Chapter 27

Abigail's POV

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the smell. Pancakes. Sweet, buttery pancakes. My nose twitched, and my stomach gave a loud, happy rumble.

I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes and yawning. The sunlight was sneaking through my curtains, painting my room in golden stripes.

I stretched like a cat, then swung my legs over the side of the bed. My bunny slippers were waiting for me, so I slipped them on and padded out of my room, following the delicious smell.

When I got to the living room, I froze. My eyes went wide, and my heart did a little flip-flop.

There he was.

Alexander.

Sitting on our couch like he belonged there, looking all rumpled and tired, like a bear that had just woken up from hibernation. Mommy was standing nearby, arms crossed, her mouth pressed into a line.

She looked like she was about to scold me for not putting my toys away, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at him.

“Mommy,” I planted my hands on my hips, mirroring her. “What is he doing here?”

Mommy turned to me, her eyes softening a little. “Good morning, Abigail. I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“Pancakes,” I said as if that explained everything, but I kept my eyes on Alexander. “Why is he here? Did he break in?”

Alexander’s lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Good morning to you too, kiddo.”

Kiddo. I scrunched up my nose at him.

Mommy sighed. “Alexander had a… rough night. He’s just… resting.”

“He can rest somewhere else,” I said, crossing my arms. “Like a hotel! Or a park bench!”

I would never forgive this fake daddy for leaving mommy, leaving me.

“Abigail,” Mommy said in that warning voice she used when I was being “too much.”

I looked at Alexander again. His dark hair was sticking up in every direction, and his eyes were all red and tired. He looked like he’d been crying, which was weird, because he didn’t seem like the crying type. He looked more like the ‘yelly’ type.

“Are you sick?” I asked him.

“Not exactly,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Then why do you look like a zombie?”

Mommy made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Abigail, go wash up for breakfast.”

“Pancakes?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” she said, sounding tired. “Wash first.”

“Did he make them?” I jabbed a thumb in Alexander’s direction.

“No,” Mommy said. “I did.”

“Good,” I said.

Alexander chuckled softly, and I glared at him. He didn’t have a right to laugh. Not after what he did to Mommy. Not after what he did to me. He wasn’t funny. He wasn’t anything.

Except maybe… my daddy. Ew.

I turned and stomped to the bathroom to wash my hands. But even as I scrubbed, the question wouldn’t go away. Could he be my daddy? If he was, what did that mean? Did I have to be nice to him? Did I have to love him?

When I came back to the kitchen, the table was set, and the pancakes were waiting. Mommy was pouring coffee into her favorite mug, and Alexander was… helping. He was carrying a plate of pancakes to the table like he actually belonged here.

I slid into my chair, watching him like a hawk. He set the plate down in front of me and gave me a small, almost shy smile. “Here you go, Abigail.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, even though I’m not sure I meant it. I grabbed the syrup and drowned my pancakes, trying to ignore the weird fluttery feeling in my stomach.

It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be nice. Just like at the amusement park. He shouldn’t look at me like that, like he actually cared.

Mommy sat down across from me, her eyes darting between me and Alexander. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“So,” I said, cutting into my pancake. “What are you really, anyway?”

Alexander hesitated, his fork hovering over his plate. “I… needed to talk to your mom last night.”

“About what?” I asked with big eyes.

“Abigail,” Mommy said sharply. “Eat your breakfast.”

I shrugged and took a bite, chewing slowly as I watched them. Alexander looked at Mommy, his expression all serious and… soft. It was weird. He didn’t look like he was mad at her. He looked like he was sad. Like he was sorry.

“Are you going to stay?” I asked suddenly, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

Alexander blinked, his eyes flicking to me. “Stay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Like… for good. Are you going to be around? Or are you just going to leave again?”

“Abigail,” Mommy said, her voice sharp and full of warning.

“What?” I said, looking at her innocently.

Alexander didn’t answer right away. He looked at me, then at Mommy, and then back at me. His face was hard to read, like he was trying to figure out what to say.

“No,” he said finally. Even if he didn’t sound sure.

I just nodded and went back to my pancakes, pretending not to notice the way Mommy’s hand trembled as she lifted her coffee cup.

When breakfast was over, I helped Mommy clear the table. Alexander tried to help too, but I shot him a look that said, “Back off. This is mommy and my’s thing!” He got the message and stepped back, leaning against the counter with his hands in his pockets.

As I stacked the plates, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was watching Mommy, his expression soft and… something else. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it made me feel weird. Like maybe he wasn’t the bad guy I’d decided he was. Like maybe he really did care.

Lauren's POV

I handed Alexander the last of the plates, watching as he slid it into the cabinet with ease. Abigail finally let him help after a few minutes—the silence between us was steady, not quite comfortable but not strained either.

Abigail’s giggles drifted in from the table as she wiped it down, a sweet sound that filled the space and made it hard to hold onto the bitterness I wanted to feel toward him.

I glanced at Alexander out of the corner of my eye. He’d been surprisingly good with Abigail this morning—patient, even playful with her sharp tongue that rarely made an appreaence.

It threw me off. Both him and her. I had expected him to be distant, dismissive, or, worse, cold. But he’d met her sass with calmness, her barbs with humor.

“She’s got a sharp tongug,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. He turned toward me, leaning a hip against the counter. “I didn’t except it, she always seems to sweet. Reminds me of someone.”

I shot him a look. “Don’t try to charm me.”

“Not trying,” he said with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just stating facts.”

I turned back to the sink, rinsing the last glass. “She just…doesn’t trust you.”

“She shouldn’t,” he said softly.

The honesty in his voice startled me. I looked over at him again, really looked. His shoulders were tense, his expression aloof as he rubbed the plate dry.

“She’s protective,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Of herself. Of me.”

“She should be,” he chuckled, like we were just stating the bvious. “I haven’t exactly given either of you two a reason to feel safe.”

I pressed my lips together, my chest tightening. It would have been easier if he’d denied it, if he’d deflected or argued. But this—this quiet acceptance of his faults—made it harder to hold onto my anger.

“Why did you come here, Alexander?” I asked, turning to face him fully.

His gaze met mine, steady and unflinching. “I want to make things right.”

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “You think you can fix this? After everything?”

“I have to try,” he said simply.

Before I could respond, the front door opened, and Abigail’s giggles turned into a delighted squeal. “Liam!”

My stomach dropped. I turned just as Liam stepped into the kitchen, a grocery bag in hand. His eyes scanned the room, casual at first—until they landed on Alexander.

The change was immediate. His expression hardened, his jaw tightening as his grip on the bag shifted. “Alexander.”

Alexander straightened, his shoulders rolling back as his head cocked to the side. “Liam.”