Chapter 171 This isn’t Over!!

Chapter 171 This isn’t Over!!
The moment I wrapped my arms around Kendrick, the world vanished.

The relentless pain, the worry. None of it existed anymore. Only my son.

I crushed him gently against my chest as his frantic cries eased into soft, shuddering hiccups. My whole body trembled with relief. He was here. Alive. Safe.

“Oh God,” I whispered, pressing desperate kisses across his warm forehead, his tiny cheeks, his button nose. “Oh God, baby.”

Fresh tears spilled down my face.

For hours I had tortured myself with the worst images—him scared, hungry, sobbing for me in the dark, utterly alone. The thought had nearly broken me.

But now he was back where he belonged, nestled against my heart. I buried my face in his soft hair and breathed him in.

Footsteps approached. I looked up.

Aaron stood a few feet away, watching us. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The raw relief shining in his eyes mirrored my own.

Kendrick stretched one tiny hand toward him. Aaron’s expression softened instantly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“My boy,” he whispered.

The words sent a warm ache blooming through my chest—something tender and dangerous. I quickly looked away. I wasn’t ready to examine that feeling. Not yet. Not after everything.

Distant sirens pierced the quiet. Police, finally.

Officers soon swarmed the property with questions, statements, and flashlights cutting through the gloom. They searched everywhere for Zara. But she was already gone. The only trace they found was a shattered window at the back, glass glittering like jagged teeth on the wet ground.

One officer shook his head. “Looks like she escaped through here.”

My stomach sank. Aaron cursed under his breath.

“We’ve alerted nearby stations,” the officer added, “but she has a head start.”

The words settled like lead. She was gone again.

I should have felt rage. Part of me did. But mostly I felt bone-deep exhaustion. For months Zara had poisoned every thought, every decision, every breath. Now I just wanted peace.

Hours of statements and paperwork dragged by before we were finally allowed to leave. Dawn crept in as Aaron drove us home, the sky fading from black to bruised gray. The storm had passed, leaving the world deceptively calm.

Kendrick slept soundly in his car seat. I kept twisting around to watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, terrified he might vanish again. Aaron noticed but said nothing.

At my house, I carried Kendrick upstairs myself, unwilling to let anyone else touch him yet. I lowered him carefully into his crib and stood there, mesmerized by the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint twitch of his lips, the peaceful curve of his face. Beautiful. Perfect. Mine.

A tear slipped down my cheek. Then another. Suddenly the dam broke. Months of terror, heartbreak, and forced strength crashed over me. I sank into the rocking chair beside the crib, covered my face, and sobbed—deep, ugly, wrenching cries. For my father. For our shattered family. For the sister I had lost. For the woman Zara used to be.

I don’t know how long I sat there. Minutes. Hours.

Eventually I sensed movement. I didn’t need to look. It was Aaron. He stood in the doorway, silent and patient, giving me space in a way he rarely had before.

When my tears finally slowed, I lowered my hands. He was still there, watching me with quiet concern.

“He’s okay,” he said gently.

I nodded. “He is.”

Aaron crossed the room and sat across from me. Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden. For the first time in months, there were no emergencies. No crises. Just us. The silence felt terrifyingly intimate.

Aaron rubbed both hands over his face. He looked utterly drained—eyes bloodshot, shoulders slumped, the weight of everything carved into his features.

“I almost lost him,” I whispered.

Aaron’s head snapped up, jaw tight. “I know.”

“I almost lost our son.”

The full weight of it hit me now that the danger had passed. Aaron stared at the floor for a long moment, then met my eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

I frowned. “What?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

The room suddenly felt smaller. “Aaron—”

“No. Let me say this.” His voice was raw. I stayed silent.

“I spent years blaming everyone else. Zara. Circumstances. Bad timing.” His eyes darkened with regret. “But the truth is… I made the choices. I hurt you. I hurt Zara. I hurt myself.”

The honesty in his voice pinned me in place.

“I told myself I was protecting everyone,” he continued, voice thick. “But I wasn’t. I was just a coward.”

The confession hung heavy between us. Part of me agreed. Part of me ached to hear it.

Aaron glanced toward the crib. His expression softened as Kendrick stirred slightly in his sleep. “Then he came. And suddenly none of the excuses mattered.”

My heart squeezed.

“I want to be his father,” Aaron said quietly. “Not just biologically. I want to be there—for every birthday, every first step, every school play, every bad dream.”

His voice cracked. Tears burned behind my eyes.

“And I want to be there for you too.”

Silence swallowed the room. My pulse roared in my ears. Dangerous territory. Because despite everything, a part of me still loved him. Maybe I always would.

Aaron seemed to sense my turmoil. He smiled sadly. 

“You don’t have to answer. Not today.”

Relief washed over me. I nodded, grateful.

He stood slowly, giving us both space. Then his phone buzzed sharply on the table.

We both were startled. Unknown Number.

Aaron frowned and answered. “Hello?”

His expression changed instantly—every muscle locking, color draining from his face. Fear slithered down my spine.

“Aaron?”

He didn’t respond. Slowly he lowered the phone.

“What happened?” I stood, voice shaking.

His eyes met mine, filled with genuine dread.

“It’s Zara.”

My blood turned to ice. “What did she say?”

Aaron stared at the phone, jaw clenched.

“She said this isn’t over.”