Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack novel Chapter 96

Chapter 96

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I lay there for another moment, thinking about everything-his consistent apologies, his genuine effort these past weeks, his father’s slow, uncertain recovery, his mother’s complicated, tender vigil beside that hospital bed. So much had shifted these past several weeks, gradually accumulating into something that felt, increasingly, like genuine healing rather than simply careful, temporary truce.

Damon returned a few minutes later, Willow settled against his shoulder, already cooing softly at whatever quiet, nonsensical conversation he was apparently having with her.

“She’s hungry,” he said, settling onto the edge of the bed. “And apparently has opinions about being kept waiting.”

I laughed, sitting up properly now, and took her from him, settling her against me to nurse while he watched with the same quiet, unguarded tenderness he’d been showing me since I first woke.

“How’s your father doing today,” I asked, once Willow had settled into her feeding, genuinely curious given how significant yesterday’s crisis had been.

“Better, according to the healers’ morning report. Still weak, still recovering, but stable and responsive. My mother’s staying with him most of the day, apparently.” He hesitated slightly before continuing. “I think she’s actually considering it, Evelyn. Reconciliation, I mean. Not immediately, not without careful conversation and genuine reckoning with everything that happened, but I could see it clearly, watching her with him yesterday.”

“How do you feel about that,” I asked, echoing the question I’d asked him weeks earlier about his father’s own genuine change.

“Complicated,” he admitted. “Relieved, if it means she finds genuine happiness rather than isolated independence just for its own sake. Worried, too, that old patterns might reassert themselves even if his current effort is genuine. But ultimately, it’s her choice to make, not mine to judge or discourage.”

“That’s a mature way to think about it,” I said, genuinely impressed by the careful, measured perspective.

“I’ve had good examples lately,” he said, something warm in his expression as he watched me feeding Willow. “Watching you navigate similar complicated questions about my own trustworthiness, extending careful, measured grace without either blind trust or permanent, unforgiving distance. I’m learning from that, honestly.”

Something warm settled into my chest at the acknowledgment, appreciating how genuinely he seemed to internalize the careful, patient wisdom I’d tried to model these past several weeks rather than simply performing understanding without actually absorbing it.

Once Willow finished feeding, Damon took her again, settling her against his shoulder while I finally rose to actually get dressed, the morning’s earlier intimacy giving way to the practical rhythm of an ordinary day ahead.

“I was thinking,” he said, watching me move around the room, “about maybe taking a proper walk later, the three of us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something simple and ordinary together, away from all

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Chapter 96

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the crisis and complicated family drama these past weeks.”

“I’d like that,” I said, genuinely meaning it, appreciating the suggestion of something normal and peaceful amid everything else still unfolding around us. “Maybe down by the creek, if the weather holds.”

“Perfect,” he said, something easy and genuinely happy in his expression at the simple plan.

We made our way toward the kitchen eventually, the smell of coffee already filling the small apartment from the pot Damon had apparently started before waking me, and settled into the comfortable, familiar rhythm of an ordinary morning together-him managing breakfast while I finished getting Willow properly dressed for the day, easy conversation drifting between practical logistics and gentler, more affectionate exchanges.

I thought, watching him move confidently around the kitchen, humming something quiet and unselfconscious under his breath, about how far we’d actually traveled these past several weeks. Not fully healed, not without genuine scars still lingering beneath the surface of our daily life together. But genuinely, meaningfully different from where we’d started-not just his consistent, daily accountability, but my own gradual, hard-won willingness to actually let myself hope again, to extend trust incrementally rather than holding permanently to the careful, protective distance that had kept me safe through eight difficult months alone.

“Breakfast’s ready,” Damon announced, setting plates down at the small table, and I settled Willow into her bouncer nearby before joining him, the three of us gathered together in the warm, ordinary intimacy of a Sunday morning that felt, increasingly, like exactly the kind of life I’d once dreamed of building before everything fell apart so completely.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, watching him across the table.

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