Page 121 of Ruthless Possession

"Hey, coaching is serious business," he protests, but he's smiling. "We've got a championship to defend next season."

"Speaking of which," I say as we reach the car, "Charlie mentioned travel ball?"

Matthew opens the passenger door for me, his expression thoughtful. "We've been talking about it. She's good, Morgan. Really good. The local league is great, but if she wants to take it to the next level…"

"Then we'll make it happen," I finish for him. "Whatever she needs."

He nods, helping me into the seat with gentle hands. "That's the plan."

I watch him circle the car, admiring the way he's filled out in the last two years, not just physically, though the coaching has kept him in excellent shape, but emotionally. The hard edges have softened, the shadows in his eyes lightened. He's found peace in this life we've built together.

Trenton and Charlie arrive at the car, Charlie chattering excitedly about the game-winning play.

"And then I saw the ball get past the center fielder, and I just knew I had to go for it," she's saying, her hands gesturing wildly. "Daddy always says to be aggressive on the base paths."

"That's right," Trenton confirms, ruffling her hair. "You read the play perfectly, kiddo."

Charlie beams up at him, and I feel that familiar ache in my chest, the one that comes from witnessing pure, unconditional love.

"Mom says I can play travel ball next season," Charlie announces, climbing into the back seat. "Does that mean we need to get me a new glove? Because Lily's dad said travel ball is really competitive, and I should probably have a better glove if I'm going to try out."

Trenton and Matthew exchange a look over the roof of the car.

"We'll see about the glove," Trenton says diplomatically. "First, we celebrate with ice cream."

"Yes!" Charlie pumps her fist. "Can we go to Scoops? Please? They have that new birthday cake flavor I've been wanting to try."

"We can go to Scoops," I agree, buckling my seat belt with some difficulty around my enormous belly. "But only if you promise to shower before we go. You're covered in dirt."

Charlie looks down at her filthy uniform and grins. "It's the dirt of champions, Mom."

As we pull out of the parking lot, Charlie chattering about the game and the upcoming ice cream celebration, I catch Trenton's eye in the rearview mirror. He's watching me with that look, the one that still makes my heart skip after all this time.

"What?" I ask softly.

He just shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing. Just thinking about how lucky we are."

Matthew reaches across the console to take my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Three years ago, if someone had told me I'd be coaching a girls' softball team and planning for twins, I would have laughed in their face."

"Two years ago, I was trying to keep a terrified little girl alive," I remind him. "Now look at us."

We stop at a red light, and Charlie leans forward between the front seats. "Can the babies come to my games when they're born? I want to teach them how to play."

"Absolutely," Trenton assures her. "But they might need a few years before they can swing a bat."

"I can wait," Charlie says seriously. "I'm patient."

The light changes, and we continue toward home, toward showers and ice cream and the comfortable rhythm of our lives. In the back seat, Charlie has moved on to planning what flavors everyone should get at Scoops, her championship medal clutched proudly in her hand.

I watch the familiar streets pass by, feeling the twins shift and kick beneath my hand. Our family is growing, expanding in ways I never imagined possible when I first found Charlie at that gas station. The road that led us here was dark and dangerous, paved with blood and fear and impossible choices.

But we made it. We built this life from the ashes of what came before. We became the family Charlie needed, and in doing so, became the family we all needed.

"Mom?" Charlie's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Do you think the babies will be good at sports like me?"

I turn to look at her, our daughter, our miracle, our reason for everything. "I think they'll be exactly who they're meant to be," I tell her. "Just like you."

She nods, satisfied with this answer, and returns to her ice cream planning. Trenton's hand finds my knee, squeezing gently. Matthew's thumb continues its steady circles on my palm.

We've come so far. We've lost so much. We've built something beautiful from the wreckage.

And as we pull into our driveway, the house where Charlie's purple bedroom waits and the nursery we've been preparing stands ready for the twins, I know with absolute certainty that we would do it all again.

For her. For them. For this.

For family.