Chapter 152 up
“Mommy—don’t go.”
The voice came sharp and broken, slicing through the quiet of the night.
Nyla jolted awake, heart hammering, sheets tangled around her legs. For half a second, she didn’t know where she was—only that fear had a sound, and it sounded like Evan.
“I’m here,” she said immediately, already moving. “I’m right here.”
Evan sat upright in his bed, small hands clawing at the blanket as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the world. His hair was damp with sweat, his chest rising too fast for such a small body.
“Mommy,” he gasped, eyes wild, unfocused. “They were taking me. You weren’t there.”
Nyla crossed the room in two steps and gathered him into her arms. He clung to her like someone drowning, fingers digging into her shirt, face pressed against her collarbone.
“I’m here,” she repeated, rocking him gently. “No one is taking you. No one.”
Evan shook his head, tears soaking into her skin.
“They said I don’t belong to you,” he whispered. “They said I have to go back.”
Nyla’s breath caught so violently it felt like pain.
“Who said that?” she asked, keeping her voice steady through sheer force of will.
“I don’t know,” Evan sobbed. “They didn’t have faces. But they knew my name.”
Nyla closed her eyes.
This was no longer a nightmare.
It was memory mixed with fear, fed by adult cruelty he was never meant to carry.
She pressed her lips to his hair, breathing him in—warm, alive, here.
“You belong with me,” she said firmly, each word deliberate. “You are safe. I will not let anyone take you.”
Evan hesitated, as if afraid to believe her.
Then he whispered the question that shattered her composure completely.
“Promise you won’t leave me like before?”
The room seemed to tilt.
Nyla’s arms tightened around him, her throat burning.
“I didn’t leave you,” she said, though her voice trembled. “I was taken from you. And I’m so sorry.”
Evan didn’t understand the distinction—but he didn’t pull away.
Eventually, his breathing slowed. His grip loosened, though one hand remained curled into her sleeve, unwilling to let go completely.
Nyla stayed where she was, sitting on the edge of his bed, afraid that movement alone might undo the fragile calm.
She stared at the wall, tears sliding silently down her face.
This was the real damage.
Not headlines.
Not court filings.
Not reputations.
This.
Evan refused to sleep alone after that.
When Nyla suggested returning to his bed later, his eyes filled instantly with panic.
“No,” he said, shaking his head hard. “I’ll be good. I won’t move. Please.”
So she let him sleep beside her.
He curled into her like a question mark, knees tucked in, one arm draped over her waist. Every time she shifted even slightly, he stirred, murmuring her name under his breath.
Nyla lay awake until dawn.
Her mind replayed every moment of the past weeks—the articles, the whispers, the careful destruction of her image—and traced a direct line to this small body trembling beside her.
This was the cost Selena had chosen.
And Clark had enabled.
By morning, Evan’s eyes were ringed with exhaustion. He picked at his breakfast, glancing toward the door every few seconds.
“Do you have to go today?” he asked quietly.
“I can stay,” Nyla said without hesitation.
Relief softened his face, but fear still lingered underneath.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Later, when Vincent arrived with documents and concern written all over his face, he stopped short at the sight of Evan clinging to Nyla’s leg.
“He hasn’t let go since last night,” Nyla said quietly.
Vincent crouched to Evan’s level. “Hey, buddy.”
Evan didn’t respond. He pressed closer to Nyla.
Vincent straightened slowly. “This is bad,” he said under his breath.
“Yes,” Nyla agreed. “It’s escalating.”
That afternoon, Evan startled at every sound.
A knock at the door made him flinch. A car passing outside sent him running into Nyla’s arms.
When the phone rang, he covered his ears.
“Make it stop,” he whispered once, tears welling again. “They’re coming.”
Nyla knelt in front of him, holding his face gently.
“Listen to me,” she said, meeting his eyes. “No one is coming. The doors are locked. I’m right here.”
“But what if they lie?” Evan asked, his voice small. “What if they say you’re bad?”
The question stabbed deeper than anything else.
Nyla swallowed hard.
“Even if they lie,” she said slowly, “even if they say terrible things about me… it doesn’t change who I am to you. And it doesn’t change who you are to me.”
Evan searched her face, desperate for certainty.
“You’re my mom?” he asked.
“Yes,” Nyla said without hesitation. “I am.”
Evan’s shoulders sagged, as if something heavy had finally been set down. He leaned into her, pressing his forehead against her chest.
“Then don’t let them erase us,” he whispered.
Nyla wrapped her arms around him, eyes burning.
“I won’t,” she said.
And in that moment, something inside her hardened—not into cruelty, but resolve.
That night, after Evan finally fell asleep—exhausted, curled around her like a shield—Nyla stepped into the hallway and closed the door softly behind her.
Her hands were shaking.
She leaned against the wall, sliding down until she sat on the floor, breath coming in short bursts.
This was not how trauma was supposed to look, the experts said.
It was not dramatic.
It was not loud.
It was a child asking if he would be taken again.
Vincent appeared at the end of the hall, concern etched deep into his face.
“We can file for emergency protection,” he said quietly. “Psychological harm. Harassment impacting a minor.”
Nyla nodded. “Do it.”
Vincent hesitated. “Once we do… there’s no turning back.”
Nyla looked toward Evan’s door.
“I already crossed that line the moment he started being afraid,” she said. “I don’t get to choose comfort anymore. I choose safety.”
Vincent nodded slowly. “And Clark?”
A flash of anger crossed Nyla’s face—sharp, controlled.
“He doesn’t get access to Evan until this stops,” she said. “Not unsupervised. Not negotiated.”
“That will provoke him.”
“So be it.”
Vincent exhaled. “And Selena?”
Nyla’s jaw tightened.
“She wanted a public war,” Nyla said. “She got one.”
Across the city, Selena stared at her phone as a message notification lit the screen.
Emergency filing initiated.
Her fingers curled slowly.
“No,” she murmured. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She had expected Nyla to lash out. To collapse. To beg.
Not to protect.
For the first time, Selena felt something dangerously close to doubt.
Back in the quiet apartment, Nyla returned to Evan’s room.
She lay beside him, careful not to wake him, and watched his face as he slept—still tense, brows drawn together even in dreams.
She brushed her thumb gently across his cheek.
“I’m here,” she whispered. “I won’t let them touch you. Not with lies. Not with power. Not with fear.”
Evan shifted, murmuring her name, his hand reaching out blindly until it found her sleeve.
Nyla took it and held on.
This was no longer about justice.
It was about a child who had begun to believe the world could take him away.