Page 17 of The Wreckage Of Us (US #2)

Brittany

Twelve Years Later

It still doesn’t feel real.

I sat at the edge of our bed this morning, clutching a framed photo from when the twins were just babies—tiny, wrinkled, with soft tufts of dark hair, and their father’s serious brows even then.

The house was too quiet, too still, except for the distant sound of birds and the soft hum of the espresso machine Ace turned on downstairs.

They were graduating today.

My babies.

I was already a wreck. I hadn’t even brushed my hair. My robe hung loosely around my shoulders, tissues gathered on my lap. My chest ached with pride and ache all at once.

"Britt," Ace's voice called softly from the doorway.

I looked up. His eyes softened when they met mine. That same look—the one he gave me when we signed the adoption papers for Austin, when I walked down the aisle to him, when I held Amaya after my emergency c-section.

"They're just graduating, sweetheart," he said with a soft chuckle, though his voice cracked just a bit. "They're not disappearing."

"You say that like it's not breaking me," I whispered, looking down at the photo. "It feels like my heart is walking out the door in two pieces."

He came closer and knelt in front of me. His hand reached for my face, brushing away a tear. "You gave them the world, Brittany. Look at them now. Strong. Kind. Brilliant. Beautiful. And they have your fire."

I laughed through the tears. "No, they have your stubbornness. Especially Atis. That boy will argue with a wall."

"Gets it from his mother," Ace teased.

I swatted at his shoulder gently, and he caught my wrist, kissed the back of my hand.

"I can't believe Amaya is going to New York. She used to cry if I left her at ballet for more than an hour. Now she's moving across the country."

"She's following Karla," he said, his voice laced with quiet pride.

Karla. Our Karla. Still the same bright-eyed girl with dreams bigger than the sky. Now, a powerhouse marketing manager for Rivera Industries in Manhattan. Sierra and I still joked about how she’d been walking in heels before she could even write her name.

"She sent a photo of the apartment this morning," I said. "It’s stunning. All three of them living there… it just feels full circle."

Austin padded into the room then, hair a mess, eyes still sleepy. He climbed up on the bed beside me and yawned dramatically.

"Is today the day the twins leave and I get to be the favorite child forever?" he asked, grinning.

I pulled him into a hug. "You were always the favorite, you little sneak."

He smirked. "That’s what Amaya says. But she also said I was born in a cabbage patch, so I don’t trust her."

I froze.

Ace stifled a laugh.

"Wait," I said, pulling back. "Austin... you remember what we told you, right? About how you came into our family?"

He nodded, his big, soulful eyes suddenly serious. "Yeah, I remember. You and Dad told me when I turned twelve. And I told you then, and I’ll tell you again: I don't care whose belly I came from. You're my mom. He's my dad. End of story."

Ace wiped a tear quickly with the back of his hand, hoping I didn’t notice.

I noticed.

I kissed Austin's forehead. "You always make me cry, you know that?"

"It’s a gift," he said with a shrug, and climbed off the bed. "I call shower first. Gotta look good for all the graduation ladies."

"You’re twelve!" I shouted after him, laughing.

He shouted back, "Twelve and fabulous!"

The day moved in a blur. I helped Amaya with her makeup one last time in her room. The girl had inherited every drop of my glam gene. She even tried contouring Austin's face once.

"Mom," she said, her voice suddenly quiet. "Are you okay? You’ve been... emotional all week."

I swallowed. "You’re my daughter, Amaya. My baby. I almost lost you. And now you’re this beautiful young woman, going off to college and the runway and God knows what else."

She blinked, her mascara wand hovering mid-air. "You’re not losing me. You’re just getting a version of me who does her own laundry now."

I laughed, pulling her into a hug.

In the hallway, Atis adjusted his tie in the mirror. "How do I look, Ma?"

I just stared at him. This boy, my miracle boy. Born so small, now standing taller than Ace. Broad shoulders, gentle eyes. He looked just like his father.

"You look like the man I prayed for," I said honestly. "Just… don't break too many hearts at Columbia."

He grinned. "No promises."

Ace came up behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder. He had cried at the ceremony. I knew he would. He tried to play tough, but the moment Amaya walked on that stage, tears streamed down his cheeks.

"They did it," he whispered.

"We did it," I corrected. "We made a family."

That evening, Jasper, Corinne, Sylvia, and her younger husband—God, the man barely looked older than Atis—joined us for dinner.

Sylvia was glowing. She hadn’t said much about her relationship publicly, but tonight, watching the way he pulled her chair out, his hand resting gently on the small of her back—there was something brewing there. Something deeper. Something worth reading about.

Corinne clinked her glass, rising for a toast. "To family. To growth. To the kind of love that stretches, bends, and never breaks."

I caught Ace looking at me across the table. His eyes full of love, of history, of everything we’d been through. And everything we still had ahead of us.

After dinner, I stood in the hallway and watched the twins pack up their last few things.

"Call me every day," I said.

"Mom," Amaya groaned, rolling her eyes. "We haven’t even left yet."

"Still. Call me. Text me. Just… let me breathe."

Atis came over, wrapping his arms around me. "You’re the best mom in the world. Thank you. For everything."

I broke. The sobs came. Ugly, unfiltered, raw.

Ace joined us, pulling all three of us into his arms. Even Austin tried to squeeze in, making it an awkward but perfect family hug.

"I love you all," I said through the tears. "So damn much."

Ace whispered, "We know. And we love you back, Britt. Always."

As they pulled away, getting into Karla's car, I stood on the porch and waved until the car disappeared from view.

Ace wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close.

"Ready for the next chapter?" he asked softly.

I leaned into him. "With you? Always."

The End .

Next In The US Series

The Fall of Us

Book Three in the US Series

Sylvia Coleman once had it all—a happy home, a loving family, and the kind of childhood that felt like a dream. But dreams don’t last. When her father walked out without a word, her mother shattered. Depression and drugs became her escape, and Sylvia’s world spiraled.

Dragged through the wreckage of her mother’s mistakes, Sylvia found herself in the arms of Jagger—a dangerous man with an even darker world.

Years of pain, control, and silent endurance followed, until the birth of her son, Mason, gave her a reason to fight.

He was her light, her everything… until one night stole him away.

One car crash. Two bodies. A life in ruins.

And Sylvia locked away in an asylum with nothing but ghosts for company.

Years later, she’s rebuilt the pieces. A respected lecturer. A woman with walls higher than ever. But peace is fleeting—and temptation wears a familiar face.

His name is Ashton. Her student. And completely off limits.

He’s drawn to her darkness. She’s terrified of his light. But the more she pushes him away, the deeper he falls—and the more she realizes her past isn’t done with her yet.

The Fall of Us is a gritty, forbidden age-gap romance woven with trauma, heartbreak, and the slow-burning ache of two souls daring to heal each other. This is not a love story—it’s a story about falling, breaking, and choosing to rise anyway.