Chapter 98

Lila’s POV

The fire had burned low, its crackles softening into a gentle hiss, like the house itself was breathing with us. Shadows stretched across the living room, bending and swaying with every flicker of flame. I sat curled on the couch between my parents, the weight of everything I had confessed still pressing on my chest, but my heart felt strangely lighter too, like some part of me had been freed.

No one rushed to fill the silence. My mother’s hand stayed on my back, warm and steady, her thumb making slow circles that anchored me to the present. My father leaned forward slightly, his elbows braced on his knees and his gaze locked on the fire as though it held the answers to questions he was not ready to ask out loud.

I clutched the empty mug of hot chocolate in my hands, the ceramic cooled now, but I could not bring myself to set it down. It was something to hold, something solid against the fragile way I felt.

Finally, my mother spoke, her voice soft but firm, like velvet stretched over steel. “You have carried too much on your own, my baby. Far too much. What those men did to you, what life has demanded from you, it would have broken anyone. But here you are, still standing.So don’t you ever mistake what you have survived as weakness.”

The words broke me open again, though I did not sob this time. I just stared at her, my throat too tight to speak. She just said I wasn't weak for running away. That word hunted me for weeks, so hearing her say it wasn’t true, hearing her believe in me sent tears sliding silently down my cheeks.

My father shifted then, sitting up straighter. His voice was gruff when he finally spoke, but the tremor beneath it gave him away. “Max… Drew… or whatever their names are, none of them deserved you. None. And what they put you through, they better hope I never set my eyes on them.” He stopped, his jaw tightening until the muscle ticked. Then he let out a slow breath, unclenching his fists. “All that matters now is you are here. You are safe, and you are not alone anymore.”

I turned to him, my vision blurring with fresh tears. My father wasn’t a man of many words, not when it came to feelings, but the weight of each one hit me harder than a thousand reassurances could.

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “I… I don’t deserve you both”

“Don't say that Lila.” My mother cut me off gently, brushing my hair back from my damp face. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t you dare. You deserve every ounce of love in this world. Those men are the ones that didn't deserve you. You and this precious grandchild of ours you carry deserve all the love in the world.”

The sob I had been holding back escaped, raw and unrestrained. She didn’t flinch or try to shush me. She just held me again, letting me cry until the tears slowed. My father’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, large and steady, grounding me even more.

When my breathing finally steadied, my mother pulled back enough to look at me. “You need rest,” she said firmly, though her voice trembled at the edges. “Your body, your heart and your mind needs to rest from all the chaos. You have been through too much already but now you will begin to count your happy days. For tonight, you just sleep, let tomorrow bring its own worries.”

I wanted to argue, to tell her sleep would not come, that my mind would not quiet, but my body betrayed me. Every muscle ached, every limb was heavy. “Okay,” I whispered instead.

My father leaned in and pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. It startled me at first. I couldn’t remember the last time he had done that or anyone else generally, and it felt so good that I leaned into it, soaking up every drop of comfort it carried. “Good girl,” he murmured.

Mom helped me to my feet, tucking a blanket tighter around my shoulders as though I were still a child. I let her guide me down the hallway. The old floorboards creaked beneath us, familiar and unchanged. Each groan of the wood was a reminder of every night I had tiptoed down these halls, every morning I had raced through them.

My room waited at the end, the door slightly ajar. She pushed it open and smoothed the sheets one last time, though they didn’t need it. “Sleep well, my love,” she whispered, kissing my temple before slipping out.

I lowered myself onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight, the scent of lavender rising faintly from the sheets. The room was quiet, but not empty. The faded outlines on the walls where posters had once hung seemed to whisper memories back at me. The little crack on the window where I had carved with a safety pin was still there, etched like a secret only I would know.

I pulled the blanket over me, but I didn’t close my eyes. Sleep felt like a stranger I wasn’t ready to meet. Instead, I traced the shapes in the shadows, listening to the groans of the house. My hand drifted to my stomach, a protective instinct I couldn’t suppress. The faint swell beneath my palm was still so small, yet it felt like it carried the whole world.

Minutes, maybe hours passed. My eyes grew heavier, lids lowering against my will. Just as I began to drift, a sound reached me, soft at first, then unmistakable.

Someone was sobbing.

My breath caught. I stilled, straining to listen.

It was my mother.

Her voice, muffled but clear through the thin walls, cracked with grief. “…our little girl,” she wept. “She has been through so much. How could anyone let her suffer like this?”

My heart clenched so tight it hurt. I pressed my fist against my mouth to keep from crying out.

Then came my father’s voice, low and steady, carrying the weight of a man trying to hold everything together. “I know, love. I know. But you have to put yourself together now. She needs us. We need to be strong for her and for our grandchild that is coming.”

The silence that followed was broken only by my mother’s quiet sniffles and the soft murmur of his voice as he continued to console her.

Tears slid hot down my cheeks. I curled tighter under the blanket, my heart torn in two. Hearing their pain gutted me, but their love, their resolve to be strong for me and for the baby stitched something inside me back together.

For the first time in so long, I felt the fragile beginning of hope.

And yet, as sleep finally pulled me under, that hope carried with it an ache so deep I wondered if it would ever leave me.