Chapter Eighty-Five

Chapter Eighty-Five
Cassandra’s POV

The room slowly settled again after Levi’s breakdown.

Not into silence this time. But into something softer. Something fragile in its own right.

Like the air itself had learned to tread carefully.

Levi was still standing by the bassinet, eyes suspiciously red, jaw tight like he was offended by his own emotions.

Jordan had taken up a position on the couch again, arms crossed, watching everything with a lazy satisfaction that said he was never letting Levi live this down.

Zachary, of course, looked like he was mentally filing the moment away for future teasing.

And me—I was still trying to breathe properly. Because every time I looked at her, it didn’t feel real. It felt borrowed. Like the universe might walk back in at any moment and say it had made a mistake.

A knock came at the door. Soft and careful.

Jordan lifted his head first. “That’ll be them.”

Something in my chest tightened. Not fear. Not anymore. Something softer. Something… stretched thin by anticipation.

“Come in,” Jordan called.

The door opened slowly. And just like that—the world I had been holding inside this room expanded.

Silas came in first. He always did. Like he couldn’t stand not being in front of whatever mattered most.

His school bag was still slung over one shoulder, slightly crooked like he’d forgotten it existed. His hair—brown, messy from the wind—fell into his eyes as he stepped in, scanning the room before anything else.

Then his gaze locked on the bassinet. And everything else stopped existing. For a second, he didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe. Then—“Oh my goddess,” he whispered. Not loud or dramatic. Like it had been pulled out of him before he could stop it.

His eyes flicked to me. Then Levi. Then back to the bassinet again. “She’s… real?”

A quiet laugh slipped out of me. “Yes, Silas. She’s real.” That was all it took. He crossed the room fast. Too fast.

Like if he didn’t reach her immediately, she might disappear into something imaginary.

Levi finally shifted slightly as Silas approached, but didn’t block him. Just watched carefully. Protective instinct layered over curiosity.

Silas stopped right beside the bassinet. His hands hovered awkwardly for a second. Like he didn’t know if touching her was allowed. Then slowly, carefully, he leaned in. “She’s so small,” he said quietly.

“She’s brand new,” I murmured.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something else—but instead, something softer came out. “I’m… her big brother?”

The way he said it wasn’t confident. It was uncertain. Like he was asking permission from a world that had never really given him stability before.

“Yes,” I said gently. “You are.” Something in his shoulders loosened at that. Just slightly.

Then the door creaked again. And the energy in the room changed instantly. Camryn stepped in slower. More cautious. She always did. Like every room had the potential to decide she didn’t belong in it halfway through.

Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, framing a face that was far too controlled for her age. Her brown eyes—too similar to Silas’s, too similar to George’s—scanned everything with careful precision.

But unlike Silas—she didn’t look at the baby first. She looked at me. That alone made my chest ache. Because I recognized it immediately.

The silent question she never said out loud anymore: Am I safe here today?

Silas noticed her too. “Cam,” he said quickly, stepping back from the bassinet. “Come look—she’s—she’s actually here.”

Camryn didn’t move right away. Her gaze flicked to the bassinet. Then back to me again. Then finally, slowly, she walked forward.

Not rushing. Never rushing.

Like she had learned early that wanting too fast made things disappear.

She stopped beside Silas and stared down at the baby. Silence stretched. Long and heavy.

Silas shifted. “Isn’t she—”

“She’s small,” Camryn interrupted quietly. Her voice wasn’t cold. But it wasn’t warm either. Just… measured and careful. Like she was trying to decide what she was allowed to feel.

I watched her closely. Saw the flicker in her eyes. Saw the way her fingers tightened slightly at her sides. Saw how she didn’t reach out. Not yet.

“She is small,” I agreed softly.

Camryn’s gaze didn’t leave the baby. “She doesn’t cry much?”

“She will,” Zach said from the window. “Give it time.”

That earned him a look from Camryn. Sharp. Almost suspicious. Like she didn’t trust that answer.

Then, quieter—“She looks like she’ll be loud.”

Silas let out a breath of relief. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“I think so,” I said gently.

Camryn finally glanced at me again. Longer this time. More searching. Then—“You’re okay?” she asked.

It wasn’t about the baby. It was about me.

My throat tightened immediately. “Yes,” I said softly. “I’m okay.”

Her shoulders shifted slightly. Not fully relaxing. But less tense.

Silas, unable to stay still, leaned closer again. “What’s her name?” The question hung in the air.

And suddenly—The moment felt different. Not just arrival. Not just survival. But identity.

I looked down at the tiny bundle in the bassinet. At the child who had already changed everything simply by existing.

“We named her…” I paused, glancing briefly at Levi. He was still watching her like he couldn’t decide if blinking was necessary. “…Liora.”

Silas blinked. “Liora?”

“Means light,” I said quietly.

Camryn repeated it under her breath once. Testing it. Like she was trying to decide if it fit the shape of something she was still afraid to hold emotionally.

Silas, however, grinned instantly. “That’s perfect.”

Camryn didn’t respond right away. Then—“She looks like light,” she admitted finally. The words weren’t loud, but they were real.

And something inside me softened in a way that hurt. Silas, emboldened, finally looked at Camryn properly. “You should sit down. You’ve been standing like that since you came in.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that,” he muttered.

Camryn shot him a look. “Because I am.”

“No you’re not.”

“Silas—”

“Camryn,” I cut in gently.

Both of them looked at me. The tension didn’t disappear. But it paused. I patted the chair near the bed. “Sit with me.”

A moment passed, then, slowly, Camryn moved. Not to the bassinet. Not to Levi. Not even to Silas. She came to me first. And sat carefully on the edge of the chair beside my bed like she wasn’t entirely sure she was allowed to take up space that close.

Silas hovered nearby, restless. But quiet. For once.

Camryn’s eyes lowered. Then, barely audible—“Are you going to be busy now?”

The question hit harder than I expected. I turned toward her. “What?”

“With her.” A small pause. “People get busy with babies.”

Silas frowned. “Mom already said—”

“I’m not talking about her,” Camryn snapped suddenly, sharper than before.

Silas froze and the room tightened.

Camryn’s jaw clenched. Then she looked at me again. And for the first time—there was something raw behind her control. “I don’t like being alone.” The words came out fast. Like she hated that they existed.

Silas’s expression shifted immediately. “You’re not alone—”

“You don’t understand,” she cut in.

Silence. Heavy again. I reached out slowly and took her hand and she stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away.

“I understand more than you think,” I said gently. Her eyes flickered up, and I held her gaze. “I won’t disappear because she exists,” I told her. “And neither will your place in my life.”

Something in her expression cracked slightly. Not breaking. But loosening.

Silas stepped closer too, quieter now. “You’re stuck with us, you know.”

Camryn didn’t look at him but her fingers tightened just slightly in mine. “…Good,” she muttered.

Then, softer than everything else she had said, "She's really ours too?”

Silas answered before I could. “Yeah,” he said firmly. “She is.”

Camryn finally looked at the bassinet again. At Liora. At something that had not replaced her, but existed beside her.

And for the first time since she walked into the room, her expression softened. Just a fraction. But enough.

Levi exhaled slowly from beside the bassinet, still not moving. Jordan leaned back like he was finally remembering how to breathe. Then Zach muttered, “This family is getting complicated.”

I let out a quiet, tired laugh. “It already was.”

And as Camryn stayed sitting beside me and Silas hovered protectively near the bassinet and Levi finally reached down to gently adjust the blanket around our daughter, I realized something simple.

Not everything was healed. Not everything was fixed. But for the first time…no one was waiting to be left behind.