“Toddlers with enhanced senses” led to development milestone charts that my kids had blown past years ago
“Kids who can hear things far away” suggested hearing tests and articles about imaginary friends.
Nothing. Nothing that explained why my four-year-olds seemed to be developing abilities that belonged in comic books, not real life
I closed the laptop with a sigh, whispering to the empty kitchen, “Maybe I need to find a specialist who won’t immediately call child services when I explain my daughter can bend metal.”
But what kind of specialist dealt with children who could hear through walls and reorganize furniture? Professor Xavier wasn’t real, and I was fresh out of ideas.
Unable to sit still, I checked on the twins one more time. They’d shifted in their sleep, now completely entwined like puppies. Thea’s arm was thrown over Rowan’s chest, and his hand gripped her pajama shirt even in dreams.
The moonlight illuminated fresh marks on the wooden headboard. I stepped closer, my heart doing that thing where it forgot how to beat properly. Deep scratches arranged in groups of four. My brain helpfully supplied “claw marks” before I told it to shut up and stop being dramatic.
Standing in their doorway, the weight of raising them alone hit me full force. No partner to share these worries. No one to tellme if this was normal. No one to help me understand what was happening to my babies.
Gray eyes flashed unbidden in my memory. Fuck. No. We weren’t doing this tonight.
But my traitorous brain continued the highlight reel. Strong hands that had held me like I was everything. A voice that had called me mate with desperate hunger. A man who’d fucked me into oblivion and vanished like a fart in the wind.
My hand moved to my collarbone, fingers finding the spot that sometimes still burned with phantom heat. Five years and my body still hadn’t gotten the memo that he was gone. Still ached for touch from someone who’d made it crystal clear I was just a convenient hole.
I dropped my hand, disgusted with myself. “Get it together, Winters,” I muttered. “You’re pathetic.”
He’d made his choice. Spelled it out in small, cruel words designed to cut deep. And I’d survived. Built a life. Raised two beautiful, possibly supernatural children alone.
“Whatever’s happening,” I whispered to my sleeping babies, “we’ll figure it out. Just like we always do. Without him. Because we’re badasses who don’t need anyone.”
The words were my armor, my mantra, my middle finger to the universe.
Back in my room, I lay staring at the ceiling while my mind raced through possibilities. Each day brought new challenges, new abilities to hide, new reasons to think I was losing my mind.I was drowning in uncertainty, grasping for explanations that didn’t exist outside of comic books.
One thing I knew for certain: my children were special in ways that went beyond a mother’s typical “my kids are gifted” delusion. They were developing abilities that shouldn’t be possible, and I had no idea why.
The phantom heat flared on my collarbone again, and I pressed my palm against it until it faded. “Fuck off,” I told it. “Read the room.”
I closed my eyes, exhaustion finally winning over anxiety. When morning came, I’d face whatever new ability manifested. I’d smile and redirect and pretend everything was normal while secretly googling “is my child a superhero” on incognito mode.
The thought that their strangeness might be connected to the man who’d left his mark on more than just my heart crept in uninvited. What if the father they’d never know had passed on more than just gray eyes and dark hair? What if he’d known? What if that’s why he’d run?
“Stop it,” I told myself firmly. “You’re being paranoid. Kids are just weird sometimes. Some kids collect rocks. Yours bend forks and hear through walls. Totally normal. Completely fine. Nothing to see here.”
Sleep pulled me under eventually, but my dreams were full of beasts and impossible children and gray eyes that held secrets I’d never learn.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice whispered that normal children didn’t leave claw marks on their beds.
13
— • —
Lina
Saturday mornings were sacred in the Winters household. The shop opened late, which meant I got to indulge in my favorite tradition: sprawling in my king-size bed with Vivi and Mika while the twins zoned out to cartoons in the living room. Coffee, gossip, and friends who didn’t judge me for still being in my ratty sleep shirt at ten AM. Paradise.
“Tyler from the grocery store is still asking about you,” Mika announced, scrolling through her phone while hogging the left side of my bed. “According to my mom, his mom won’t shut up about it at mahjong night. Apparently you’re the perfect age to give her grandchildren of their own.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered into my coffee. “Just what I need. A mama’s boy who probably still asks her to cut the crusts off his sandwiches.”
“Hey, Tyler’s not that bad,” Vivi defended from her spot on my right, sketching cupcake designs in her notebook. “He’s got all his teeth and a steady job.”
