CHAPTER 9
of our McLean home.
Inside the spacious, sunlit kitchen, the delicious aroma of fresh cinnamon pancakes filled the air as Samuel and Owen helped me set the marble breakfast island.
There were no superficial rules, no demanding corporate schedules, and no arrogant shouting—only pure, authentic warmth and family unity.
My phone buzzed gently on the counter, displaying a brief official notification from the Federal Bureau of Prisons.
Adrian's formal petition for sentence reduction had been summarily denied by the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals, ensuring he would remain in his federal cell for the next two decades.
Paige Ellison had been transferred to a low-security facility in West Virginia after her former high-society friends completely severed all communication with her.
I quietly deleted the notification, sliding the phone into my pocket without a single feeling of anger or bitterness.
They were ghosts of a past life that no longer had any power or presence in our world.
"Mom! Look!" Owen called out excitedly, pointing to the television screen mounted in the corner of the kitchen.
On the morning news broadcast, a special segment highlighted the Hollis Veteran Foundation, featuring pictures of families receiving new homes funded by our corporate initiatives.
May you like
"That's your company, Mom!" Samuel cheered proudly, hugging my waist tightly. "You're the coolest officer in the whole Army!"
I laughed softly, wrapping my arms around both of my handsome, strong boys, feeling an overwhelming wave of gratitude fill my chest.
