Page 96 of My Fixation

“That is the promise I make to both of you. And I have never broken a promise.”

For a long moment, no one moves. Then Jaxon does something that steals the breath from my lungs. He turns into Mom’s embrace. Not because he needs saving. But because, for the first time in his life, he finally believes someone is there to catch him.

Epilogue

Jaxon

Five Years Later

The sound of giggles drifts into the kitchen. Followed by loud shushing. Then more laughter. I can’t help but smile. Whatever conspiracy is taking place in the living room has involved Ollie and at least one of our own children. Which means the chances of it ending quietly are nonexistent.

I glance around the kitchen as I chop vegetables for lunch. Sunlight pours through the windows. The refrigerator hums quietly behind me. A loaf of fresh bread cools on the counter. It’s ordinary. Wonderfully ordinary. I still can’t quite believe this is my life.

Five years. Five years since a warehouse. Five years since a woman looked me in the eye and told me I belonged. Five years since I stood in a cemetery believing I had spent my entire life unwanted. They have been the happiest of my life.

Childhood me would never have believed a life like this existed. Adult me was certain it wasn’t meant for someone like me. Yet here I am. In a home filled with laughter. With family dropping by unannounced. With nephews who raid my pantry and brothers who somehow still think adding me to ridiculous group chats is hilarious. With a mother who still kisses the top of my head every chance she gets.

And with Conor.

Always Conor.

The man who promised he would spend the rest of his life proving I mattered. The remarkable thing is, he kept that promise. Not with grand gestures, but with thousands of ordinary moments. A hand at the small of my back. Coffee already made when I wake. A blanket draped over me when I fall asleep on the couch.

The certainty that wherever I go, someone is waiting for me to come home.

“Daddy!”

The shout is followed by pounding little feet. I turn just in time to catch a flying toddler against my hip. I reach down and pick up our son. Tiny arms wrap around my neck.

I look toward the living room to find Conor already walking in, wearing the resigned expression of a man who has lost control of his own children. Behind him stand half the Murphy family. Apparently, no one bothered to knock. Again.

I laugh. Real laughter. The kind that once felt impossible. As Conor reaches us, his hand finds the small of my back out of habit.

And I finally understand what took me so long to believe. Home was never a place. It was always the people who refused to let me face the world alone.

Thomas Duncan Murphy squirms in my arms, trying to get down. I let him. Mostly because holding onto a three-and-a-half-year-old determined to escape is an exercise in futility. The little menace has enough energy to power half of Philadelphia. He keeps all of us running.

Three years ago, I asked Conor if he would be willing to foster a child with me. He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

“Yes.”

That had been his entire answer. The fostering part of our plan, however, didn’t work out quite the way we’d intended. What I failed to consider was what happens when Conor Murphy becomes fixated on something. Or someone.

One week. That’s how long it took. Seven days after Thomas moved into our home, Conor called his attorney and started the adoption process. When I reminded him that fostering was supposed to be temporary, he looked at me as though I’d lost my mind.

“He’s already ours, A Chroí.” As if there had never been another possibility. As if loving someone and letting them leave were mutually exclusive concepts.

Mom simply laughed. Then informed me she’d had the adoption papers mentally prepared by day three. Apparently, none of them were surprised.

We named him Thomas after the father I never had the chance to know. His middle name came from Uncle Duncan. It seemed fitting. The man who refused to let me remain trapped. The man who walked into that warehouse beside me and was willing to risk everything to make sure I walked back out. The man who agreed to a favor so enormous that I still don’t know if I’ll ever truly understand its cost. That favor was collected only a few months later.

I glance across the backyard. My eyes settle on Finn. He’s chasing Thomas through the grass while Ollie follows behind, determined not to be left out. His laughter carries across the yard. The corner of my mouth lifts. Some favors cost money. Some cost influence. The one Duncan traded with Vincenzo Moretti changed lives. Not just one. Many. Including the man laughing in my backyard.

I spent so much of my life believing families were something you were born into. Turns out, sometimes they’re built one stubborn Murphy decision at a time. And I have never been happier that my husband is incapable of doing anything halfway.

Husband.

The word still makes me smile. I glance across the yard to where Conor is pretending not to let Thomas climb him like a tree. He’s failing spectacularly.