Roman sat in his car outside Isabella's house, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. His championship belt was still in his travel bag, forgotten. Less than 24 hours ago, he had been standing in a sold-out arena, celebrating another victory. Now, none of it meant a damn thing.

His son had cancer.

Malachi-the little boy who used to giggle whenever Roman lifted him onto his shoulders, who used to beg to stay up late watching wrestling, who had the brightest smile Roman had ever seen-was sick.

And he hadn't even been there to notice.

He exhaled sharply and forced himself to move, stepping out of the car and heading to the front door. He hesitated for only a second before knocking.

The door opened almost immediately. Isabella stood there, looking exhausted. Her long brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her expression was unreadable.

"Hey," she said softly.

Roman swallowed hard. "Hey."

She stepped aside, letting him in. The house was quiet-too quiet. The last time he had been here, laughter had echoed through these halls. Now, it felt... heavy.

"Where's Malachi?" he asked, his voice rough.

"In his room," she said. "He's resting."

Roman nodded but didn't move toward the hallway. He wasn't ready. Not yet.

Instead, he turned to Isabella, his heart hammering in his chest. "Tell me everything."

She let out a slow breath, crossing her arms like she was bracing herself. "He started getting tired more often a few months ago. At first, I thought it was just him growing. Then he started getting fevers, bruising too easily. I took him to the doctor, and they ran tests." She paused, closing her eyes for a second before continuing. "Last week, they confirmed it. Acute myeloid leukemia. The same type you had."

Roman's stomach twisted. He remembered what that battle had been like-the chemo, the exhaustion, the uncertainty. He had been a grown man when he fought it. Malachi was only six.

"What's the treatment plan?" he asked.

"They've already started chemo," Isabella said. "He'll need several rounds. If it doesn't work..." She hesitated, and for the first time since he walked in, her voice broke. "If it doesn't work, we'll have to look at a bone marrow transplant."

Roman ran a hand over his face, his chest tightening. He should have been here. Should have noticed something was wrong.

Instead, he had been off chasing a career that suddenly felt meaningless.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Isabella's eyes flickered with something-hurt, anger, maybe both. "Sorry doesn't change anything, Roman."

"I know," he admitted. "But I swear to you, I'm not leaving this time. I'm here. No matter what."

She studied him for a long moment, like she was trying to decide whether to believe him. Finally, she nodded.

"Then prove it."

Roman clenched his jaw and gave a single nod. He would. He had to.

For Malachi.

For Joelle.

For the family he had nearly lost.