And before I can even move, Alaina’s already up. Quick. Soft-footed. She moves down the hall like muscle memory and scoops him into her arms with a whisper.
“Shh, baby. Mama’s here. You’re okay.”
She rocks him.
Holds him.
But she doesn’t correct him.
Doesn’t say, “That’s not your daddy.”
Doesn’tlook back.
I stay in the dark.
Frozen.
Heart pounding.
Not because I’m scared of the storm.
But because that one word—Daddy—just split me open.
She findsme on the couch an hour later, blanket shoved down, back stiff, staring at the dark window like it owes me answers.
“You’re doing that broody statue thing again,” she says, curling up beside me.
“Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
I grunt.
She watches me for a minute.
Then, softly, “What’s wrong?”
I could say it.
Right now.
Could lay it bare. Could demand the truth. Could beg for it.
But I don’t.
Because she’s warm beside me, and Caelix’s asleep down the hall, and for the first time in a long damn while, we aren’t fighting ghosts or each other.
So I lie.
“Nothing.”
She doesn’t buy it.
I can tell.
But she doesn’t push.
Just threads her fingers through mine and leans her head on my shoulder.
