Sammy disappears inside that for a moment, then pops back with blunt clarity: “They’re jealous. You’re doing more than they are.”
My heart clenches. I pull her into a hug so fierce she squeaks. “I will fight, Sam. You and me, Mama. I will never let them decide you’re unusual just because we’re happy.”
She sniffs. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
She nods, buries her face in my shirt, half asleep again. I won’t let the predator of the past destroy what we’ve built.
Later, Rychne arrives. He’s calm. Concerned. He sits, an alien outwardly serene, but these dark eyes show loyalty.
“I have it,” I tell him, voice brittle. I give him the petition. He flips through it, expression darkening. I sense ancient warrior instincts stirring—the kind that forces you to run interference with your body in place of someone else’s.
He folds the paper, sets it down and reaches for my hand—not romantically right now, but as a shield.
“We prepare,” he says. “Your castle. Our documents. Witnesses.” His voice is firm, tactical. “We will guard.”
I look at him—the tall, inhuman protector who delivered justice using municipal code and now looks ready to fight in courtroom trenches. My chest tightens.
I voice what my head can’t yet process: “I’m scared.”
He tightens his grip. “You are not alone.”
The kettle hums in the background. Outside, twilight deepens. The world hasn’t changed—but tonight, my love and my bond stand strong as we begin to bid secrecy and fear farewell.
We will do this. For her. For us.
The house is hushed, save for the low hum of the fridge and the distant drone of crickets settling in for the night. It’s the kind of quiet that creaks in your bones—like waiting. I sit at the kitchen table again, that cursed petition spread before me in a fan of betrayal. I’ve read it ten times over, each look sharpening another cut in my chest.
Rychne slips into the seat beside me without a word. His massive frame—taller than any courtroom judge, broader than any desk—fills the chair. His glowing amber eyes are soft in the lamp-lit kitchen, radiating concern rather than alien curiosity. He places his hand over mine, and the solidity of it starts to drain the tremble from my fingers.
“I’m here,” he reminds me, no flourish, just absolute presence. No grand speeches. No alien missiles poised at the door. Just... steadiness.
I close my eyes and lean into the pressure of his palm. “I feel like I’m drowning,” I whisper. “He called me mentally unfit. He says I’m subjecting Sam to...him. Using you, an alien, against me.”
Rychne’s jaw sets, scales rippling beneath human skin. “He is using fear,” he says, voice low. “Fear is a weapon.”
I open my eyes and see him lock focus on the petition. “What if he wins?” The question is a whisper, but the weight of it is thunder.
He studies the page. “He lacks cause, ammunition is weak. But system favors bloodline. We must bring testimony. We must show... reliability. Stability. Love.”
I trace a line of print with a fingertip. “What if he tries to claim I’m unstable because of you? How do I prove that?—”
Rychne slides his tablet across the table. On one side is a calendar packed with joint activities: festivals, school meetings, doctor’s appointments—he’d logged everything after learning of the petition, going back months. On the other side are photos—Snapchats, school event snapshots, selfies, a grainy vacation picture of the two of us and Sammy at the horseradish festival. He even ran benign background checks on us, cross-checked with local affidavits from neighbors. His eyes flick up at mine.
“I engage in community testimonies,” he says simply. “People see us. I am...present.”
My throat tightens. This is beyond him. This is beyond me. It’s something bigger: loyalty made flesh—alien flesh—declaring allegiance to our small patch of earth and our messy American suburb. It knocks me completely off-guard.
Sammy shuffles in from the hallway, oversized T-shirt and sleepy ponytail, clutching a stuffed bear. She drops onto my lap, half-asleep, still upset. My heart fractures.
“Mom?” she sighs. “He’s trying to take me for real. Not just this weekend.”
My lips press together. I wrap her in my arms. “No. No, sweetheart. That’s not going to happen.”
Rychne leans forward. He addresses her deliberately. “Samantha Malone. Your mother is strongest person I know. I will testify. I will speak of your mother’s love. Of your home.”
Sammy snuggles into me, chin pressed against my collar. “Thanks...battle-dad.”
