32

Lieutenant Soto:

Hey dream team. Reminder: tonight is MY BIRTHDAY PARTY. Big one. Fancy. 7pm sharp. I better see ALL of you there, dressed like the badasses I pay too little to. 🥂 

The message lit up her phone at exactly 3:27 p.m., just as she was halfway through scrubbing a stubborn patch of grout in the kitchen floor. 

Morgan stood in the middle of her living room, barefoot, the smell of lemon cleaner clinging to her skin. She was still holding a half-damp rag, blinking at the message like it had come from a different universe. Her home was a mess of disassembled tasks, books stacked in genre piles on the couch, laundry half-folded, a spray bottle abandoned near the stairs.  Because nothing screamed "avoidance" like a spontaneous full-house deep clean.

The message hit harder than it should have. Or maybe exactly as hard as expected.

She was invited. Obviously. Of course she was. Soto never missed a chance to rally her inner circle, and Morgan was part of that—no matter how chaotic, how unconventional, how recently emotionally compromised.

But the moment she read it, her stomach dropped.

Because if she went tonight... she would see him.

Karadec.

And despite all her mental gymnastics, she still didn't know what she was going to say.

It shouldn't have felt like such a monumental thing. A party. A night. An appearance. But that was the trap, wasn't it? The way the smallest decisions carried the most weight when the person you might run into had looked at you not long ago and said—

"As someone I'd choose. Over and over."

Her breath left her in a slow exhale, rag slipping from her fingers as she leaned against the kitchen counter. The silence of the house suddenly felt too loud.

Why did this feel heavier than anything she'd faced on the job? Why did her heart beat faster now than it had that night they chased a suspect across four lanes of traffic?

Because this wasn't a case. This wasn't logic or deduction. This was her life. Her heart. Her kids. Her future. This was the part of the story she hadn't dared write for herself in years.

And still... her mind kept circling back to him.

The countless times he'd shown up. Quietly. Reliably. The car rides, the protective instincts, the sharp glances when suspects got too close. The way he always noticed when she hadn't eaten, or when she was going through something, or when she needed a ride all over the town, or when she's in danger and he's willing to do everything to keep her and her kids safe.

And how he'd never asked for anything in return.

And maybe that's what made it all harder.

He meant it.

He'd fallen for her without theatrics. Without pressure. Just steady presence. Just quiet care. Just enough clarity to leave her completely undone.

Morgan pressed her palms against her face and sighed, long and deep.

How could she explain the way fear had wrapped itself around her ribs like ivy? How could she admit she wasn't sure she knew how to let someone stay?

Morgan reached for her phone again. Opened the group chat. Hovered her thumb over the keyboard, but still didn't type.

She didn't want to face him tonight if she still didn't know what to say. She needed assurance. She owed him that. Not another vague maybe. Not another pause. Not more silence. 

And yet... the thought of not seeing him tonight felt worse.

Like a missed chance she wouldn't get back.

If she was going to walk into that party tonight, she needed to know what she wanted. And more importantly, she needed to be brave enough to want it out loud.

Ava stepped out of her room barefoot, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, and immediately paused at the threshold of the hallway. The scent of lemon polish clung to the air. The low hum of the dishwasher echoed faintly in the background. But what caught her eye wasn't the freshly scrubbed kitchen floor or the newly stacked books on the coffee table.

It was her mother—kneeling in front of an old framed sketch. One of her dad's. The lines were soft and weathered with time, but Morgan's gaze was locked on it like it still held answers.

"Mom?" Ava asked, her voice quiet but laced with concern.

Morgan blinked and turned her head slightly, like she hadn't even heard her come in. 

"Hey," she said, her voice too light to be convincing. "Didn't realize you were up."

"You've been deep cleaning the grout and staring at Dad's art for twenty minutes," Ava said gently, walking closer. "I don't think this is just about dust bunnies."

Morgan gave a soft laugh and shook her head. "Maybe I'm just nesting."

Ava gave her a knowing look. "Or spiraling."

Morgan sighed. Busted.

Ava sat beside her on the floor, knees drawn up, their shoulders brushing. The quiet settled between them for a moment before Ava spoke again, softer this time. "You okay?"

Morgan hesitated. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to deflect like she always did. With humor, with busy hands, with mom-mode autopilot. But something about sitting on the floor with her daughter, side by side, made it impossible to lie.

"I'm... thinking," she said at last.

"About him?" Ava asked, already knowing.

Morgan gave her a sidelong glance, and Ava raised a brow.

"Detective Karadec," she clarified, her voice calm but certain.

She gave a small shrug, thoughtful. Morgan blinked, startled.

"It's kind of obvious, Mom. The way you look at each other, like you're both trying not to. And how he always shows up, even when no one asks him to. I've been watching it build between you two for a while now. Like it's been quietly growing behind the scenes this whole time."

Morgan couldn't help but laugh—brief, soft, embarrassed. "That obvious?"

"To everyone but you, apparently," Ava said, bumping her shoulder playfully. "But... I also know it's not just him."

Morgan's smile faded. Her fingers curled slightly into the hem of her sleeve.

"You're thinking about Dad too," Ava said. "Aren't you?"

Morgan didn't answer right away. Her eyes drifted back to the sketch on the floor between them. It was a drawing of the three of them—Morgan, Ava, and him. Roman had made it back when everything had been simpler... or at least pretended to be.

"I care about him, Ava. About Karadec. More than I expected to. And it scares me how much," Morgan admitted, her voice quiet and vulnerable in a way Ava didn't hear often. "But it's hard.  I've been so focused on keeping this house running, keeping you three okay... I don't know how to be anything else. I don't know how to move forward when the past still feels... unfinished. Your dad... what if he comes back? What if I have to explain everything to you again? What if—"

"Mom," Ava said gently, reaching out to cover her mother's hand. "That's my mess. Not yours."

Morgan blinked, surprised.

"I pushed for answers. I needed to know what happened to Dad. I thought... maybe if I knew, it would make something make sense," Ava continued. "Finding Dad, that's for me. But you? You don't need to love him again. Even if he shows up at our doorstep tomorrow. That's not your job anymore. You're allowed to build something new now."

Tears pricked Morgan's eyes, sudden and uninvited.

"You don't have to break yourself to keep us whole. We're okay, Mom. Me, Elliot, Chloe, we're going to be okay. And I think even Ludo knows it too."

Morgan turned fully toward her daughter, her chest tight with emotion.

"You've built this life for us," Ava whispered. "And we're so lucky. But you don't have to build every part of it just for us. You get to have a life too. A heart. A future. You get to love again. You're allowed to."

Morgan swallowed hard. "What if I choose wrong?"

Ava smiled through her own emotion. "Then we figure it out. Together. Like we always do."

A tear slipped down Morgan's cheek, and Ava leaned forward to brush it away before she could. Then, in a moment that flipped their roles entirely. She tucked a strand of hair behind her mother's ear, exactly the way Morgan had always done for her.

"And just for the record," Ava added, voice lighter but still sincere, "Detective Karadec has never been a bad option. He's... steady. Kind. Protective. A little awkward sometimes, but in a sweet way. After everything he's done for you, for us... I think you'd be in good hands."

Morgan let out a shaky laugh, and without hesitation, pulled her daughter into a tight hug. Ava wrapped her arms around her just as fiercely, the way only someone who'd seen both the strength and fragility of a parent could.

"You're so much wiser than I ever was at your age," Morgan whispered.

"I got it from my mom," Ava murmured back.

They stayed like that for a while, cocooned in the quiet warmth of each other's presence. And in that moment, Morgan felt the storm that had been churning inside her finally begin to settle. Not because the answers were all clear.

When they finally pulled apart, Ava tilted her head toward the hallway with a grin.

"You know what time it is, right?"

Morgan frowned. "Time for what?"

"Time to get ready for Lieutenant Soto's birthday bash. You're going."

Morgan opened her mouth to protest, but Ava was already on her feet.

"Nope," Ava said, extending her hand. "You're wearing that navy blue dress. The one you call your 'if-I-run-into-my-ex' outfit."

Morgan raised a brow. "Why that one?"

Ava smiled. "Because this time, you might be running into your future instead."

Morgan stared at her for a beat, then took her hand and stood. And just like that, the decision was made.