Sofia's oxygen levels have been stable for two days straight, and the NICU nurses keep saying it's remarkable progress for a thirty-two-weeker. I'm starting to believe them, starting to let myself hope.
Emma's home now. Doctor's orders to rest and recover while Chase handles most of the hospital visits. She's supposed to be sleeping, but I know she's not. I can hear her moving around upstairs.
I'm in the living room with Ethan, building a tower of blocks that he immediately destroys with gleeful abandon. He's been confused about Sofia, keeps asking when his baby sister is coming home, why Mommy cries so much, and why everyone's always at the hospital.
"Cookie!" He holds up a block like it's food, then pretends to eat it.
"Not a cookie, buddy. That's a block."
"Block cookie!" He giggles and crashes the tower again.
I'm exhausted, splitting time between the NICU, helping with Ethan, and trying not to fall apart every time I think aboutJackson losing his captaincy—the one thing that defined him for years.
The pendant rests against my sternum, warm from my skin. I've been wearing it openly the past few days, forgetting to hide it in the chaos of Sofia's birth and the sleepless nights. Emma hasn't noticed; she's been too focused on her daughter.
Chase is at the hospital now. Jackson's at practice. It’s his first full week back with the team. Everything's slowly returning to normal.
Except nothing's normal.Not really.
Ethan knocks over the tower again, laughing. I start rebuilding, and he reaches for my neck with chubby fingers.
"Doggy!" He points at the pendant, eyes wide with recognition.
"It's a wolf, actually..."
"Uncle Jack’s doggy!" He touches it, fascinated. "Why do you have his doggy?"
My hands freeze mid-block.
The pendant. He recognizes it. Of course he does. Jackson probably showed it to him a hundred times, let him play with it, and told him stories about the wolf and the family legacy.
"I..."
"What?"
Emma's voice comes from the doorway. I glance up. She's standing there in pajamas, hair tied back, shadows under her eyes. She looks wiped out—postpartum exhaustion written all over her face—and she's staring straight at the pendant around my neck.
The one she recognizes instantly.
"That's our father's." Her voice is quiet, dangerously quiet. "Why are you wearing it?"
I can't speak, can't move, can't breathe. My hand instinctively goes to the pendant like I can hide it now, like it's not too late.
Ethan, oblivious, keeps playing with his blocks. "Uncle Jack doggy!"
Emma takes a step closer, her eyes never leaving the silver wolf. "Maya. Why are you wearing my father's pendant?"
"Emma..."
"Jackson gave that to you." Not a question, a realization. Her eyes widen, then narrow as the pieces click into place. "You and Jackson."
"Emma, I can explain..."
"How long?" She's not yelling, and that's worse. "How long have you been seeing my brother?"
I stand, legs shaking. "Since December. But we were sleeping together before then."
"Before December." She's doing the math, and I can see the moment it clicks. "November? You've been fucking my brother since November and didn't tell me?"
