Chapter Eighty-Four

Chapter Eighty-Four
A few months later..
Cassandra’s POV

The first thing I noticed was silence. Not true silence. The kind that only exists in the moments after chaos—when the world hasn’t quite decided whether to breathe again.

The hospital room was too clean for what had just happened in it. Antiseptic clung to the air in a sharp, almost sterile bite beneath something warmer—blankets, faint herbal salves, and the lingering scent of my mates. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains in soft gold bands, spilling across the floor like it was afraid to make too much noise.

For a long time, I didn’t move. Not because I couldn’t. Because I was afraid that if I did, I’d wake up somewhere else. Somewhere without her.

My body still felt like it had been split open and stitched back together by force of will alone. Exhaustion pressed into my bones so deeply it felt ancient. My muscles trembled faintly every time I tried to shift, like they were still remembering pain that had already passed.

And yet…I had never felt more awake in my life.

Because beside me—a sound broke through everything. Small, fragile, and alive.

A soft, sleepy sigh.

My heart stuttered so hard it hurt. Slowly, I turned my head. The bassinet sat right beside my bed like it had been placed there by something reverent, something that understood this wasn’t just a child.

It was a miracle that had survived me.

Inside it lay a tiny bundle wrapped in a pale cream blanket, edges folded carefully around impossibly small limbs. Dark hair—soft and slightly damp still from birth—spilled across her forehead in delicate wisps. Her nose was barely a whisper. Her fingers even smaller. Everything about her was impossibly delicate, like she might dissolve if the world looked at her too hard.

My daughter. The thought didn’t feel real. It felt like something my heart was still too afraid to fully believe. My breath caught painfully in my throat. Even after holding her through the night. Even after hearing her first cry split the air and somehow reassemble my entire broken world. Even after sixteen weeks of carrying her beneath my skin while pretending I wasn’t terrified of losing her too—I still couldn’t comprehend that she was here.

A tiny hand twitched free of the blanket. Reflexively, I reached out. My fingers barely brushed hers. And she grabbed me. Not with strength. But with instinct. Like she already knew me. Like she had been waiting for me.

A sound escaped me—half laugh, half sob—and then I was crying again before I even realized I’d started. Hot tears slid into my hairline as I carefully held her hand, afraid to let go in case she vanished into something cruel and unreal.

“You’re staring.” Levi’s voice was low and rough with sleep beside me.

I didn’t look away from her. “I’m allowed." A soft huff of amusement.

When I finally glanced over, he was sitting in the chair beside my bed like he’d been there all night without moving. His dark hair stuck up in every direction, his shirt wrinkled, his face pale with exhaustion that hadn’t quite caught up to him yet.

But his eyes—his eyes weren’t tired. They were wrecked in the most beautiful way. Like something inside him had been rewritten.

“I made that,” I whispered.

Levi’s mouth curved slowly. “We made that.”

That did it. Another tear slipped free. A quiet laugh followed it. The baby stirred faintly at the sound, her tiny body shifting under the blanket.

Levi’s entire posture changed instantly.

He leaned forward like a man responding to an emergency only he could hear.

Like she was made of glass and he’d already decided he’d spend his life making sure nothing ever cracked her.

“You’re ridiculous,” I murmured.

His eyes didn’t leave her. “I’m cautious.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“I prefer ‘involved father.’”

From the couch across the room, Jordan let out a tired, amused sound. “You cried on the floor.”

Levi didn’t even glance at him. “I did not.”

Zachary, seated near the window with his arms folded, spoke calmly without looking up. “You absolutely did.”

“I sat down.”

“You folded.”

“I was overwhelmed.”

“Same thing,” Zach said.

The quiet laughter that followed was softer this time, like even the room understood it had to be gentle with this moment.

The baby made a small noise again. Every voice stopped instantly. All four of us froze like predators suddenly remembering what we were guarding. Including me.

The tiny bundle stretched, yawned, then settled back into sleep like she had never once been concerned about the emotional collapse happening around her.

Relief hit so hard it made my chest ache.

Jordan exhaled slowly. “We are not ready for this.”

“We’re absolutely not ready for this,” Zach agreed.

Levi ignored them completely. He had shifted closer without realizing it, standing now beside the bassinet like he couldn’t stay away.

Like gravity had changed direction and now everything in him fell toward her.

I studied him quietly. The way his shoulders softened. The way his hands hovered near the edge of the bassinet but didn’t quite touch. The way his breathing slowed as he watched her like she was the only stable thing in a world that had never been stable for him.

Then something changed in his expression. A stillness. A quiet realization settling in like dawn breaking. Slowly, he reached down and brushed a single fingertip against her tiny hand.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t cry. Just… curled around him again. Levi went completely still. His breath stopped.

Jordan made a sound of disbelief. “Oh that’s unfair.”

Zach sighed. “It’s definitely his.”

Levi didn’t answer. He couldn’t. “My daughter.”

The words broke out of him like they’d been trapped for years.

My chest tightened painfully. Because I knew what it cost him to say that out loud. Not just fatherhood. But acceptance.

The baby blinked up at him. And then, like she was choosing him on purpose, she tightened her tiny grip around his finger. Levi’s eyes filled instantly.

“Oh no,” Jordan muttered.

“He’s crying again,” Zach confirmed.

“I am not crying.”

“You are,” Jordan said again.

“I am absolutely not—” The baby made a soft coo. Levi’s voice cracked completely. And that was it. He broke. Quiet tears slipped down his face as he stayed perfectly still, afraid that if he moved even an inch, the moment would disappear.

I covered my mouth, laughing through my own tears. Because somehow it was too much and not enough all at once.

Levi, the most controlled man I knew, standing there completely undone by something that hadn’t even learned how to open her eyes fully yet. And somehow—It made perfect sense.

Outside these walls, life still existed. Silas was probably already arguing with someone about how fast he could run the halls of the hospital later.

Camryn—my Camryn—had likely been counting every second until school ended, shifting in her seat with that restless anxiety she still carried sometimes when she thought she might be left waiting too long. Too long alone. Too long unsure. Even now, even after everything, she still hated being alone for more than half an hour without checking the clock like time might abandon her if she didn’t watch it closely enough. 

And I understood that more than anyone. Because I had once been made to wait for people who never came back. But they were both coming here.

To her. To each other. To the life that should have never been broken in the first place.

My gaze dropped back to the bassinet. To my daughter. So small. So new. So impossibly here. And something inside me finally loosened. Not healed. Not fixed. But softened.

Because George had taken so much from us. He had lied about death. He had sold a child like she was nothing more than a transaction. He had broken bones, broken trust, broken years of my life I will never get back.

And I still remembered the night I ended him. Not with triumph. Not with relief. But with something colder. Because it wasn’t just rage. It was the moment I realized I would survive anything—except someone laying a hand on my son again.

The one thing George had tried to shape into something small and afraid. The moment I saw what he had done to him… what he had tried to do again—something in me stopped begging to survive. And started choosing to end it.

Now there was only this. Warmth, breath and life. Love that didn’t flinch anymore.

Levi let out a shaky breath and wiped his face roughly, clearly annoyed at himself for crying in front of everyone.

Jordan snorted. “You’re never living this down.”

“I will erase your memory,” Levi muttered.

Zach finally looked up, a faint smile on his face. “Worth it.”

I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted in the deepest way imaginable.

And for the first time in years—I wasn’t waiting for something to break. I was watching something begin.