My Love Until the Last Goodbye (Mary and Maximus) novel Chapter 927

“Maximus, what’s going on? I don’t understand…” Celeste said, looking worried.

“Come on! In a few minutes, you’re going to meet Peter’s real mother. It’s a long story, but let’s go. Peter is nervous and anxious—he ran out so fast that no one could stop him. He’s probably in the foyer by now.”

“Yes! Let’s go.”

“There’ll be time later to explain everything, but for now, the most important thing is that you’re by his side,” Maximus said, noticing how lost Celeste looked.

“Thank you, Maximus,” Celeste said, trying to stay calm.

Peter reached the foyer, breathless. His eyes landed on a young woman and a little girl standing in the room, and then… he saw her. Aria had her back to him, but when she heard footsteps behind her, she turned around.

Her eyes filled with tears, her chin trembled, and she found herself staring at the man from the photographs.

Peter’s chest rose and fell rapidly. It was her. The woman in the locket—it was definitely her. His mother. And she was beautiful.

He wanted to speak, but the words were stuck in his throat. So instead, he did the only thing he could—he took quick strides toward her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly.

Aria felt the warmth of her son’s body, his breath against her hair. She could hear it—the pounding of his heart. It was racing, almost on the verge of bursting. And as he held her, he knew. His heart couldn’t lie. The eyes, the gaze, the color of her hair—it was her. There was no mistake. His intuition didn’t fail him.

Tears streamed down Aria’s face. The words she had kept inside for decades weren’t words at all—they were sobs, raw and broken, the sound of a heartache she had carried since she was seventeen.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. He had inherited Leonardo’s height, his hair, his sharp features. Aria let out shaky breaths, trying to inhale and exhale, trying to find her voice. She wanted to speak, to say everything she had never been able to say. But she couldn’t. All she could do was cry—for the baby who once kicked inside her belly.

Her tears were for the child she had whispered to, the one she had cradled in her womb, protected by her own body. Her lips trembled, her words drowning in the grief, the longing, the sorrow, and the unbearable loneliness.

She was crying for the young girl who had been robbed of her right to be a mother.

She was crying for the woman who had never once held her son in her arms.

“Sweetheart…” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Mom…” Peter choked out, pulling back just enough to wipe his own tears.