237. REMAINING CAKE

237. REMAINING CAKE
They lay there in the wreckage, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the slow creak of the settling bed. His arm, heavy and limp, was still wrapped around her, a cage and a shelter all at once.
In the profound silence, he nuzzled the mess of her hair. His voice was so low it was almost inaudible, just a vibration against her skull.
"Mine."
Minutes slipped by.
His heartbeat was still uneven, pounding against her cheek where she lay. She could almost hear his thoughts—the violent ones, the guilty ones, the broken ones.
Layla turned in his arms, her slender fingers tracing along the hard line of his jaw.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispered.
One hand rested beneath his head, the other stroked her hair absently. “Just… if you’d found another donor for Lilly, would you have come to me at all? If not, I would’ve stayed blind. Avenging things I didn’t even remember, waiting for something I didn’t know. I’d have been a fucking mess.”
Her heart squeezed. She lifted herself and cupped his face between her hands.
“Zaley was many things,” she said softly. “But never a mess. Do you know… There was a time I waited outside your office. Not for Lilly—for me. There was a time our eyes met, and you didn’t recognise me. I was terrified then. Afraid you’d reject me.”
She kissed his jaw, her lips trembling.
“And when I found out you were the only person who could save Lilly… I was mad. A part of me hated you, blamed you for what had happened to me—”
“Because I am,” Zaley cut in harshly, voice thick. “I am the reason—”
Her palm covered his mouth before he could destroy himself further.
“Let me finish, Leon.” Her voice wavered, but her eyes didn’t. “We found three possible donors for Lilly. I tried, god, I tried to reach the other two. When I couldn’t… yes, I was angry. Not because I thought you caused any of this—you didn’t. I was angry because you had forgotten me. And when I finally stood in front of you, when you agreed to the surgery, when you asked for something in return you never even used, I was glad it was you. If I could go back in time, I would have kidnapped you, smacked you on the head, and said, ‘You idiot, remember me.’”
A fragile smile trembled on her lips. “You regret forgetting me. I regret not fighting harder to reach you sooner. Let’s leave it, Leon. Let’s be happy. Happier than yesterday. Can’t we do that? Can’t we forgive ourselves?”
His throat worked, his voice breaking as his eyes filled with tears.
“How can I? Every time I see a toddler, I wonder what Lilly was like at that age. Every time I see a pregnant woman, it rips me apart because I wasn’t there with you. You carried everything alone. And I’m so fucking sorry.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Tears slipped down the corners, staining the pillow, and for once, he let himself unravel completely in her arms.
“I can’t erase it.” His fist slammed twice against his chest, voice raw. “It fucking hurts here.”
Her man, the most powerful in the city, the unshakable one who had stared death in the eye without flinching, was shedding tears for her.
Her chest tightened at the sight of him breaking. Her heart sank, nd without meaning to, she crumbled right along with him.
“You just have to make it up to me,” Layla whispered through sobs, sounding like the little girl she once was. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. That’s all we have to do, just keep making it up to each other, every single day, for the rest of our lives.”
Despite his own pain, he gathered her close, his arms a shelter she never wanted to leave.
“And…” Layla’s crying deepened, her voice trembling, almost childlike.
“And?” he coaxed gently.
“And we live happily ever after…” she hiccupped, before adding with raw defiance through her tears, “…and we fuck.”
That broke him into laughter, a sound rough and healing all at once. He tilted his head, pressing kiss after kiss into her tangled hair.
“And we fuck,” he echoed, his voice warm with promise.

Layla packed the clothes and toys they had bought for Luna during Lilly’s birthday shopping.
The day Luna was to be discharged, the hospital informed them of a couple—“interested and desperate,” in the doctor’s words, though Zaley hated how that sounded—ready to adopt her.
While Layla tucked the leftover cake, Zaley sat with the couple’s file, eyes narrowing at every line.
Clean background. Steady income. Good neighbourhood.
Too clean.
Were they good? Were they good enough for a little girl who had no one else?
They headed to the hospital together. Halfway there, Zaley’s phone buzzed. It was Remi.
Zaley’s expression darkened as he scrolled through the forwarded screenshots.
“Bastard,” he spat under his breath.
“What happened?” Layla frowned.
He handed her the phone. “Look at the comments he made. About a minor.”
Layla’s lips parted in shock as she read the perverse remarks under a teenage girl’s dance reel.
“This… this is the man who wants to adopt Luna?”
“Yeah,” Zaley growled, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. “That’s supposed to be her ‘dad.’”
Later, at the hospital, the doctor pulled Zaley aside.
“We’ll have to place her in foster care or a child’s shelter. We can’t keep her here forever.”
Zaley’s jaw locked. “But you said she doesn’t do well with strangers.”
“Yes,” the doctor admitted, “but you’re the only one she’s spoken to. She told you her name. With time, she’ll adjust elsewhere. She’ll forget this.”
The words dug like knives.
Forget.
As if this girl, fragile, nameless to the world but not to him was supposed to erase him, erase this bond.
“She’ll forget,” the doctor repeated.
‘But I won’t,’ Zaley thought bitterly.
His jaw flexed. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders squared. He hated the options laid before him, hated that they all sounded like abandonment disguised in polite terms.
Then, a small tug at his pant leg.
He glanced down, startled.
Luna stood there, her curls messy, her tiny fingers clutching the fabric of his trousers.
“Shep-uh…” she whispered, voice fragile. Then, almost like a plea, “Don’t go. ’S scary here.”
For a moment, Zaley froze.
This was not him—, the man who embraced no one but Layla and Lilly, who had never been a refuge to anyone else. And yet here was this two-year-old, pressed against him without hesitation, seeking safety he hadn’t even known he could give.
Awkwardly, stiffly at first, he lowered a hand and let it rest on her small shoulder. She immediately burrowed closer, as if she had been waiting all along for that simple permission.
Across the hallway, Layla stood unnoticed. Her throat tightened at the sight.
Layla didn’t need any more convincing.
We’re taking her, she decided fiercely, her chest aching with tenderness. Even if he hasn’t said it yet, even if he doesn’t see it yet—we’re not leaving her behind.