Waiting

12.

Maria POV

The waiting room felt different after Damien left.

Esteban had followed him out to find a doctor—determined, as always—trying to see if Summer could say goodbye one last time in the morning.

I momentarily looked around the room and felt a little lost without my mate. I had cried already, and he had held me tightly. I would cry again, and I knew he would be there to hold me. But right now there were things to do.

I pulled my phone from my purse and called Olivia.

She answered immediately. We went over the practical things—flights, hotel rooms, who would need picking up from the airport, whether Tía Rosa could stay with us or if we needed to arrange something else. I grabbed a pen and began making a list on the back of an old receipt.

Casket.

Service time.

Flowers.

Travel confirmations.

But my attention shifted when I noticed Summer had stood from where she was sitting. One moment she was sitting quietly, hollowed out by grief. The next, she was walking toward a boy I did not recognize.

He was sitting alone in the corner. His head was bowed, and his shoulders were heavy.

I continued speaking to Olivia, but my eyes stayed on my daughter.

Summer reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder.

The boy went rigid. Not startled like prey—it was more like something powerful that had not expected to be touched, let alone approached so quietly.

Interesting.

Olivia was saying something about church availability, but I only hummed in agreement. My focus had shifted entirely. My daughter was standing before a boy I had never seen before, and yet the air around them had changed.

I let my healer and Gamma energy expand gently into the room—not intrusive, just present. A warm current. Subtle. Invisible to human eyes. It brushed outward, touching the edges of him.

There was no malice. No corruption. No predatory hunger. And yet—

My breath stilled.

He was… ancient.

Not in body but in essence.

There are souls that burn young and bright, and there are souls that feel as though they have walked through centuries of knowing.

This boy had such a soul. I could feel his power coiled deep within him. He restrained it well, but deep down, I could feel an immense emptiness and crippling grief. He was wounded, but not yet broken. And more importantly, I could sense that he wasn’t dangerous.

Who are you? I wondered silently.

Summer stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

Without hesitation. Without fear.

Did she know him?

No. She definitely would have introduced him to me, but something in her knew something in him.

That was my daughter. Always sensing fractures in others. Always reaching for what needed mending. Always stitching broken pieces back together as if she had been born with thread in her hands.

But this—this was not simple compassion. As if fate could hear my thoughts, there was a subtle shift in the air, like two frequencies slowly tuning toward the same sacred note. I saw it. A filament of light—barely visible, luminous and fragile—forming between them. Not binding. Not claiming.

Olivia asked me something, but her voice sounded distant, muffled beneath the hum of something far more important unfolding before me.

Their energies were no longer separate.

They weren’t colliding.

They were… aligning.

Like constellations that had always belonged to the same sky finally seeing each other across the dark.

I could feel it beyond the veil—that sacred place where intention, destiny, and soul meet.

This was not infatuation.

It was deeper.

Older.

It felt like prophecy unfolding in the most ordinary of rooms.

My pen stopped moving against the paper.

I had never seen this before, but I had felt it once—the day I spilled scalding coffee on Esteban and looked up into the eyes of the man who would become my entire world.

Realization settled into me like moonlight through stained glass.

I may not know who this boy is.

But I know what I am witnessing.

Summer was laughing now. A real laugh. Open. Bright. Alive. The first true laugh I had heard from her since Papa stopped breathing. The ache in my chest loosened.

Whoever this boy was, he had quieted her grief.

It was not coincidence. It was the quiet beginning of something written long before tonight.

And for the first time since losing my father—

I felt hope for the future Fate was weaving for my little girl.

“Maria?” Olivia’s voice sharpened. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” I murmured, though my eyes never left Summer. “I’m sorry. I’ll have to call you back.”

I ended the call gently.

And for the first time all day, I allowed myself to simply watch.

Summer leaned forward, animated. The boy listened as if her words mattered more than anything else in this room.

He didn’t dominate the space. He didn’t perform. He looked happy to sit there and observe her.

My heart shifted. Is this him? Is this my daughter’s soulmate? The thought came uninvited, but I didn’t dismiss it.

Esteban returned then, frustration in his posture.

“No straight answer,” he muttered, sitting beside me. “They said maybe in the morning.”

“Thank you for trying,” I replied automatically, but I wasn’t really paying attention to him. I couldn’t. I was still watching my baby girl and this mystery boy.

Esteban followed my gaze.

He stilled.

“Who,” he asked slowly, “is our baby girl talking to?”

I exhaled softly.

“I don’t know,” I said.

But something deep inside me—older than grief, older than this building, older than the ache in my bones—

Whispered:

You will. And when you do… everything will change.

For a fleeting second, fear brushed against my ribs—not fear of him, but of the magnitude of what was beginning. I have seen what destiny can demand. I know what love can cost, but I had to remind myself that whatever hand was guiding threads between them, I had to trust it. Even if it meant the world she knew was about to shift forever.

My thoughts were interrupted by the grumbling of my handsome mate.

He squinted. “Why do all these boys have tattoos now? And why do they look like they’re too old to be talking to my daughter?”

Of course he would choose right now to be a protective father.

I reached over and shoved his shoulder lightly.

“Sit down,” I told him quietly.

He looked at me, offended.

“Esteban. Sit.”

He did.

I leaned closer to him.

“Watch,” I said. There was so much more I wanted to say to him in that moment, but right now it’s not the right time.

He frowned.

“Don’t look at the tattoos. Watch him.”

Esteban’s jaw tightened, but he obeyed.

Across the room, Summer was animated, and as always her hands moved as she spoke when she was excited about something. The boy’s body angled toward her completely. His shoulders softened when she smiled. His eyes never wandered.

“He’s not talking over her,” I murmured. “He’s not trying to impress her. He’s not trying to control the space.”

Esteban stayed quiet.

“He’s watching her,” I continued. “He’s listening to every word like it matters.”

Summer laughed again, nudging the boy’s shoulder. He looked almost stunned by it. Grateful.

“Do you see that?” I asked.

Esteban exhaled slowly.

The boy leaned in slightly—not to dominate—but to hear her better.

“He’s letting her be herself,” I said softly. “He looks grateful she’s speaking to him.”

That made Esteban look harder. Really look. That’s when I saw it happen—the smallest shift in his expression. Reluctant acknowledgment that his baby girl was no longer the seven-year-old princess-costume-wearing baby he wanted to keep her as.

Sure, he still didn’t like the tattoos and I knew he still didn’t like how grown she suddenly looked sitting there, but he saw what I saw and couldn’t deny the respect, attention, and care that this boy was giving our precious daughter.

I reached for his hand.

“She’s getting older,” I said quietly. “Whether we like it or not.”

Esteban squeezed my fingers at the same time Summer squealed and had us both ready to defend her.

Before I could even process what she was doing, she launched herself straight into the boy’s lap.

Esteban made a sound I have never heard come out of him before.

It was somewhere between a choke and a wounded animal.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

Summer wrapped her arms around the boy’s neck and kissed his cheek.

Esteban’s hand gripped mine so hard I thought he might cut off circulation.

“She kissed him,” he said, horrified. “Maria. She just kissed him.”

I watched the boy’s reaction carefully.

He didn’t grab her.

Didn’t clutch.

Didn’t pull.

He froze for half a second like someone had handed him something priceless he didn’t know how to hold.

Then his arms came around her gently.

Carefully.

Esteban leaned forward in his chair like he might stand.

“Absolutely not,” he muttered. “She does not leap into strange men’s arms. I do not know him. I have never seen him. He could be a criminal. He could be a musician.”

I almost laughed.

“A musician?” I repeated under my breath.

“Maria,” he continued, spiraling, “how does she even know he’s good for her? He has tattoos. What if he rides a motorcycle?”

“Motorcycle? He’s sitting in a hospital waiting room grieving,” I reminded him softly.

“That is not the point.”

He dragged a hand down his face.

“My baby girl,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “She was just in pigtails and losing her first tooth yesterday, and now she’s kissing boys? WHO said she can kiss anyone?”

His heartbreak was so genuine it almost hurt to watch.

“She’s not kissing boys. A small peck on the cheek does not mean she’s out here kissing boys,” I said gently. “As much as we wish we could stop her, she’s getting older, and we have to let her.”

“She does not have to get older in front of me,” he shot back.

I smiled despite myself.

“You know,” I teased lightly, leaning closer to him, “one day you might not be her number one guy.”

He looked at me like I had physically stabbed him.

“Maria.”

His hand went to his chest.

“Why would you say something like that?”

I shrugged innocently.

“It’s a possibility.”

“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “I will always be her number one guy.”

He crossed his arms like that settled it.

“What if when she’s older, she has a son?” I couldn’t help myself.

“She’s going to be a nun,” he continued firmly. “She will have absolutely no knowledge of how THAT happens. I am first. I am permanent.”

I reached over and smoothed his sleeve.

“You’re not being replaced,” I said softly.

He exhaled, watching Summer laugh again across the room.

“She didn’t even hesitate,” he muttered. “She just flew into him. Why is she being so reckless?”

His comment made me giggle. Extremely overprotective as always.

I studied the boy once more.

He still looked stunned.

Still looked grateful.

Still looked like he understood the weight of what she had just given him.

“Esteban,” I said quietly, “that’s not recklessness.”

He glanced at me.

“That’s her heart.”

He looked back at her again.

And though he didn’t say it, I felt the shift in him.

Fear. Fear for his daughter—that she would fall in love and get her heartbroken.

My mate’s expression changed as slow, reluctant realization washed over him. This was something he could not take away from her. He had to allow her to live her life—and have these experiences.

“Mi amor, I know that I cannot stop time,” he sounded completely defeated, “even though I desperately want to.”

And with that, the poor love of my life leaned forward and buried his hands in his face.

I leaned into Esteban’s side before I even realized I was doing it.

The ache in my chest hadn’t gone anywhere. It had just… softened for a moment. Like grief was taking a breath.

“Hold me,” I murmured.

Esteban’s arm wrapped around me instantly, firm and familiar, like muscle memory. Like home.

I exhaled shakily and let my head fall against his shoulder.

I kept my eyes on Summer.

She was laughing.

Actually laughing.

The sound was soft, but it was real. Not the polite kind. Not the kind you force when you’re trying to be brave for everyone else.

For a moment, she had forgotten.

Forgotten the hospital.

Forgotten the grief.

She was leaning toward that boy like sunlight.

And he was leaning toward her like he’d been starving for it.

“She’s breathing again,” I murmured quietly.

Esteban’s hold tightened just slightly.

“I can see that,” he said.

I watched the way the boy listened to her. Not distracted. Not waiting for his turn to speak. He watched her hands when she talked. Watched her face when she smiled. Like he was trying to memorize her.

“She doesn’t know she’s doing it,” I said softly. “She thinks she’s just being kind.”

Esteban pressed his cheek briefly to my hair.

“She’s always been kind.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “But this is different.”

Summer tossed her head back and laughed again, and the sound did something to my chest I hadn’t felt all day.

Relief.

“She forgot to be sad,” I said, almost to myself.

Esteban didn’t interrupt me. He didn’t rush to respond. He just held me there while I watched our daughter step, unknowingly, into something new.

Even in loss—

Life insists on moving forward.

And sometimes…

It does so beautifully.

“Mi amor,” Esteban’s gentle voice cut through my thoughts. “You’re rambling.”

“I’m not rambling,” I said, amused despite myself.

Esteban kissed the top of my head.

“Maria,” he murmured, amused and gentle. “You’ve been rambling since the day I met you.”

I laughed softly, though it came out broken around the edges.

“You remember that?” I asked.

“How could I forget?” he said, and I felt his chest rise with the sound of his smile. “You nearly assaulted me.”

I pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Excuse me?”

“You spilled scalding hot coffee all over me,” he reminded me. “And then yelled at me like it was my fault.”

My eyes widened as the memory hit me so vividly for the second time today it was like déjà vu.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “I did.”

He chuckled. “You did.”

I covered my mouth with my hand, mortified all over again even though it had been years. “I was running from the campus cafeteria to my next class and I was already late, and you were just… standing there. In the middle of the walkway. Like a tree.”

“A tree,” he repeated, offended.

“Yes,” I insisted, laughing now, the sound finally real. “A big, broad, stubborn tree.”

Esteban’s grin deepened.

“And you scorched my chest,” he said. “And ruined my favorite shirt.”

“I offered to upgrade that hideous stain mess!”

“You offered to scold me again,” he corrected.

I rolled my eyes. “I was stressed.”

“You were adorable,” he said simply.

That word hit me harder than it should have, because he didn’t say it like a compliment. He said it like a truth he’d been carrying for decades.

Esteban shifted, turning me gently in his arms until I was facing him fully. His hands rested at my waist, grounding me. Holding me steady in a world that suddenly felt too fragile.

His eyes softened—dark, warm, tired, and full of the kind of love that didn’t fade with time.

“You were wearing that little yellow dress,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself. “The one with the tiny flowers.”

My breath caught.

“And those ridiculous bright pink Converse.”

I blinked. “You remember my shoes?”

“I remember everything,” he said, voice low. “Because that moment… that was it for me.”

I swallowed.

“Esteban…”

He brushed his thumb over my cheek.

“You were my full moon,” he whispered. “My lifeline.”

My heart clenched painfully.

Even now. Even after all these years. Even sitting in a hospital waiting room with grief crawling through our bones. He still looked at me like I was the best thing he’d ever been given.

“And I thank the Moon Goddess every day,” he continued softly, “that she was kind enough to let a beautiful woman in a flower dress and bright pink Converse literally run into me with scalding coffee.”

I laughed, but my eyes burned.

“Because in that moment,” he said, “I fell so deeply in love with you that I couldn’t breathe. And Maria… I have loved you more every day since.”

My throat tightened.

I didn’t trust myself to speak.

So I just leaned forward and kissed him.

Soft at first.

Then deeper.

A kiss that wasn’t about passion.

It was about survival.

About remembering that love still existed, even here.

Even now.

Esteban kissed me back like he meant it, like he always had.

And for a brief second…

the world didn’t feel so heavy.

Then—

A low, sharp sound cut through the air.

A growl.

Esteban and I froze instantly.