Chapter 176 up
Selena had always believed that distance could be engineered.
People, she thought, were variables. If you adjusted pressure, timing, and access, the outcome would follow. Emotions were noise—manageable, containable. Children, especially, were malleable. They learned patterns quickly. They adapted. They forgot.
That belief had carried her through prisons of law and silence, through contracts signed in cold rooms, through years where guilt was folded neatly behind logic.
But now, standing in the quiet corridor outside Evan’s temporary residence, Selena felt something unfamiliar tightening in her chest.
Resistance.
She smoothed her coat, composed her expression, and knocked softly. She had requested this visit under the pretense of reassurance—a neutral adult figure, concerned for the child’s well-being. The system had hesitated, but not refused. Not yet.
A caregiver opened the door. Her posture stiffened slightly when she saw Selena.
“He’s inside,” the woman said. “But… he hasn’t been very responsive today.”
“That’s fine,” Selena replied, her voice calm, practiced. “I’m very good with quiet children.”
The caregiver didn’t look convinced, but she stepped aside.
Evan sat on the floor near the window, knees drawn close, a book open in his lap. He didn’t look up when Selena entered. Sunlight spilled across the rug, illuminating the dust motes in the air, the peacefulness of the room.
Selena took a step forward. “Hello, Evan.”
No response.
She crouched to his level, careful not to invade too quickly. “Do you remember me?”
Evan turned the page.
“Yes,” he said without looking at her.
A flicker of relief passed through Selena. Memory meant access.
“That’s good,” she said gently. “I was worried you might have forgotten.”
“I didn’t,” Evan replied.
She smiled. “I came to see how you’re doing. Things have been… confusing lately.”
Evan finally lifted his eyes. They were calm, but distant. “I don’t like confusing.”
“No one does,” Selena said. “That’s why adults try to help. To make things easier.”
He studied her face for a long moment. “You make things harder.”
The words landed cleanly. No accusation. Just observation.
Selena stiffened, then softened her expression. “I know it might feel that way right now. But sometimes, what feels hard is actually for the best.”
Evan closed the book. “Nyla doesn’t make things hard.”
There it was.
Selena inhaled slowly. “Nyla cares about you very much,” she said. “But caring doesn’t always mean knowing what’s right.”
Evan frowned. “She listens.”
Selena’s fingers curled slightly against her palm. “Listening is important. But adults also have to think about rules. About safety. About the future.”
Evan tilted his head. “I feel safe with her.”
The simplicity of it made Selena’s jaw tighten.
“You can feel safe with more than one person,” she said. “You don’t have to choose.”
Evan shook his head. “I already did.”
A pause settled between them.
Selena stood, forcing a small laugh. “You know, when I was your age, I had to do things I didn’t want to do either.”
Evan didn’t ask. He simply watched.
“I learned,” Selena continued, “that sometimes you have to let go of one thing to protect another.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not letting go,” he said. “That’s taking.”
The caregiver shifted uncomfortably near the door.
Selena’s patience thinned. She took a different approach—one she had used before, successfully. “Do you ever worry,” she asked softly, “that Nyla might leave?”
Evan’s shoulders tensed.
“Sometimes,” Selena pressed gently, “people say they’ll stay forever. But they don’t. Wouldn’t it be better to learn how to be strong on your own?”
Evan stood up.
“No,” he said firmly.
Selena blinked. “No?”
“I don’t want to talk to you like this,” Evan said. His voice trembled—not with fear, but with effort. “You make my chest feel tight.”
The words struck harder than any rejection Selena had ever faced.
“I’m just trying to help,” she said, a note of irritation slipping through.
“I didn’t ask,” Evan replied.
The caregiver stepped forward. “That’s enough for today.”
Selena straightened slowly. Her composure cracked—not outwardly, but in the way her breath came a fraction too fast.
“Evan,” she said, trying once more. “I’m on your side.”
He looked past her, toward the hallway. Toward where he knew Nyla would be waiting later.
“If you were,” he said quietly, “you wouldn’t try to take her away.”
The caregiver placed a hand gently on Evan’s shoulder and guided him toward the adjoining room. Evan didn’t look back.
The door closed.
Selena stood alone.
For the first time in years, she felt something close to panic.
She left the building with her steps measured, her face unreadable. In the car, she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Children were supposed to adapt. To forget discomfort. To accept explanations they didn’t fully understand.
Evan had done none of that.
He had remembered.
He had resisted.
He had chosen.
Later that evening, Selena reviewed her options. Legal pressure had stalled. Media manipulation was losing effectiveness. Even Clark’s influence was fraying under scrutiny.
And now, Evan himself had become uncooperative.
Not fearful. Not confused.
Defiant.
Selena poured herself a glass of water she didn’t drink.
She thought back to the contracts. The signatures. The nights she told herself that sacrifice was necessary. That one child’s separation was preferable to a larger collapse.
She had believed that time would dull the edges.
She had been wrong.
Across town, Nyla sat with Evan on the edge of the bed, helping him button his pajamas.
“She came today,” Evan said suddenly.
Nyla froze for half a second. “Selena?”
He nodded. “I told her no.”
Nyla met his eyes. “How did that feel?”
“Hard,” he admitted. “But… good after.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “I’m proud of you.”
He rested his forehead against her shoulder. “She doesn’t like that I choose you.”
Nyla closed her eyes. “That’s not your problem to fix.”
“Will she try again?”
“Yes,” Nyla said honestly. “But we’ll handle it together.”