And for once in his life, that would be the right choice.
I moved toward the door quietly, pausing only long enough to ensure everything was exactly as I had arranged it. No signs of interference. No fingerprints where they shouldn’t be. Just a weak man and the consequences of a lifetime of poor decisions.
As I stepped out into the cool night air, the smell of damp earth replaced the stench of decay. The sky was clear, wide, indifferent.
Who would have thought that welcoming a child into the world would steady something in me that years of violence never quite could?
I swung onto my bike and let the engine rumble beneath me, the vibration grounding, familiar. I didn’t look back.
What mattered wasn’t inside that room anymore.
What mattered was waiting at home.
And I intended to keep it safe.
???
Rowan stirred first, the mattress dipping subtly as he pushed himself upright and dragged a hand over his face. He caught my eye in the dim light and gave a brief nod before slipping out of bed, careful not to disturb the space between us. Alec followed a moment later from the other side, slower, glancing down at Ella as if committing the rise and fall of her breathing to memory before he moved. Neither of them spoke. The quiet was deliberate, protective, the kind of silence you learn to cultivate when something fragile rests in the middle of it.
The bedroom was washed in early grey light, the curtains not quite closed from the night before. Outside, the world was beginning to move—distant traffic, a bird cutting through the stillness—but in here everything felt contained.
I shifted closer once they were gone, sliding my arm more securely around Ella and brushing my palm across her forehead. Her skin was cool now, the fever finally broken, the heat that had lingered for days reduced to nothing more than warmth beneath my touch. The worst of the cold had passed. The cough still clung to her, surfacing now and then in rough little fits that left her annoyed and hoarse, but the ginger drinks Alec insisted on brewing seemed to be doing their job.
Good for her.
Good for the baby.
Her breathing remained slow and even, her lashes resting softly against her cheeks, but when I adjusted the duvet higher over her shoulder she shifted instinctively, moving closer without waking. The curve of her back fit against my chest, familiar and grounding. I let my hand trail from her forehead down to the swell of her stomach, resting there lightly, not pressing, just present.
I hadn’t expected this part.
The waiting.
The watching.
The quiet vigilance.
Violence had always been immediate. Decisive. Clean in its own way. This was slower, subtler—checking her temperature in the middle of the night, swapping out damp pillows, making sure she drank enough water even when she rolled her eyes at us. It required patience instead of force.
It required restraint.
She stirred before turning towards me. Her fingers twitched against the sheets before drifting upward, brushing lazily along my jaw and then settling at the back of my neck. The contact was light, barely there, but it anchored me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. Not demanding. Not desperate. Just trust, even if she would never use that word.
My eyes closed briefly.
When I was younger, touch had meant warning. A grip on the shoulder before a shove. A hand raised before a strike. You learned to brace for it, to harden before it landed. What got me through those years wasn’t comfort; it was endurance and the promise that one day I would be strong enough to dictate how and when pain was delivered.
This was different.
This was something choosing to rest against me.
I adjusted my hold, pressing a quiet kiss into her hairline where it smelled faintly of the shampoo she favoured. Floral. Clean. Hers. The scent clung to the pillow and to my skin, replacing the harsher smells of the world outside.
We didn’t need to tell her we cared.
We weren’t built for declarations over breakfast or whispered reassurances in the dark. None of us would stand at the foot of the bed and make promises wrapped in soft language. That wasn’t how we operated.
We showed up.
