War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,165
this man and my child and a future too.
My smile slips away. “What do we do now?” I ask him.
“I don’t care, wife, so long as I do it with you.”
Chapter 63
Two years later
My heart is in my throat when I knock on the blue door in front of me. The house, like many others in Heraklion, Crete, is picturesque, despite showing some signs of weather damage.
Maybe we got it wrong again. It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately.
On the other side of the door I can hear muffled voices, then the sound of footfalls approaching.
It’s taken me a long time to get to this moment—nearly a decade if I tally up all the time that’s passed. If, of course, this is in fact the moment I’ve been waiting for.
The door opens, and I don’t breathe as I take in the woman standing on the other side.
I got it right. I know it in an instant.
She looks different—much, much older than I remember—but all the familiar features are still there.
“Mom?” I say.
For a moment, my mother just stands there, her face blank. She studies my own face, like this might be a joke, and then—there it is. Recognition flares in her eyes. She covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes welling up.
“Miriam?”
I draw in what feels like my first breath. I nod, blinking back my own tears. I’ve waited so long for this.
Can’t believe it’s happening.
“It’s me,” I say, my voice shaky.
She lets out a sob, then opens her arms wide, sweeping me up into her embrace.
My mom is really still alive. And I’m hugging her.
Years of pain and separation dissolve away in that moment. I dreamed of this embrace so many times.
Her entire body is shaking. “My baby. My daughter.” She’s now openly weeping and rocking me against her, and I can’t see straight through my own tears. She pets my hair back as she holds me. “For years I prayed to whatever god would listen,” she says, the apology thick in her voice. “I stayed here, on Crete, because I wanted to be close in case—”
I shake my head against her. I’m not here for explanations. I understand. Everything I went through had to happen for me to find War and end up right here, and it all started with my miraculous survival from that first explosion.
“It’s alright, Mom. I found you.” And you’re alive. This is my wildest hope come true. “It’s alright,” I repeat again.
Now she clings to me, like I’m the mother and she’s the child. “My daughter, my intelligent, resilient daughter. There are so many things I want to know about you—so many years and memories …”
“Mama?” a woman calls from inside the house.
I stiffen at the familiar voice. I remember that voice singing me to sleep years and years ago. It’s like music, hearing it again when I thought I might never get to.
I glance over my mother’s shoulder and see a young woman approach the door, her brow pinched with concern. My sister, Lia, no longer looks like the round-faced girl I remember. And yet, I could never mistake her for another.
There’s no moment of confusion with her. My sister gasps when she sees me.
“Miri,” she says, falling back on her old nickname for me.
My mom lets me go long enough for me to fall into the embrace of my sister. I pull her close to me. Closing my eyes, I relish the feel of holding her again.
I feared I’d never get this, I want to say. I feared I had lost you forever.
But I didn’t lose either my mother or my sister. Somehow we all survived the Arrival, a civil war, and two horsemen of the apocalypse.
Speaking of horsemen …
Behind me I hear War’s unmistakable stride coming up to the door. Up until now, he’d been waiting a little ways away, letting me have my moment. There’s nothing like a muscled giant of a man to set people’s nerves on edge.
I can tell the instant my family notices him. My sister’s arms tense, and I hear my mother draw in a quick breath.
War comes up next to me, and almost instinctively, my sister releases me, stepping back a little. My mother shrinks back as well. Their earlier friendliness gives way to polite wariness. It takes them both another few seconds to register the small human clinging to him.
I mean, men who hold toddlers always look a pinch less threatening—right?