Page 172 of Wolf Dad Energy

"Fine."

I smile.

"Maybe."

We reach the cottage as the sun begins disappearing behind the trees. The damage is worse in daylight. Broken windows. Splintered wood. A front wall that will require more than a little repair. But it is still standing. We are still standing.

Inside, I walk straight to my office. The same room where millions of strangers have told me their secrets. Where I've spent years helping other people find clarity while avoiding my own.

I sit at the desk. Open my computer.

Scheduled posts. Messages. Notifications. The machine that has consumed so much of my life. Then I open a new document. Not an advice column. Not an investigation. Not a report.

A personal record. The truth. For me. For Sayer. For whoever comes after us.

I type:

October 25. Then stop.

My hands hover over the keyboard. Because I remember. Not everything. Not yet. But enough. The hospital room. The fear. The grief.

The desperate promise. And the moment I realized something was wrong.

I was told my baby died. But my baby didn't die. Someone took him. Someone made a decision for me. Someone stole 15 years. And now I know something else. The entity wasn't the beginning. It was the consequence. A shadow created by a wound that never healed.

I type:

His name is Sayer. Not Morrow. Not the name someone else gave him. His name. The one that existed before the world told me I lost him.

A tear slips down my cheek. I don't wipe it away. I let myself feel it. The grief. The anger.

The joy. All of it.

Behind me, I hear footsteps. Rhett.

"You okay?"

I turn.