Chapter 136 up
Clark noticed it in the smallest, most humiliating way.
Evan did not look for him anymore.
“Dad—” Clark began, kneeling slightly as he opened his arms in the living room.
Evan paused. His fingers tightened instead around Nyla’s sleeve.
“I want to sit here,” the boy said softly, already moving closer to her, his body angling away from Clark as if by instinct.
The rejection was not loud. It was not dramatic. It was quiet—and final in a way that scraped against Clark’s chest.
Nyla froze for half a second, her hand hovering uncertainly above Evan’s head. She looked at Clark, a silent apology in her eyes, then slowly rested her palm on Evan’s hair. The boy relaxed immediately, leaning into her as if that touch anchored him.
Clark straightened.
Something inside him shifted—not anger, not jealousy, but fear.
Real, sharp fear.
That night, after Evan had fallen asleep curled too close to Nyla for comfort, Clark sat alone in his study. The room smelled of old leather and dust, familiar scents that once made him feel powerful. Tonight, they did nothing to steady him.
He pulled open a drawer he had not touched in years.
Files.
Old ones.
Documents he had trusted others to manage, others to “handle.”
Because that was what he did—delegate the mess, keep his hands clean.
Clark flipped through contracts, medical transfers, guardianship records. Everything looked correct at first glance. Polished. Legal. Impenetrable.
Too perfect.
His fingers slowed as he reached a page marked with a signature that was not his.
Selena’s.
The ink was slightly darker than the rest, as if pressed harder into the paper.
Clark frowned.
He remembered the day this had been signed—or rather, the day he had chosen not to attend. He had told himself it was strategic. Necessary. Better if emotions didn’t interfere.
Better if she didn’t see him.
“Damn it,” he muttered, pulling the document closer.
He read it again. And again.
Then he noticed what he had missed before.
A clause buried beneath legal jargon. A transfer of authority that was temporary—conditional—dependent on circumstances that were never fully defined.
“Why would this be…” His voice trailed off.
Clark’s heartbeat began to thud in his ears.
He grabbed another file. Then another.
Dates didn’t align.
Medical records had been reassigned, but original entries weren’t destroyed—just relocated. Doctor names changed, but hospital codes stayed the same.
Sloppy.
Or rushed.
For the first time, Clark felt something dangerously close to panic.
He had always believed one thing without question: whatever mistakes had been made, he still held the final say over Evan’s life.
That belief was cracking.
“What did you do?” he whispered—to Selena, to himself, to the past.
The next morning, Clark watched from the hallway as Nyla helped Evan put on his shoes.
“You tied them wrong,” Evan said seriously.
Nyla laughed softly. “Then I guess you’ll have to teach me.”
She let him redo the laces, her hands patient, unhurried. Evan concentrated hard, tongue peeking out between his lips. When he finished, he looked up at her with unmistakable pride.
“I did it,” he announced.
“You did,” Nyla said, her voice warm with something that made Clark’s stomach tighten. “I knew you could.”
Evan beamed.
Clark saw it then—clearer than any document.
This wasn’t convenience.
This wasn’t manipulation.
This was attachment.
The kind that grew roots.
And Clark hadn’t planted them.
Later that day, Clark drove to the archives building downtown—a place he hadn’t stepped into since the early days of his career. The clerk behind the counter recognized his name immediately, her posture stiffening with polite alertness.
“I need access to sealed family records,” Clark said.
She hesitated. “Those files require secondary authorization.”
“From whom?”
She checked the screen. “Ms. Selena A—”
Clark’s jaw tightened.
“Of course,” he said quietly.
He left without another word.
In the car, his hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel.
Selena had always been efficient. Loyal, even—until loyalty conflicted with survival. He had respected that about her.
He had underestimated her.
And now, as memories resurfaced—her silence, her precision, her distance—Clark felt the first stirrings of something he had avoided for years.
Responsibility.
“What if I wasn’t the only one erased?” he murmured.
The thought hit him with brutal clarity.
What if Evan had lost more than one parent?
That evening, Clark confronted Nyla—not aggressively, not directly.
Carefully.
“You’ve been… good for him,” Clark said, watching her reaction.
Nyla stiffened almost imperceptibly. “I’m just being present.”
Evan climbed onto her lap as if to punctuate the point.
Clark swallowed. “Children get attached easily.”
Nyla met his gaze then, something firm settling behind her eyes. “Children know who makes them feel safe.”
The words landed harder than any accusation.
Clark had no answer.
Because he wasn’t sure Evan felt safe with him anymore.
That night, alone again, Clark stared at his reflection in the darkened window.
For years, he had believed power meant control over outcomes.
Now he saw the truth too late.
Power had never been the problem.
Trust was.
And he had broken it—piece by piece—without realizing it wasn’t his alone to lose.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Selena.
Selena: You’re looking in the wrong places.
Clark’s blood ran cold.
He typed back with fingers that felt numb.
Clark: Then tell me where to look.
The response came almost instantly.
Selena: At what you took for granted.
Clark lowered the phone slowly.
In the other room, Evan murmured in his sleep—Nyla’s name slipping from his lips like a prayer.
Clark closed his eyes.
For the first time, he understood the depth of his mistake.
He had assumed fatherhood was a title.
A right.
A certainty.
But rights could be revoked. Certainties could dissolve.
And somewhere along the way, he had lost not just authority over Evan—
—but the moral ground to claim him.
Clark exhaled shakily.
“I’m too late,” he whispered into the dark.