CHAPTER 79 — “The Week Everything Shifted”

The morning sunlight arrived timidly, slipping through the curtains as if unsure whether it was welcome. A golden haze brushed softly across the room, settling on the foot of our bed where one sock, an abandoned coloring book, and Cassian’s jacket (still don’t know why) were sprawled out like some weird modern-art exhibit.

Lucian was already awake beside me — of course he was — propped against the headboard, phone in one hand, coffee in the other, and that quiet, intense look he had when he was thinking too much.

“Morning,” I whispered.

He set his phone aside immediately and leaned down to kiss me. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

I smiled against his lips. “With your arm around me? Like a rock.”

“Good.” He brushed his hand over my hip, warm and grounding. “We have a full week ahead. School drop-offs. Homework. Parent-teacher meetings. And your dad wants to talk to us about something.”

I blinked. “Something good? Or ‘something’ something?”

Lucian hesitated, just long enough for my stomach to tighten.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I’ll be there. Whatever it is.”

That reassurance — quiet, firm — worked better than any coffee.

I sat up, stretching. “Okay. Let’s conquer Monday.”

Lucian smirked. “Warrior mode activated?”

I nodded. “Fully.”

Breakfast Chaos Begins

Downstairs sounded like someone had set loose three hyperactive squirrels. And by someone, I mean Cassian.

The scent of eggs, toast, and warming maple syrup filled the air. My dad stood by the griddle flipping pancakes while humming quietly — a sight that hit a warm, soft spot in my heart.

Meanwhile:

Aria was sitting on the counter brushing her doll’s hair.

Arianna had her crayons spread across half the table.

Arian was reorganizing her backpack for the fifth time.

Adrian was reading a newspaper, glaring at Cassian every seven seconds.

And Cassian — oh, Cassian — had a whisk in each hand like drumsticks, tapping on bowls like he was in a rock band.

“Girls,” I called. “Let’s eat.”

Aria hopped down immediately. “Mommy! I already picked my first-day-of-the-week outfit!”

Arian rolled her eyes. “It’s not a thing. There are uniforms.”

Aria gasped dramatically. “BUT ACCESSORIES ARE ALLOWED.”

Cassian clapped. “Damn right they are!”

“Language,” Adrian snapped without looking up.

My father flipped another pancake. “We’re going to need a gallon of coffee.”

Lucian wrapped an arm around my waist. “Make it two.”

The girls finally sat, chattering excitedly. I watched them fondly, wishing I could bottle the sound — their giggles, their soft little gasps when syrup drizzled onto their pancakes like magic, their sibling bickering that always, somehow, ended in laughter.

My family.

Mine.

It still made my chest tighten — in the best way.

The School Drop-Off That Tested My Heart

The school parking lot was a carnival of anxious parents and surprisingly fearless kids. Aria dragged me toward the entrance as if the building might sprint away if she didn’t catch it in time. Arianna clung to my hand, biting her lip, while Arian marched ahead with terrifying confidence.

Lucian walked beside me, carrying the girls’ extra supplies like the world’s most intimidating pack mule.

Cassian waved dramatically at everyone we passed, while Adrian wore the expression of a man who regretted every decision that brought him here.

My dad stayed close, offering calm, steady energy — the one thing counterbalancing Cassian’s chaos.

Inside the school:

Aria went straight to the arts-and-crafts corner.

Arian introduced herself to the teacher with a handshake.

Arianna hovered near me, eyes big and nervous.

I knelt, cupping her cheek. “Do you want to sit with me a little before I go?”

She nodded, pressing her forehead into mine.

Lucian knelt beside us. “You’re safe, little star,” he whispered. “We’ll be back this afternoon. And tonight? You get to help me cook.”

She perked up instantly. “Can we make spaghetti?”

Lucian: “Yes.”

Me: “Please supervise him.”

Arianna giggled — and let go of my hand.

When we finally walked out of the classroom, I didn’t cry.

…until Cassian said loudly, “THE BABIES ARE GROWING UP—SOMEONE HOLD ME—”

Adrian pushed him. “Control yourself.”

I burst out laughing mid-tear.

A Strange Feeling I Couldn’t Shake

The hallway was busy, parents leaving, teachers standing at doorways, kids running to classrooms.

Everything normal.

Perfectly normal.

Except…

Halfway down the hall, I felt it — a prickle at the back of my neck. Not fear. Not danger. Something quieter. Sharper.

Someone watching.

I turned.

At the far end of the corridor stood a woman I didn’t recognize — tall, poised, wearing dark glasses even though we were indoors. She held a clipboard, pretending to read it… but her head tilted just slightly in our direction.

Lucian noticed my subtle shift. “What?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “That woman… she keeps glancing over.”

Lucian followed my gaze.

The woman lowered her clipboard.

Then she smiled.

Not kindly. Not warmly.

Just… knowingly.

It sent a chill through my spine.

Adrian noticed next. His eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t work here.”

Cassian blinked. “She’s hot.”

Adrian smacked the back of his head.

The woman turned — and walked away.

Lucian’s arm slipped protectively around my waist. “I’ll look into it.”

I nodded, uneasy.

Because something about that woman felt familiar.

Too familiar.

The Uneasy Walk Back

Lucian didn’t let go of my waist until we reached the car.

Even then, he hesitated, reading me the way only he could.

“You’re still thinking about her,” he murmured.

I buckled my seatbelt slowly. “She looked… out of place.”

Cassian spun around from the passenger seat, legs crossed dramatically. “Sophie, she was a clipboard woman. Clipboard women are terrifying, but usually harmless.”

Adrian muttered, “You have the survival instincts of a wet paper bag.”

“HEY!”

My dad, from the back seat, offered gently, “She didn’t look threatening. Maybe she was a new administrator.”

Lucian’s voice dropped. “Administrators don’t watch people. They watch paperwork.”

That sentence settled like a weight.

But then he squeezed my hand.

“We’re not borrowing fear,” he said softly. “There’s no immediate danger. I promise you that.”

I let out a long breath, leaning into the warmth of him.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”

Lucian kissed my knuckles and started the engine.

Still…

The image of the woman lingered.

Not frightening.

Not menacing.

Just… knowing.

And that sometimes felt worse.

A Quiet House Feels Strange

When we arrived home, the silence made the walls feel bigger.

The girls’ laughter was gone.

Their backpacks sat in the corner.

Their little shoes weren’t scattered in the hallway.

I stood there, frozen for a moment.

Lucian came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, chin resting lightly against my shoulder.

“Feels empty without them,” he murmured.

I nodded, leaning into him. “Too empty.”

He rubbed slow circles on my hip. “We should enjoy the quiet while it lasts.”

Cassian called out from the kitchen: “WHO TOOK MY BREAKFAST PANCAKE?”

Adrian: “You ate it.”

Cassian: “OH MY GOD I DID—”

Adrian: “You’re a disaster.”

Yep.

Quiet was not the right word.

My dad walked in holding two mugs of coffee. “Morning peace doesn’t exist in this house.”

We all laughed.

Lucian’s arms tightened around me.

“But you,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of my ear, “I need five minutes alone with.”

I felt a shiver run through me.

“Five?” I teased. “You usually ask for thirty.”

He smirked against my skin. “I’m being reasonable. For now.”

I turned in his arms—

And then the doorbell rang.

Lucian paused. “You expecting anyone?”

“No.”

Cassian shouted, “IF IT’S A PACKAGE WITH MY NAME ON IT, NOBODY TOUCH IT—”

Adrian: “It’s probably regulations about your last package exploding.”

Cassian: “IT WAS A SCIENCE KIT.”

Adrian: “It was a bomb.”

I sighed and headed for the door.

Lucian followed.

Always.

The Letter on the Doorstep

There was no person waiting when I opened the door.

Just a small white envelope, tucked neatly into the mat.

Lucian bent down and picked it up before I could touch it. “No name on the front.”

My stomach tightened.

“Maybe it’s mail delivered wrong,” I offered weakly.

But Lucian had that look — the one where his eyes sharpened slightly, where his jaw tightened.

He turned it over.

A small gold emblem was stamped into the flap.

A scale.

A shield.

A star.

My blood ran cold.

I knew that symbol.

“Judicial Protective Services,” I whispered. “They only contact families involved in—”

Lucian finished quietly, “—recent cases.”

My father stepped behind us, his voice low and heavy. “Let me see.”

Lucian handed him the envelope.

Dad’s expression shifted.

And in an instant…

I knew the letter wasn’t about danger.

It was about oversight.

A check-in.

A follow-up.

Routine.

But it still made my chest tighten.

Dad handed it back gently. “It’s nothing alarming. They just want to confirm the kids are adjusting. They do this when a case involves minors witnessing trauma.”

Lucian glanced at me.

And I understood.

The woman in the hallway.

She wasn’t a threat.

She was…

Observing. Checking. Making sure the girls were safe.

Which meant someone had triggered a follow-up.

Dad sighed. “I’ll call them later. Clarify everything.”

Cassian peeked from the stairs. “Are we getting arrested? If yes, I need ten minutes to pack snacks.”

Adrian shoved him back. “It’s a routine oversight, you idiot.”

Cassian: “I’ll still pack snacks.”

Despite the explanation…

My heart wouldn’t calm.

Lucian saw it.

He always saw it.

He placed the envelope aside gently.

Then took my hands.

“Hey,” he murmured, “you’re safe. The girls are safe. There is no threat here. Just formality.”

I nodded slowly.

Still uneasy.

But grounded by his steady presence.

The Grocery Trip That Turned into Therapy

After the letter, my nerves buzzed all morning.

Lucian suggested we go out. “Just you and me,” he said softly, “even if it’s just grocery shopping. Let’s breathe.”

So we left the others at home — Dad reading, Adrian pretending not to babysit Cassian, Cassian absolutely babysitting himself.

The supermarket was unexpectedly soothing. Soft music. Shiny apples. People who looked like they had normal problems like coupons and cereal choices.

Lucian pushed the cart with one hand and held mine with the other.

Always touching.

Always grounding.

“You’re quiet,” he said eventually.

“I’m just…” I sighed. “Processing. The woman. The letter. The idea of someone evaluating the girls.”

Lucian stopped the cart.

Right in the middle of the cereal aisle.

He stepped in front of me, taking both my hands now.

“You are an incredible mother,” he said firmly. “Those girls are thriving. Happy. Safe. And any agency checking on them is going to see that instantly.”

I swallowed. “But what if they think—”

“They won’t.”

His voice dropped.

Quiet. Strong. Unshakeable.

“They will see a woman who survived hell and still gives those girls gentleness. Love. Home.”

My eyes stung.

Lucian pressed his forehead against mine. “And they will see a family that protects each other. No matter what.”

I breathed him in.

Warmth. Coffee. That faint scent of cedar and something darker, sharper — Lucian.

“I love you,” I whispered.

His breath hitched. Just barely. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

He kissed me — right next to the Cheerios.

And I let myself believe every word.

The Call That Stopped My Heart

We had just reached the checkout lane when my phone rang.

The screen lit up with the name:

Mrs. Halden – School Front Office

My pulse spiked.

Lucian saw the way my hand froze and immediately straightened, every protective instinct snapping awake.

“Answer it,” he said softly. “I’m right here.”

I swallowed and pressed the phone to my ear.

“H-Hello?”

“Mrs. Crawford?” The voice was warm, kind, and absolutely not panicked. “Hi, this is Ms. Halden, the administrator from your daughters’ school.”

Lucian watched my face with hawk-like intensity.

“Yes, I’m here,” I said quickly. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh yes, yes,” she assured. “Nothing serious at all. I just wanted to call you about Arian.”

Arian.

My little strategist.

My tiny perfectionist.

My chest squeezed. “What happened?”

“Well…” Ms. Halden chuckled lightly. “She’s doing wonderfully. She is just… ah… restructuring the classroom.”

Lucian blinked. “…What?”

I put the phone on speaker.

“She said the desk arrangement was inefficient,” the administrator continued, amusement thick in her voice. “She has moved three desks, created traffic lanes, and is now organizing the supply shelf alphabetically.”

Lucian covered his mouth with his fist, shoulders shaking with a silent laugh.

Ms. Halden added, “We’re not upset. She’s been very polite. But we wanted to check if this is… normal behavior for her?”

“Oh,” I said, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Yes. Very normal.”

Lucian snorted into his sleeve.

The administrator laughed softly. “Excellent. She’s very bright. We’ll gently encourage her to leave the classroom layout to the teachers, but she’s been very sweet and helpful.”

I felt warmth spread across my chest. “Thank you so much. Please let her know she’s doing great.”

“Of course. Enjoy your day!”

The call ended.

And I sagged against the cart.

Lucian stepped behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist from behind, chin resting on my shoulder.

“She redesigned the classroom,” I whispered.

He kissed my jaw. “Our daughter is out there optimizing the world.”

I laughed, tension melting. “I thought something terrible happened.”

Lucian turned me so I faced him. “Sophie… it’s okay. This is the normal stress. The real-world, school-paperwork, back-to-routine stress.”

He cupped my cheek.

“You’re not alone in it. I’m here. Always.”

I leaned into his touch.

And for a moment — it was enough.

The Woman in the Parking Lot

We stepped outside with our groceries, fall sunlight soft on our skin.

Lucian carried most of the bags with one hand — show-off — while I held a bouquet of flowers Cassian had insisted we buy “for general morale.”

We were halfway to the car when Lucian suddenly slowed.

“Sophie,” he murmured.

My heart skipped.

She was there.

Across the parking lot.

The same woman from the school hallway.

Dark hair. Pale coat. Clipboard tucked under one arm.

Her posture was neutral — neither threatening nor overly friendly. Just… observing.

And she was looking at us.

No malicious intent.

No predatory gaze.

Just quiet, clinical attention.

“What is she doing here?” I whispered.

Lucian’s hand slid to the small of my back.

“Nothing harmful,” he murmured. “Her badge earlier — I recognized the emblem.”

I looked up at him sharply. “You did?”

He nodded. “Judicial Protective Services. Low-risk follow-up division.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she’s checking for signs of adjustment after trauma exposure,” he said gently. “She’s not a threat. She’s a report.”

My stomach twisted. “A report about us.”

His hand tightened on my back.

“No, angel. Not about us. About the situation the kids endured. It’s procedural. They’re confirming that the girls are in a stable, safe environment.”

I swallowed hard. “So she’s… doing her job.”

“Exactly.”

He kissed my temple.

“She’s not watching us for danger. She’s looking for signs of healing.”

That… was different.

Still uncomfortable.

But different.

The woman saw us looking at her — and instead of approaching, she gave a polite nod and turned away, walking toward a dark SUV.

Lucian exhaled slowly. “See? If she wanted to talk to us, she would have.”

“You think she’ll talk to the school?” I asked softly.

“Probably,” he said honestly. “It’s standard procedure.”

I looked down at the bouquet in my hand. The colors blurred for a moment.

Lucian lifted my chin gently. “Sophie. This is not a threat. And it is not a judgment. They’re not looking for faults. They’re looking for safety.”

I nodded, even though a lump sat stubbornly in my throat.

“I just want them to leave us alone,” I whispered.

“I know,” he murmured. “And they will. As soon as they confirm what we already know — those girls are safe, loved, and thriving.”

He pressed a long kiss to my forehead.

“And they won’t find any reason to think otherwise.”

Back Home — and Questions I Didn’t Expect

When we got home, the living room was a battlefield of blankets and toy cars.

Cassian was upside down on the couch for some reason.

Adrian was reading a newspaper with the quiet despair of a man who regretted every life choice.

My father was peacefully sipping tea, unbothered by the chaos.

Cass shouted, “WELCOME BACK! WHO WANTS TO PLAY—”

Lucian raised a hand.

Cass froze.

“Nobody,” Lucian said simply.

Cass deflated. “Rude.”

I dropped the flowers in a vase and sank into the nearest chair.

Dad studied me with soft, knowing eyes.

“You look troubled,” he said gently.

I hesitated. “Dad… did you know Judicial Protective Services would be checking in?”

His gaze flickered.

Just for a moment.

Then he nodded slowly. “It’s standard protocol. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Too late,” I whispered.

Dad sighed and sat beside me. “They’re not investigating us. They’re ensuring the children aren’t displaying signs of delayed trauma. It’s a safety net.”

“But why didn’t they tell us when they’d show up?” I asked.

Dad offered a sad smile. “Because people prepare when they know. And they want the truth of the environment — not the cleaned version.”

My chest tightened.

Lucian sat beside me, arm immediately slipping over my shoulders.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Dad added. “If anything, they’ll close the file early. Those girls are thriving. And that’s because of you.”

My eyes stung.

Lucian kissed the side of my head.

Dad squeezed my hand.

Cass offered a thumbs-up.

Adrian offered a silent nod.

And somehow…

It helped.

The Second Phone Call

It happened an hour later.

I was in the laundry room folding tiny socks into pairs — how three little girls could generate more laundry than an entire baseball team was beyond me — when the phone rang again.

Lucian’s voice traveled through the hallway, calm but alert:

“Sophie? It’s the school again.”

My heart jumped into my throat.

He handed me the phone gently, his palm warm against mine.

“H-Hello?” I said, breath shaky.

This time the voice belonged to a different woman — soft, patient, motherly.

“Hi, Mrs. Crawford, this is Ms. Robins — Aria and Arianna’s teacher. Everything is absolutely fine, I just wanted to update you on something that happened during the afternoon class.”

Lucian leaned closer, eyes narrowed with protective attention.

“Oh,” I breathed. “Is everything… okay?”

Ms. Robins laughed lightly. “Yes, please don’t worry. I just thought you’d want to know.”

I waited, fingers curling.

She continued:

“Aria started an art movement.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Lucian raised a brow.

The teacher chuckled. “She drew a picture of her family — all six of you — including Grandpa, and both uncles, and even labeled everyone. It was beautiful. And then… the other children wanted one too.”

A soft warmth filled my chest. “Oh… that’s sweet.”

“It was, until she began charging them ‘smiles’ as payment.”

Lucian covered his mouth to hide a laugh.

Ms. Robins went on, amused:

“She’s given away twenty drawings. I had to stop her because she was so focused she skipped her snack time. I just wanted you to know she’s adjusting wonderfully — socially, creatively, emotionally.”

Emotion squeezed my throat.

“That’s… really good to hear,” I whispered.

“She’s a joy to have,” the teacher said genuinely. “Just wanted to share something positive.”

When I hung up, Lucian pulled me into his arms immediately.

“See?” he whispered into my hair. “She’s thriving, angel.”

I nodded against his chest.

It felt like sunlight filling a space inside me that had been dim for too long.

But the moment didn’t last long.

Because thirty minutes later…

The phone rang again.

The Third Phone Call

This time it was Lucian who answered.

I heard only his half of the conversation:

“Hello… yes… this is her father… I see… She did what? … No, she doesn’t usually— Wait, she said WHAT?”

My stomach twisted.

He hung up slowly, expression caught somewhere between confusion and pride.

“What happened?” I whispered.

Lucian rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Arianna started a petition.”

“A… what?”

“A petition,” Lucian repeated. “For the class hamsters.”

I stared. “I’m sorry. The what?”

“She claims they deserve ‘expanded living quarters and equal rights.’”

I smacked a hand over my mouth to stop the laugh.

Lucian continued, tone dead serious despite the twitch at his lips:

“She got eight signatures. And tried to email the principal. She doesn’t even have email access.”

I choked. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

He nodded solemnly.

“And when the teacher gently told her the hamsters were fine, she burst into tears.”

“Oh my—”

“But then,” Lucian added, holding up a finger, “she gave a speech on ‘compassionate justice’ and the entire class joined her in a chant.”

I lost it.

I collapsed onto the couch, laughing so hard tears streamed down my face.

Lucian watched me with soft amusement, his eyes warm — the kind of warmth that hit me in the chest and spread everywhere.

“She’s sensitive,” I said when I could breathe again. “And fierce.”

“She is you,” Lucian murmured, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “That’s why.”

And just like that, my laughter melted into something tender.

Something deep.

Something real.

The Woman Returns — But This Time… She Speaks

We had just finished unpacking groceries when Lucian stepped to the window, shoulders going still.

My heart dropped.

“What is it?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he held the curtain slightly aside.

“Soph…”

He exhaled.

“She’s back.”

My breath hitched.

The woman from the school hallway.

The parking lot.

Standing on the sidewalk.

A respectful distance away.

Hands folded in front of her.

No clipboard this time — just a small ID badge.

She wasn’t approaching.

She wasn’t staring.

She was waiting.

Lucian turned to me.

“No fear,” he said softly, brushing his fingers down my arm. “I promise.”

I nodded — even as nerves fluttered in my stomach.

Lucian opened the door first, stepping outside with the quiet authority of someone naturally built to protect.

She straightened politely.

“Mr. Crawford,” she greeted. “Mrs. Crawford.”

Her voice was soft. Professional. Not cold.

I stepped beside Lucian, feeling safer in his shadow but grounded enough to stand tall.

“Can we help you?” I asked.

The woman offered a small, reassuring smile.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you both,” she said. “I just wanted to formally close the wellness-check file.”

My breath froze.

Lucian’s brow lifted slightly. “Close it?”

“Yes,” she said. “All observations indicate the children are thriving. Their school reports have been nothing but positive. And I personally saw nothing that raised concern.”

Tears stung my eyes.

She continued gently:

“I know this process can feel intrusive. I sincerely apologize if my presence added stress. That was never the intention.”

Lucian nodded slowly. “We understand. Thank you.”

She looked at me — but not in judgment.

In kindness.

“Your daughters are extraordinary,” she said warmly. “Creative, intelligent, empathetic. You’re doing a wonderful job with them.”

My breath shook.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She stepped back.

“If you need support or resources — trauma-recovery, school adjustment, anything — the department offers free services for families in transition. You only have to ask.”

Lucian’s arm slid around my waist.

“We’re okay,” I said softly. “But… thank you for telling us.”

She smiled once more.

Then walked away.

Calm.

Professional.

Harmless.

And gone.

The weight on my shoulders lifted so abruptly it made me dizzy.

Lucian closed the door behind us, then pressed his forehead to mine.

“It’s over,” he whispered.

I nodded, tears falling freely now.

“It’s really over.”

He pulled me into his arms.

Held me tight.

Held me together.

And for the first time since the nightmare began —

I felt free.

Later That Night — The Girls Come Home

They burst through the door like a tiny tornado.

Aria tossed her backpack aside dramatically.

Arianna clung to her pet hamster sketchbook.

Arian, of course, walked in like a CEO returning from a successful board meeting.

“Mommy!” Aria shouted. “LOOK! My teacher put a sticker on my ART!”

Arianna added, “And I saved the hamsters!”

Arian announced, “I reorganized the reading corner. Efficiency increased by thirty-three percent.”

Lucian whispered to me, voice amused and full of love:

“Our children are revolutionaries.”

I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Girls,” I said, crouching down, “I am so proud of all of you.”

They swarmed me.

All three of them.

Warm little arms.

Soft little cheeks.

Excited voices.

Lucian knelt beside me, kissing the tops of their heads.

Dad watched from the hallway, smiling softly.

Cass gave a thumbs-up.

Adrian looked vaguely alarmed by all the hugging.

And for the first time in so long—

I wasn’t waiting for something bad to happen.

I was simply here.

With them.

Safe.

Happy.

Whole.