When Ravi said he'd make sure her new year was happier than the one before, Sora hadn't known what to expect. Maybe nothing. Like Hana, Ravi was prone to making a vow one day and breaking it the next. She shouldn't have expected anything. Only something made her believe him. Despite the broken promises she'd endured these last couple of years, she believed him without hesitation. She set her heart on it.

Because in the almost twenty-five years they'd known one another, she didn't think Ravi had ever looked at her the way he had on New Year's Eve. In every visit since, the look had been the same. She was growing accustomed to that, too, and the warmth that settled over her like an embrace when he said hello and lingered once he'd gone.

Something in the air had changed. The New Year smelled so much sweeter than the treachery of yesterday.

That first month, Ravi stopped by her office three times a week to talk to her. He'd come between meetings and loiter until her assistant gently shooed him away. When they were still finding their feet together, they spoke about Hana and Anthony and everything—oh, god, everything—until Sora found herself crying a fourth time and he swore not to ask her any more about the year before. After that, he asked about everyone else. About his father Manendra and her youngest sister, then about his mother's final days without him. When they'd said all they could about their parents, he asked after the next generation, specifically the neverending saga of his daughter, his step-daughter, and the men who loved them. It was one of their longer conversations that didn't involve her meddling sister. More and more the relationship they were building was about the two of them instead in spite of Hana. She was convinced--she was letting herself be convinced that there could be more to Sora and Ravi than the shared experience of being people who Hana had let down.

She believed that because no matter the topic, no matter the hour or how worryingly fatigued he seemed, he asked after her health and her mood. He asked about her day. He asked about Tommy and he listened. He sat and listened to her speak so quietly sometimes she thought she was alone. But she wasn't, not with him. She said things she never expected to be able to say, safe in the knowledge that they'd go no further. She didn't know why she trusted Ravi after this long, but she trusted him. Ravi Misra was dangerously endearing.

Every visit, no matter how brief, ended in a strong-armed embrace. Like he couldn't help himself, he always hugged her goodbye before he departed, back to Misra Headquarters and his father's borrowed guest house, back to Hana's growing insistence on a reunion and his own uncertainty. He always hugged her, his adroit hands clutching her tight enough to keep, and she got used to it. A good day just wasn't as good without a hug from Ravi. It was a small thing he added to her life, and it was the best thing. Little by little, Sora began to feel strong enough to start giving that wonderful thing back.

...

...

Sora met her former step-son in his office at HMG on a very busy Thursday for the office of the CEO.

She passed Sam a glass of water from his drinks service. He wasn't big on alcohol, so hot tea, sports drinks, and mineral water were all he kept on hand. She couldn't imagine keeping her sanity without being able to drink.

"Sam, I love the draft for your story on Miscavige's latest upheavals with SeaOrg, but I need you to shelve it for a week."

Sam frowned. Sora grimaced internally at how much his expression reminded her of his father Anthony, and then plowed ahead despite the discomfort. Sam was a better man than Anthony had show himself to be.

"I have a meeting with the Board of Directors tomorrow and I don't want to be the one who has to tell them we're taking on Scientology this quarter. Shelve it for a week, tighten your language, lock down your sources, and it's money in the bank. Do the Hamilton fluff piece this week and we'll come back to it."

"You're not planning to tank it indefinitely?"

"And give you the chance to sell it to someone else? Not a chance. I just need time. I'm not kidding, it's a good story."

Mollified, Sam brushed imaginary lint from the lapel of his Hugo Boss suit. He'd got his taste in fashion from his father as well; Samuel Ryo Himura, the consummate firstborn for the consummate first wife. Anthony hadn't treated her any better, the truth be told; Sora often wondered how Anthony had managed to fool her.

"Well, well, well," came an instantly recognizable voice from the doorway, "if it isn't my lovely wife and my dutiful son."

Sora looked to Sam for an explanation. The fact that Anthony had been ousted in a hostile takeover meant that he was barred for the premises for at least one calendar year. It had only been seven months.

Sam jumped up from his desk to stand between Sora and his father. "I didn't know he was here."

Anthony rounded them both to make himself at home behind Sam's desk. "We're supposed to be having lunch today, or did you forget?"

"I don't remember picking a day. I told you to pick one and get back to me." Sam kept himself in the void between where she was standing near the door and where Anthony was poring over Sam's paperwork. For a long as she could remember Anthony had made a reputation of steamrolling over anyone who prevented him from having his way. She used to consider it laudable, being so passionate in pursuits of one's goals. It was even a little sexy, if she was honest. She felt the opposite now. His presumption made her steam. Sam made a gentle, quelling motion before she could say anything. Anthony's sons, one of them her own, were the only reasons she tried to be cordial anymore since he seemed to have no use for good manners now that he didn't need them to woo her.

Anthony Himura—Tony to his friends and enemies—was all personality and devastating wit. Sora Gallegos, bookworm and introvert that she was for much of her life, wouldn't have fallen for anyone less than brilliant, her head too filled with the words of philosophers and poets to be derailed by physical beauty alone. Anthony was handsome, to be sure, but it was the shameless way he courted her attention, then unerringly made her laugh that stole her failing heart.

If only he'd been that man for her alone.

"You need to leave." She steamrolled over his protests for a change, "Now. Go now, of your own volition, before I get security involved."

"That wouldn't be a very pretty headline for the opposition, dear."

"You don't want to discuss nasty headlines with me, dear. I can write the worst of them."

"I'd pay to see that."

Sora hadn't been this ambitious before Anthony gave her something lose. Ambitious was just about all he'd left her with.

"You will pay for infringing on the injunction to keep you from setting foot on HMG property, but I'm willing to be lenient, provided you leave right now."

"Remember how much fun we used to have. You don't seem much fun these day, Soso."

"Leave her alone, Dad. She's right, she could have you arrested. That hurts all of us. Just wait downstairs; I'll meet you there and we can get a bite to eat. Your treat."

"My treat?"

"You didn't call. It's your treat." Sam wasn't backing down. Sora had to respect her stepson for standing his ground against the father he loved so much. She hadn't been able to do it when they were together; only shame had given her the strength to do it now that they weren't.

"Fine. My treat. Will our lovely CEO be joining us?"

"The lovely CEO has better things to do, all of which I could do better without my predecessor sucking the air out of the room. Show your father out, won't you? I'd hate for him to get lost."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam quipped, signalling for his father to leave his office. To his credit, Anthony went quietly. But then, why shouldn't he? He'd gotten what he wanted; he'd shaken her confidence.

Sora crossed the empty office to sit in her previously-vacated chair. Her ex-husband had always had the power to make her feel young. Before her transplant, she'd relished the feeling of invincibility he could awaken in her. She had thrived on the unsubstantiated belief that she could live forever with him and want for nothing, not health, not time. After her transplant and their spontaneous wedding in Vienna, that feeling had grown till it filled her lungs with each breath. She had time, finally, and hope. She had Anthony and they had each other. Now all of his banter made her feel small, as he meant it to. Forever had come and gone.

But she was still alive. That was something.