Chapter Eleven: The Truth in His Eyes
Ava
Liam's room at the pediatric unit smelled like antiseptic and orange juice.
He was better now. The IV drip was gone, his cheeks had color again, and he was sitting upright in bed, doodling with crayons. But he kept glancing at Damien.
Not with fear.
With curiosity.
Ava knew this moment had come.
It was time.
She sat at the edge of the bed, gently placing her hand over Liam's.
"Baby," she said softly, "remember how you always asked about your dad?"
Liam blinked. Nodded.
She swallowed, her eyes flickering to Damien, who stood silently near the window, letting the light streak across his suit and the worn lines under his eyes.
"Well…" she said, voice trembling, "you've already met him."
Liam turned to look at Damien. "Him?"
Ava nodded.
Damien stepped forward slowly. "Hi, Liam."
There was a pause.
Then Liam asked, "Are you mad I didn't know?"
Damien blinked, stunned. "No, buddy. Never."
"Mommy said you used to love her," Liam said innocently.
Ava's breath caught.
Damien crouched beside the bed. "I did. And I still do."
Ava's head snapped toward him, but he didn't look away from Liam.
"I missed your first laugh," Damien said, voice breaking. "Your first tooth. I didn't know, Liam. But I'm here now. If you'll let me stay."
Liam looked at him for a long time.
Then handed him the crayon.
"Red's the best color," he said.
Damien smiled.
And Ava knew, in that moment, their lives had changed forever.
Interlude Chapter: When the Test Turned Positive
Five Years Ago — Chicago
Ava sat alone on the cold bathroom floor, holding the test in shaking hands.
Pregnant.
Two pink lines.
She stared at them, hoping the lines would vanish. That she could blink and erase them.
But they stayed.
Unflinching.
Just like Damien's face the day she'd told him she might be late. The way he'd tensed. How his mouth had gone flat and hard.
He hadn't yelled. He hadn't begged.
He just… walked away.
She knew what that meant.
He wasn't ready.
Maybe he never would be.
So she packed her bags. Took what little savings she had. Told no one.
She left New York the next day and moved to a small sublet in Chicago. No rings. No trace. No Wolfe name.
And when Liam was born—tiny and wide-eyed, with Damien's lashes and nose—she cried harder than she ever had before.
Because she loved Damien.
But she loved her child more.
And no one—not even Damien Wolfe—was going to hurt her son.