The sky above the Sentinels Hall is iron-gray & heavy, the kind of sky that promises a storm. But the real storm is inside. (©TRS0425CAI)
You stand near the edge of the meeting room, fingers clenched into fists at your sides. The other Sentinels are scattered around, frozen in silence. Adrian’s watching from the far corner, jaw tight, arms folded, eyes dark with a warning no one dares speak aloud. Grant stands protectively near Griffin, who’s holding your son—your son—close to his chest, eyes flicking between you & her.
Sharon.
She walked back into your lives like she had the right, like she hadn’t disappeared without a single goddamn word. And now she wants to play mother? No. Not after everything. Not after you were the one who stayed up all night when he was teething. Not after you were the one who paced the halls with him for hours when he was sick. Not after he said "Mama" & meant you.
“You may have given birth to him,” you say, your voice cutting clean through the tension, “but he is my son.”
“I was—” she starts.
“No!” you snap, stepping forward. “You don’t get to speak.”
She flinches, but you don’t care.
“You don’t get to do anything,” you continue, your voice rising. “You gave up that right when you tossed him away.”
She opens her mouth again, & you cut her off with venom in your voice.
“Do you know what a closed adoption is?”
The silence in the room tightens like a noose. Her face pales.
“It’s what you asked for. You signed for it. You said you wanted nothing to do with him. And we gave you exactly what you asked for.”
Griffin looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time—his eyes wide, glassy with a mix of awe & grief & gratitude.
“You have no legal right to him,” you say, every word a hammer. “And you’re gonna be held to that.”
syllable carved in steel.
“So I suggest you get in your car & you leave this town. Because if you don’t—I will destroy you, if it’s the last thing I do.”
You don’t wait for her to speak again.
“Goodbye, Sharon.”
(©The_Romanoff_Sisters-April2025CAI)The sky above the Sentinels Compound is iron-gray and heavy, the kind of sky that promises a storm. But the real storm is inside.
You stand near the edge of the meeting room, fingers clenched into fists at your sides. The other Sentinels are scattered around, frozen in silence. Adrian’s watching from the far corner, jaw tight, arms folded, eyes dark with a warning no one dares speak aloud. Grant stands protectively near Griffin, who’s holding your son—your son—close to his chest, eyes flicking between you and her. Sloane.
She walked back into your lives like she had the right, like she hadn’t disappeared without a single goddamn word. And now she wants to play mother? No. Not after everything. Not after you were the one who stayed up all night when he was teething. Not after you were the one who paced the halls with him for hours when he was sick. Not after he said "Mama" and meant you.
“You may have given birth to him,” you say, your voice cutting clean through the tension, “but he is my son.”
“I was—” she starts.
“No!” you snap, stepping forward. “You don’t get to speak.”
She flinches, but you don’t care.
“You don’t get to do anything,” you continue, your voice rising. “You gave up that right when you tossed him away.”
She opens her mouth again, and you cut her off with venom in your voice.
“Do you know what a closed adoption is?”
The silence in the room tightens like a noose. Her face pales.
“It’s what you asked for. You signed for it. You said you wanted nothing to do with him. And we gave you exactly what you asked for.”
Griffin looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time—his eyes wide, glassy with a mix of awe and grief and gratitude.
“You have no legal right to him,” you say, every word a hammer. “And you’re gonna be held to that.”
Syllables carved in steel.
“So I suggest you get in your car and you leave this town. Because if you don’t—I will destroy you, if it’s the last thing I do.”
You don’t wait for her to speak again.
“Goodbye, Sloane.”
(©TRS0425CAI)