CHAPTER 78

CHAPTER 78
A week had passed since last we heard from that woman or anyone who claims to have my son’s best interest at heart. Sigurd’s tiny flame appeared only twice more once during a bath when he splashed too hard, and once while nursing. 

Each time it flickered out harmlessly, leaving Dan and me trading worried glances across the room. 

We couldn’t speak about it freely or if I could be faithful I couldn’t speak about it with Dan. Every time he spoke about I felt challenged and triggered, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for the gift my baby has.

I felt like we were responsible for what he has become, and there’s no awful
feeling than the one of a guilty mother.

Life was starting to feel normal again: morning feeds, Dan’s playfulness with Sigurd. Every time he is with Sigurd, it’s like he becomes a different kind of person. A warm, playful father who doesn’t mind rolling on the floor playing with his son.

I was folding laundry in the living room when the front door burst open.

Lila pushed inside before I could react, shoulder firm against the wood as if she’d rehearsed the motion. 

Her dark hair was windswept, eyes bright with desperate resolve. She looked every bit the mother she claimed to be determined, exhausted, and aching with something I refused to name.

“Get out,” I snapped, dropping the onesie in my hands. Heat flared along my spine. “I told you last time—”

“I’m not leaving this time.” Her voice cracked on the endearment, soft and motherly in a way that twisted something deep in my chest. 

She closed the door behind her and stepped further in, scanning the room like she was memorizing it. “You can hate me. You can throw me out after but hear me first. Sigurd’s life depends on it.”

I backed toward the stairs, heart pounding. “Dan’s upstairs with the baby. One shout and he’ll be down here. You don’t want that.”

Lila’s gaze softened. She moved slowly, the way one approaches a wounded animal. “I know you’re scared. I was scared too.” She stopped in the middle of the room, then slowly rolled up the sleeve of her left arm.

Thick, twisted scarring ran from her wrist to elbow shiny, pale. The skin looked melted in places, as if fire had burned her.

“I did this,” she said quietly. “I burned our first home down. You were inside, only three years old. I lost control of the fire just like you almost did when you were younger. The flames came so fast. I got you out, but the house was gone. Your father and I made an agreement that night. I would disappear. He would raise you and tell everyone I died in the fire. It was the only way to keep the hunters off our trail.”

I stared at the scar. My stomach churned. Part of me wanted to believe the story because it explained the nightmares I still had smoke, heat, a woman’s scream. But the larger part, the one that had survived abandonment, hardened.

“Nice scar,” I said coldly. “Doesn’t prove anything, plenty of people have burns. You could’ve gotten that anywhere.” Lila stepped closer, eyes pleading.

“Emerald, please. I watched from a distance. I saw you grow up. I saw the first time your fire sparked at age seven and nearly set the curtains ablaze. Your father handled it the best he could, but he didn’t understand the power. Not like I do.”

She reached out, palm up. “I can show you. The memories. If you let me give them to you the night of the fire, the deal with your father, everything. It’s the only way you’ll believe me.”

I jerked back as if she’d offered me poison. “No. You are not getting inside my head. I don’t know what kind of trick this is, but you’re not touching me.”

“Emerald—”

“I buried my mother when I was five,” I cut in, voice rising. “I remember the funeral, I remember the where blue flowers everywhere because she like them. The way my father cried. She’s gone. You’re just some woman who smelled money and opportunity the moment our vow renewal was mentioned. Go away.” Lila’s shoulders sagged. 

For a moment she simply looked at me, tears gathering but not falling. The motherly concern in her expression made my chest ache despite myself. She looked like she wanted to pull me into a hug I had craved for decades.

“A dark cloud is coming,” she whispered finally. “Sigurd carries both the wolf and the flame, others have sensed it. The one who wants him won’t wait much longer. You’ll need me when it breaks. Please don’t wait until it’s too late.”

She backed toward the door, defeat weighing her steps. “I’ll be nearby if you change your mind. But don’t wait too long, my girl.”

The door clicked shut behind her. I stood frozen in the living room, arms wrapped around myself, fire simmering uselessly under my skin. The house felt colder and like I didn’t belong. A part of me felt like rushing after her and hugging her, I have yearned for a mother’s love for so long.”

Heavy footsteps came down on the stairs. Dan appeared, Sigurd nestled calmly against his shoulder. I quickly carried on with what I was doing and removed any sadness that might appear on my face. I don’t need Dan to be worrying about on top of the problems we have.

My husband’s face was serious, jaw set in that straight, unreadable line I had learned meant something is wrong.

“We have to talk.” he said, voice low and steady.