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“Dallas’s dad has petitioned for custody of him.”

The words crash into me like a truck, flattening the air in my lungs. I jerk to my feet, like if I stand fast enough, the truth will fall off me.

“No. No, that’s—” My voice breaks like a bone snapping clean through, sharp and sudden. I shake my head so hard my vision blurs, hair whipping across my face and clinging to the heat of unshed tears. “They’ve never been able to find him, Henry. Not once. Not one fucking time. He didn’t care. He never cared. He didn’t even look for him!”

My breath comes in gasps, shallow and ragged, like I’ve been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. “That baby—he was abused, Henry. He lost his baby brother. Do you understand me? He held that kind of pain before he even hit double digits, and after that? He got passed around like a bad habit, like he didn’t matter to anyone. He starved. He cried himself to sleep in beds that weren’t safe. He begged for love and all he got was fists and cold shoulders.”

I can’t stop now—I’m unraveling, and the truth pours out in a fever pitch. “Now this stranger—this ghost of a man who left him to rot—gets to walk into a courtroom and say, ‘He’s mine’? He wants him now? Now that we’ve done the hard part? Now that Dallas finally knows what it feels like to be safe?”

I stumble back a step, arms flying up in helpless fury, every inch of me aching. “That’s not justice, Henry! That’s not redemption. That’s not how this works. That’s not fucking fair!”

“Lou—”

“No, Henry. If this is some sick joke—” My voice is shrill now, ugly and cracking.

His hand comes up, trembling as he grips my wrist. “It’s not a joke. Rue came to the station. She told me herself.”

The ground tilts under me, my knees threatening to give way. My throat closes up, burning with rage and panic. “She’s wrong,” I rasp. “How does she even know it’s him? How can we even be sure it’s not just some random⁠—”

“She’s already requested a DNA test.”

That sentence guts me. I stagger back, my hands flying to my mouth like I can shove the scream back inside.

“No,” I choke out. “There’s no way a judge will give him custody. I don’t give a damn what biology says. Dallas is ours. He’s—he’s—” My chest caves. “You call Rue. You tell her she better not come here with that shit!”

“It doesn’t work like that, wildflower,” he says softly, and that softness—God, it kills me more than anger ever could. “There are…procedures.”

Procedures. What a cold, sterile word for something that could rip apart everything we’ve built.

I stare at him, trembling—every inch of me wired tight with helpless, feral fury. My voice splinters as it leaves me, raw and ragged.

“I told you,” I breathe, barely above a whisper but sharp as glass. “I told you I couldn’t take it—not again. I told you I couldn’t handle having something else ripped out of me! I told you⁠—”

But the words collapse in my throat, and so do I. Henry pulls me into his lap before I can fall apart completely, his arms wrapping around me like he’s the only thing keeping me from shattering. I sink into him, fists clutching at his shirt like maybe if I hold on tight enough, we won’t lose anything else.

He’s shaking. Not just his hands—him. His whole body quakes beneath mine, and I can feel the frantic thud of his heart, like it’s trying to outrun something it knows is coming. His breath hitches in my hair.

“I know, wildflower,” he chokes out, so soft, it nearly breaks me. “I know.”

Then quieter still, just a breath against my ear, broken in a way I’ve never heard from him before, “I don’t want to lose my boy either.”

Those eight words steal my breath. My throat burns as I bury my face against his neck, tears finally slipping free. My strong, unshakable Henry—Sheriff fucking Wilder—is falling apart beneath my hands.

I wrap my arms around him, straddling his hips, clinging to him like I can anchor us both while the whole world tilts. His tears soak into my shirt, his breath ragged and hot against my collarbone, and all I can think is: No one is taking our boy. Not now. Not ever.

The world outside doesn’t matter. Not the laws, not the petitions, not the man trying to claim blood over love. All that matters is this—the three of us, bound by something far deeper than DNA.

I don’t remember how I got inside.

Maybe I floated. Maybe I ran. Maybe I just needed the space between us for a minute, because if I stayed in his arms, I was going to shatter—and I couldn’t afford to fall apart where he could see it.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind me, muffling the world. My knees hit the cold tile harder than I meant, the sound echoing off the porcelain and silence. I press my back against the cabinet and bite down on my fist, trying to stifle the sob crawling up my throat.

But it comes anyway.

God, it comes.

A brutal, choking sound I don’t recognize as mine. Tears hit my cheeks hot and fast, and I press my forehead to my knees, trying to disappear into myself.