CHAPTER 178

Six months later, we were sitting in our fourth family therapist's office in Geneva, this time with a specialist who claimed to understand "complex family dynamics in high-stress occupations." Dr. James Morrison - no relation to Jax, despite the surname - had worked with military families, intelligence operatives, and diplomatic personnel who faced similar challenges balancing dangerous careers with child-rearing.

"The fundamental question," Dr. Morrison said, reviewing our files while eight-year-old Addison built intricate structures with blocks and five-year-old Liam taught one-year-old Elena how to stack rings on a toy, "is whether your children are developing resilience or trauma responses."

"What's the difference?" I asked, bouncing Elena on my knee while monitoring her brothers' play for the unconscious tactical awareness that worried previous evaluators.

"Resilience involves adaptability, emotional regulation, and the ability to maintain healthy relationships despite exposure to stress. Trauma responses involve hypervigilance, emotional numbing, and difficulty forming trusting connections with others."

"And which category do our children fall into?"

"That's what we're here to determine."

I watched Addison's careful construction process, noting how she automatically positioned her blocks to create what looked like a fortified compound with multiple exit routes. Even in play, she was unconsciously applying security concepts that most adults never learned.

"Addison," Dr. Morrison said gently, "can you tell me about your block building?"

"I'm making a safe house," she replied without looking up from her work. "It has strong walls, hidden passages, and good sight lines for watching people who might want to get in."

"Do you worry about people wanting to get in to hurt you?"

"Some people want to hurt my family because we help children escape from bad people. So we have to be careful."

"Does that make you feel scared?"

Addison paused in her building to consider the question seriously. "Sometimes. But scared feelings aren't dangerous if you know what to do with them."

"What do you do with scared feelings?"

"I tell Mama or one of the uncles, and they help me figure out if the scary thing is real or just my imagination. If it's real, we make a plan. If it's imagination, we practice calming exercises Uncle Jax taught me."

Dr. Morrison made notes while I fought the urge to point out that our eight-year-old had better emotional regulation skills than most adults.

"Liam," Dr. Morrison continued, turning to our five-year-old, "what's your favorite game to play?"

"Hide and seek," Liam said immediately. "But the real kind, not the pretend kind."

"What's the difference?"

"Pretend hide and seek is just for fun. Real hide and seek is practice for if bad people come to our house."

"Have bad people come to your house?"

"Not yet. But Mama says being prepared is how we keep everyone safe."

More notes. I could see Dr. Morrison processing the reality that our children lived with constant awareness of potential threats, but framed it as normal family safety planning rather than pathological paranoia.

"Elena," Dr. Morrison said, though our one-year-old was obviously too young for complex questions, "seems very alert for her age. Does she show any unusual responses to strangers or loud noises?"

"She's been exposed to security briefings and tactical planning since birth," Jax explained. "But she responds normally to familiar people and shows appropriate stranger awareness for a child her age."

"Appropriate stranger awareness for most children doesn't include recognizing the sound of weapons being chambered."

"Most children aren't targets of international criminal organizations," Harry pointed out.

Dr. Morrison set down his pen and looked at all of us seriously. "Here's what I'm observing. Your children are exceptionally well-adjusted for kids living under constant security threats. They're intelligent, emotionally articulate, and demonstrate strong family bonds. But they're also displaying psychological patterns typically associated with children raised in war zones."

"Are you saying they're damaged?" I asked, feeling defensive despite my attempts to remain objective.

"I'm saying they're adapted. The question is whether those adaptations will serve them well if they ever have the opportunity to live normal lives."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Addison approaches playground conflicts with tactical analysis. Liam evaluates adult strangers for potential weapons before deciding whether to interact with them. Elena shows startle responses that suggest she's been conditioned to expect sudden violence."

"Those could be survival skills that keep them alive."

"Or they could be psychological barriers that prevent them from forming normal social relationships, trusting appropriate authority figures, or feeling secure in environments that most children consider safe."

The silence that followed was heavy with implications. We'd known our children were different, but hearing a professional articulate exactly how different was sobering.

"What do you recommend?" Lucas asked finally.

"Honestly? I recommend you consider whether the work you do is compatible with raising healthy children."

"We save trafficked children," I said. "How is that incompatible with raising healthy children?"

"Because saving trafficked children requires you to be constantly prepared for violence, constantly aware of threats, constantly ready to kill or be killed. And children learn primarily through observation and imitation."

Dr. Morrison pulled up video footage on his tablet - recordings from our various evaluations over the past months. "Watch how Addison moves through new environments. See how Liam positions himself near exits in every room. Notice how Elena stops crying immediately when she hears certain voice tones that indicate alertness."

The footage was damning. Our children moved through the world like miniature operatives, unconsciously applying security protocols they'd absorbed through exposure to our lifestyle.

"They're not playing games," Dr. Morrison continued. "They're conducting reconnaissance. They're not having normal childhood experiences because they've been trained to view every situation as potentially dangerous."

"And the alternative is what?" Harry asked. "Abandon our work and let trafficking networks operate unchallenged while we pretend our children can have normal lives?"

"The alternative is accepting that you can't save everyone else's children without potentially damaging your own."

Elena began fussing, and I instinctively shifted her to a position that would allow me to draw a weapon if necessary while keeping her protected. The movement was automatic, unconscious, exactly the kind of behavior Dr. Morrison was describing.

"There's one more thing," he said carefully. "Something I need to tell you about the long-term implications of this lifestyle."

"What implications?"

"Children raised in environments of constant threat often struggle with emotional intimacy as adults. They may become exceptionally capable individuals, but they frequently have difficulty forming lasting relationships because they've learned to prioritize security over vulnerability."

"Are you saying our children won't be able to love normally?"

"I'm saying they may have trouble trusting anyone enough to allow themselves to be truly vulnerable. Which could mean they'll struggle to form the kind of deep connections that make life meaningful."

I looked around the room at my family - Jax monitoring the windows, Lucas analyzing potential escape routes, Harry watching the door, and our three children playing games that were actually combat training exercises.

"What if they grow up to be like us?" I asked quietly. "Capable of love but only with people who understand that love sometimes requires violence?"

"Then they'll have very limited options for romantic partners and social connections. They'll be isolated from most of society by skills and knowledge that most people can't understand or accept."

As we left the therapy session and loaded our children into the armored vehicle that would take us back to our secure compound, I couldn't shake Dr. Morrison's words.

We'd created a family that could survive anything.

But we might have also created children who would never be able to live normal lives.

And I wasn't sure which outcome frightened me more.