Page 126 of Unbroken

Ruthie stares. Her voice barely comes out. “Mom?”

“Yes?” her mother answers, and for a beat—just one precious second—her gaze sharpens. It’s clear. Present. Grounded in now. “Come here, sweetheart,” she says seconds before she’s overtaken by a vicious cough.

Ruthie hesitates for only a breath before stepping forward. Her mother wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Ruthie crouches beside her, and her mother leans in, whispering something low and private into her ear. I can’t hear what she says, but I see the way Ruthie’s cheeks flush with sudden heat.

“Mom,” she says, half laughing, half reeling. “You didn’t.”

Her mother just smiles. That same mischievous spark from years ago flickers in her eyes—quick and knowing. “I knew,” she says, this time louder, looking directly at me now. “I always knew who you were.”

She reaches out, brushing her hand down Ruthie’s arm with featherlight affection.

“He’ll take care of you. You were supposed to find each other.”

That’s all she says. And then it’s gone.

The light in her eyes dims. Her gaze slips away, drifting toward the ceiling like she’s watching something only she can see. The edges of her smile melt, her mouth going slack. She begins to hum—low, tuneless, disconnected. A lullaby with no beginning, no end.

Ruthie doesn’t cry. Her hand trembles slightly as she lays it gently over her mother’s. I move to her, kneel beside her, and wrap my arm around her waist. She leans into it without a word.

Her mother’s eyelids flutter closed. The lines in her face soften. She breathes out, slow and light, and for the first time, she looks peaceful. Childlike. Asleep.

“Let’s go, baby,” I whisper.

I rise first, offering my hand. She takes it, and I guide her up, placing my palm on the small of her back like I always do—protective, grounding. We walk in silence, each step echoing down the tiled hallway. As we near the exit, she whispers.

“You were supposed to find each other,” she repeats, more to herself than to me. Like she’s testing the truth of it.

I stop. Turn her toward me.

She looks up, eyes wide and glassy, mouth just barely trembling.

I cup her jaw gently, fingers steady against her cheek. “Finder’s keepers,” I say, firm and sure.

And I mean it. Every damn word.

Epilogue

RUTHIE

The city’sall bright lights, honking horns, and chaos, and I’m somewhere in the middle of it, one eye on the traffic and the other smudging half-applied lipstick in the rearview mirror. The toddler car seat in the back is empty, a backpack half-zipped next to it, and my purse on the passenger seat is full of rolled-up bills from the weekend bar shift. Chaos, yes, but beautiful chaos.

“Green light, asshole,” I mutter, slapping the wheel when the truck ahead doesn’t move fast enough.

As usual, I’m not wearing anything special. Black jeans, the kind that stretch at the belly and my leather jacket with the scuffed sleeve. My hair is still wet from a too-fast shower, already curling where it wants.

But when the sunlight hits the windshield just right, I glance at myself. And for a split second, I smirk. It’s the smirk of a girl who survived grief and violence. Who burieda sister and nearly buried herself. Who clawed her way into the arms of a Bratva warlord and didn’t break.

Never thought I’d live long enough to be late for carpool.

The thought slips in like a joke, but my throat tightens anyway.

I pull up to the school curb fifteen minutes late. Teachers are already shepherding the last few kids to the gate. One of them—Miss Gina, with bright eyes and cropped gray curls—smiles when she sees me stride up the walkway.

“Ruthie! You just missed him. Your husband already picked him up.”

I breathe a sigh of relief even as I blink. That word again.

Husband.