Oh, it whispers. This. This. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? Do you remember that, Bear? He was so tiny the last time he asked you that question. He was sitting on your lap and looking at you with those wide eyes of his. And he asked you if she was dead, and you choked on it, didn’t you? You just choked. And he’d asked you what was going to happen to him, didn’t he? That he was just a little guy, that he wasn’t as big as you, and what was going to happen to him? Do you remember that? I do.

Of course I remember.

I remember everything.

Otter had been there too, and his big hands had gone to the Kid’s face, and he’d told him that he knew it was scary but that Tyson would always have someone there to take care of him. Anna. And Creed. Their parents. And Otter too, though he’d end up breaking that promise for a little while. But I haven’t blamed Otter for that for a very long time.

So I say, “Yeah, Ty,” because it’s the only thing I can say. And I’ve said it out loud before multiple times in the previous hours, but this is the first time it’s actually felt real. Not when Izzie was in my arms, not when our family gathered in the kitchen. But here.

This moment.

It’s real.

And I’m relieved. God help me, but I’m relieved.

Because after this moment, she will never hurt us again.

I should have had more faith in Tyson.

Because he doesn’t break apart like I thought he would. His face scrunches up, and he’s breathing harshly in through his nose and out through his mouth like he’s fighting whatever it is that claws at his chest and throat and restricts his air. He’s fighting against it right in front of me, and though I want to charge up those stairs and shelter him from everything, I don’t. I wait, because I have to trust him. With everything we’re facing ahead, I have to trust him.

His eyes are wet when they focus on me again. “Okay,” he says. “What do we do next?”

SURPRISE, EVERYONE says when we go into the house.

They try. They really do.

Surprise, surprise, surprise.

He smiles at them. He hugs them. But he’s distracted.

Izzie’s in the living room. She’s dressed in her clothes, now washed and clean. She’s on her knees in front of Megan—and shit, I’d forgotten about her, and oh my fucking god I have two fucking children on the way—while her hair is being braided with deft fingers.