us.”

The conversations that followed were sometimes painful, sometimes healing, as decades of secrets and misconceptions were brought into the light. There were tears and laughter, accusations and apologies. It wasn’t easy, but it felt necessary—the lancing of a wound that had festered for too long in the darkness.

Hours later,when only Grit and I remained at the camp, I curled against him on the couch, emotionally exhausted but strangely at peace.

“You did well today,” he said, his fingers threading through my hair.

“It was surreal. Having everyone together like that. My family.”

“Our family,” he corrected gently.

I looked up at him, warmth spreading through me at the simple declaration. “Yes. Ours.”

“I can’t wait for my parents to meet you.”

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