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I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah, Mama. It’s me.”
“You always sang so off-key,” she whispered, smiling now, like the clouds had parted in her mind.
I laughed, sobbed, nodded again.
And when she reached for Emmaline next, it was like something holy moved through the room.
Elias didn’t say a word. Just stood in the doorway, watching, his eyes darker than usual. When my mother’s head drooped gently onto my shoulder, content, I looked up at him.
He’d saved us.
Not just with his money, but with his heart. His clarity. His impossible calm in the face of everything I couldn’t fix.
In that moment, I knew something else, too.
I hadn’t just fallen in love with Elias Dane. I’d fallen into him. And he was exactly where I wanted to be.
The rest of the day moved like a montage I wasn’t quite awake for—packing up what few belongings my mother had, signing papers I barely registered, watching Elias handle logistics with the precision of a man used to commanding outcomes.
He shielded us from the hard edges—coordinating with his assistant, with the jet crew, with the Charleston facility—all while keeping one steady hand on my back, like he knew I needed the ground to stay beneath me.
By the time we arrived back at the tarmac, the sky had begun to soften with dusk. The jet was waiting—glowing under the floodlights like something out of a dream. And as we stepped up the stairs, I saw the delivery bags lined neatly near the galley.
“What’s this?” I asked, glancing down.
Elias gave me a small smile. “From Léon’s.”
I blinked. “Léon’s? The oyster place?”
He nodded. “Figured you wouldn’t want to leave New Orleans without one last taste.”
I pressed a hand to my heart. “You remembered?”
“I remember everything that matters.”
Inside, the cabin was already warm with the smell of fresh po’boys, chargrilled oysters, and something sweet I hadn’t dared to hope for.
“Banana cream pie?” I asked, peeking into one of the boxes.
Elias smirked. “The last slice. Don’t make me fight you for it.”
We ate in soft silence as the jet rose into the clouds—my mother nestled under a blanket, head resting against Emmaline’s shoulder, murmuring something about gardenias and music and a name we didn’t recognize. Emmaline’s hand never left hers.
When we landed in Charleston, another sleek black SUV waited for us at the hangar. Elias guided us in like we were cargo more precious than gold. I could tell he’d planned every detail—there was no chaos, no confusion. Only assurance.
“Is it ready?” I asked as we drove toward the new facility.
Elias nodded. “Everything’s in place. They’ve been briefed. Room’s fully furnished with her favorite colors, even a replica of that floral painting she loved at Saint Cecilia’s. Custom-builtmemory board. Soft lighting. Private nurse assigned around the clock.”
I swallowed, trying not to cry again. “That sounds ... too good.”
“It’s what she deserves,” Elias said. “It’s what you both do.”
We pulled up to the new place, and for a second, I thought we were at a luxury resort.
The front was all glass and wood, designed to feel like nature rather than a hospital. A koi pond curved beneath the entryway, and ivy grew deliberately over the modern brick façade. Inside, there were no harsh lights, no plastic chairs. Just soft jazz playing from hidden speakers and a scent of fresh lilies in the air.
My mother’s room was more like a boutique suite than a medical space. Pale greens and soft blues on the walls. A sitting area with armchairs that looked like they’d been lifted from a Southern manor. French doors opened to a small private patio with potted herbs and a garden bench.