Chapter 203

Lila

The bell above the apothecary door chimed as Kael pushed it open, shaking the snow from his coat like a wet wolf.

“Cold enough to freeze your lungs out there,” he said, dropping a crate of dried herbs onto the counter with a grunt.

“You could’ve waited until morning,” I said, taking the crate from him before he could strain something. “I told you the supply run could wait.”

“And leave you here to lift it yourself?” He arched a brow. “You forget I’ve seen the way you overfill the shelves. You’d have dropped it halfway through the door and then the twins would start an herb fight.”

I gave him a stern look, but it didn’t stop him from smiling. Kael had a way of teasing that softened the edges around him, a quiet warmth that belonged in this place. I sighed and let him have the small victory.

My apothecary smelled of cedar and honeyed tea, herbs drying overhead in neat, suspended bundles, a lot like my cottage. Sunlight broke through the frost on the windows, gilding the shelves of jars and tinctures.

We’d fallen into an easy rhythm these past two years. But there was an unspoken tension at times.

Kael unpacked the crate while I ground willow bark for a pain tonic. We didn’t need to speak to know what the other was doing; our work flowed like a practiced dance. He tied fresh bundles with rough twine while I labeled bottles, the scratch of my quill matching the sound of his steady movements.

“You forgot to eat again,” he said after a while, handing me a small cinnamon roll he’d wrapped in cloth.

“I didn’t forget. I just… didn’t feel like stopping.”

“That’s what forgetting looks like when you’re stubborn,” he said, tearing the roll in half and pushing one piece toward me.

I took it without arguing this time, too tired to pretend I wasn’t hungry. He smiled faintly, satisfied, and for a heartbeat, the moment felt too intimate, too close to something I used to have.

The door opened again, letting in a gust of cold air. I turned to see one of the villagers ushering in my daughter, her small hand tucked inside his gloved one. “Found this one trying to rescue a kitten from under my cart,” he said, half scolding, half amused.

Kael crouched immediately, brushing snow from her coat. “Were you brave or reckless this time?”

“Both,” she said, grinning.

He chuckled, helping Auren to the stool by the fire. “Let’s look at those hands, little hero.”

She held them out proudly. Only a few small scrapes. Kael cleaned them with practiced gentleness, his tone playful but steady. Lucien leaned over the counter to watch, eyes wide with admiration.

When the villager left, Kael straightened and ruffled Auren’s hair. “All patched up, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said without thinking, already hopping down from the stool.

The word landed like a knife through my chest.

Kael froze for just a breath, long enough for me to see the faint flush rise in his cheeks, then he smiled and handed her a honey candy. “Don’t tell your mother I gave you this,” he whispered.

I managed a quiet laugh, pretending I had no knowledge of their secret interaction.

When the kids ran off to play outside, Kael turned back to me. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy, not worrying over every scrape. They’re resilient.”

“They’re all I have,” I said before I could stop myself.

His expression softened, the playful glint fading into something deeper. “You know you have me too… and, uh, and Ronan and Thalia of course.” He added quickly.

The words hung between us, unacknowledged, and we worked in silence after that. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint laughter of the children on the other side of the door.

It was peaceful. Painfully so.

By sunset, the shelves were full again. Kael stacked the last crate by the wall and dusted off his hands. “When the thaw comes, I think I’ll take the kids fishing,” he said lightly. “They should see the lake when it blooms. It turns silver in the spring.”

I smiled, keeping my hands busy with the ledger so he wouldn’t see how tight my chest had gone. “They’d like that.”

He hesitated like he wanted to say more, then only nodded. “Then it’s a plan.”

I stood there for a long time in thought. Kael had built something strong and steady around us – warmth, safety, trust – and I loved him for it. In my own way.

But a love like his deserved more than the hollow pieces of what was left of me. I couldn’t care for Kael the same way I knew he felt for me. But he was a patient and relentless male, declaring that I would come to my senses someday.

I loved him, in my own way, for that too.

After the shop closed, Kael stayed for tea, like he often did on long winter nights.

The kids had fallen asleep in a tangle of blankets near the hearth, their soft breathing filling the silence between us.

Kael sat across from me, elbows resting on his knees, the firelight catching on the faint streaks of gray in his hair. He wasn’t much older than me, his hair just matched the fur of his wolf.

“You know,” he said softly, watching the flames, “I didn’t think I’d stay in the village this long.”

I looked up from my cup. “No one does. Silver Glen’s meant to be a place you pass through, not settle.”

“Maybe.” His gaze flicked toward the kids sleeping near the fire. “But it feels like home. You make it feel that way.”

The words hung there, too gentle to deflect. I sipped my tea instead of answering.

He smiled faintly, eyes still on the children. “Sometimes, when they call me ‘Dad’… I let myself believe it for a moment. Just to see what it feels like.”

The ache in my chest expanded, sharp and familiar. I set my cup down carefully so my shaking hands wouldn’t crack it. “You’ve given them more than I could have alone. You gave me a kind of peace I didn’t think I’d find again.”

He turned toward me, voice quiet but steady. “Peace isn’t all there is, Lila.”

I met his eyes and saw it, the love he never forced, never demanded, but promised even if I never returned it. It was patient and kind, and it broke me over and over again.

“I know,” I whispered. “But it’s all I have to give.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded once, as if he understood. Maybe he did. Kael had never pushed. He just stayed with me.

When he rose to leave, he paused at the door, hand resting against the frame. “The thaw’s coming soon,” he said, voice lighter now. “I’ll take them to the lake when the ice melts. You should come.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He offered me a small smile. “Alright.”

When the door closed behind him, the cottage fell silent again. I sat there for a while, watching the fire.

Ruby stirred quietly in my mind. Kindness can still hurt, you shouldn’t string him along, she murmured.

“I know,” I whispered back. My gaze drifted toward the sleeping children, my daughter’s hand tucked beneath my son’s arm, both safe and warm, oblivious to everything I’d sacrificed to keep it that way.

“He deserves more than what’s left of me,” I said softly.

And you deserve to heal, Ruby answered.

But healing had never been for me. It was for the ones who came after.

I picked up the twins and brought them to my bed, tucking the blanket tighter around them before climbing in beside them.

The house smelled of mint and smoke and the faintest trace of Kael’s scent.

For a moment, like Kael, I imagined he was their father. And the guilt of that thought almost drowned me.