When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2194

Elliot's shoulders hunched as he said pitifully, "Jonathan, I still want to sleep beside Mommy."

"Absolutely not." Jonathan clipped the words like snipping thread.

Nathaniel stepped from his study, siding with the elder boy. "Jonathan's right. Last night was a one-time exception. No repeats."

Elliot's reply was a subdued "Oh," the single syllable sagging under disappointment.

He trudged to the couch and settled beside Jonathan.

Elliot tugged at his brother's sleeve, eyes still round with the echo of fear. "Jonathan, do you have any idea what kind of nightmare clawed at me last night?"

Jonathan never cared for such things. Dreams, in his mind, were like smoke—interesting shapes, but insubstantial and soon gone.

"No, I don't," he said without looking up, his tone flat as he scrolled through the morning news on his tablet.

"I saw someone chasing us—someone who wanted you and me dead. I was terrified, Jonathan. I thought I'd never see Mommy again."

Jonathan had meant to dismiss the story, yet those words made him lift his head. "Really?" he asked, studying the panic still shivering in Elliot's eyes.

"Of course it's real," Elliot insisted, tiny fists curling on his flannel pants.

"Then who wants to hurt us?" Jonathan pressed, voice calm but suddenly urgent.

"I don't know," Elliot whispered, leaning closer as if the walls might eavesdrop. "But the presence felt terrifying—truly terrifying."

Jonathan frowned, tension sharpening the line of his jaw. "What did you do yesterday? Who did you meet? Tell me everything—every person, every place, every detail."

At the mention, Elliot remembered bumping into Nicholas and the strange, heavy words the man had whispered before slipping away.

Jonathan's expression hardened. "He said that? Exactly that?" The question snapped like a branch in winter.

Elliot nodded so hard his hair flopped forward. "Yes. I swear I'm not lying."

"He's up to no good," Jonathan muttered. "From now on, we keep as much distance from Nicholas as a river keeps from fire."

People burdened by illness and broken homes often carried cracks inside their minds; Jonathan had learned that much from every psychology article he devoured after lights-out.

To him, Nicholas was the textbook example—his daughter wasn't really his, his marriage had shattered, and prison bars had already slammed behind his ex-wife. How stable could he be?

Elliot forced a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Okay."

Jonathan's mouth curved into a crescent, the picture of innocent delight. "Oh, no reason. We saw Dahlia not long ago. She's gorgeous, sweet, and listens to everyone—such a perfect little girl."

Bewilderment flickered across Nicholas's features, wondering why the child would bring up that name out of the blue. "As long as she's doing well, that's what matters."

Jonathan leaned closer, voice dipped in manufactured concern. "But why did you give Dahlia up, Uncle Nicholas?"

He asked not from ignorance but with the calculated intent of peeling back Nicholas's polite façade to reveal whatever might lurk beneath.

Nicholas didn't flinch. His tone remained even, almost gentle. "Perhaps she and I were never meant to share a father-daughter bond. Besides, she's happy with Meredith. Isn't that enough?"

Jonathan shrugged, but his eyes gleamed. "If you're really her dad, she'll resent you when she's older. Walking away like this feels pretty irresponsible, don't you think?"