Truly Theirs

Chapter 20

Nadyia’s POV Photography Studio

The studio smelled like coffee and developer.

Nadyia was reviewing proofs at her desk a recent newborn shoot, all soft cheeks and little fingers. For once, the work didn’t feel like a distraction. It felt like peace.

Her phone buzzed. Sloane, Attorney.

She frowned, immediately sitting up.

“Hey,” she answered, voice steady. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes nothing urgent legally,” Sloane said. “But I wanted to call you directly before looping in the others.”

Nadyia’s spine straightened. “What is it?”

There was a brief pause on the other end. Professional. Careful.

“Michael’s attorney submitted a request this morning. He’d like to speak to you.”

Silence.

Nadyia’s hand curled into a slow fist against the desk. “Me specifically?”

“Yes,” Sloane said. “He listed your name alone. The request says he’s seeking… ‘personal closure.’”

Nadyia stood slowly, her breath caught halfway in her chest. She turned toward the window, watching the light shift through the sheer curtains.

“What does that mean?” she asked, quieter now.

“Legally? Nothing binding. You’re not obligated. We can reject it outright. But I promised I’d bring it to you first. You have every right to say no.”

Nadyia let the silence stretch. She watched two parents walk past outside, pushing a stroller. The baby inside was babbling bright and unafraid.

“He’s never gotten to speak without trying to control the outcome,” she finally said. “Not once. I think this is just another angle.”

“Very likely,” Sloane replied. “But it’s your decision.”

Nadyia didn’t answer right away. She stared down at her desk at a photo of Ethan laughing, eyes squeezed shut.

“I’ll talk to Liam and Noah,” she said. “Then I’ll let you know.”

“Take your time.”

The call ended.

Nadyia stood in the stillness of her studio, the hum of old grief starting to echo again in her chest.

Not panic.

Not fear.

But power, waiting to be claimed.

Dinner was done. The dishes had been cleared. Ethan was upstairs with Mama B, shouting something about pajamas and superheroes.

Nadyia wiped her hands on a towel and lingered by the sink for a long moment. Her reflection in the window was backlit and quiet steady, but not untouched.

She turned. “Can we talk?”

Liam and Noah, seated at the table with mugs in hand, both looked up immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Liam asked, already sitting up straighter.

“Nothing urgent,” she said. “But Sloane called me today. She wanted to speak to me first before bringing this to all of us.”

She sat down. Let the silence settle.

“Michael wants to talk to me.”

Neither of them spoke at first. Liam’s jaw tightened. Noah’s brow furrowed, his fingers curling around his mug.

“Why?” Noah asked.

“He didn’t say. Just listed me by name and called it a request for ‘personal closure.’”

“Closure for him?” Liam muttered, eyes narrowing. “That sounds like manipulation dressed in therapy speak.”

“Maybe,” Nadyia said. “But I told Sloane I’d think about it. And I am.”

Noah leaned forward. “Do you want to hear him out?”

Nadyia exhaled. “I don’t know. I don’t want anything from him. But I also don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what he might’ve said or regretting that I never got the chance to tell him exactly who he didn’t break.”

“You’re not doing it alone,” Liam said immediately. “No way.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “But it can’t be all of us. It has to feel like a conversation, not a firing squad.”

Noah looked between them, then nodded once. “I’ll go with you.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I want to hear it. I want to see what he thinks this is. And I want to be there if you decide to shut it down.”

Liam reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You don’t owe him anything, Nadyia.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But I owe myself the right to choose. And I want to make the choice feeling strong not scared.”

They sat there for a moment, fingers linked, the weight of it between them but not crushing.

Shared.

Carried together.

“I’ll call Sloane tomorrow,” Nadyia said. “We’ll set it up.”

Noah nodde. “Then we go. And whatever happens… we walk out of that room free.”

Sloane (calm, professional):

“Hey, Nadyia. I was just about to follow up—how are you feeling about the request?”

Nadyia (measured):

“I’ve thought about it. Talked it through with Liam and Noah.”

(pause)

“I want to do it. Not because I think he deserves the conversation — but because I don’t want this unfinished.”

Sloane:

“I understand. And I respect the clarity. Do you want to make any specific conditions? I can negotiate terms.”

Nadyia:

“No contact. No physical proximity. Partitioned room, intercom only. I don’t want to smell his breath or see if he shaved. I just want distance. Controlled distance.”

Sloane (firmly):

“You’ll have it. I’ll request the facility’s secure interview space. He’ll be notified, but the logistics will be on our terms.”

Nadyia:

“I’m bringing Noah with me. He’ll be in the room.”

Sloane:

“Absolutely. His presence won’t be questioned as your support person, he’s protected. I’ll note that in the approval request.”

Nadyia (after a breath):

“I don’t want to be softened for this. I’m not going in there to be empathetic. I want him to see exactly who I am now.”

Sloane:

“Then that’s exactly who he’ll see.”

(pause)

“I’ll confirm with the warden and call you by the end of the day with the time slot. Likely next week.”

Nadyia:

“Thank you. For handling this like it matters.”

Sloane (gently):

“It does matter. And you’re walking into it with power. That’s the difference.”

Nadyia (quietly, but firmly):

“Then let’s make it official.”