Chapter 148 Kiss and make up

Chapter 148 Kiss and make up
It felt like a new blossom in the fall—unexpected, fragile, yet quietly determined to live. Slow, peaceful, smooth. The kind of calm that didn’t announce itself loudly but settled into the corners of everyday life, softening sharp edges without anyone noticing when it began.

Over the last few weeks, our lives had started getting better. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough that I could breathe without bracing myself for the next disaster. Knox looked more like his usual self, despite not remembering who that self had once been. In the beginning, he had inspected everything—every habit, every reaction—as if trying to catch himself in the act of being someone he no longer knew. He would pause mid-action, brows knitting together, eyes distant, and ask whether he used to do things that way.

Now, unknowingly, he had become the old version without even realizing it. And I didn’t let him know either.

I watched it happen in fragments. In the way his shoulders loosened when he laughed. In how his fingers automatically reached for Cyrus’s hand when they crossed the yard together. In the slight tilt of his head whenever he was pretending to listen but was already planning his next joke. There was no hesitation anymore, no checking himself. The change had slipped in quietly, the way habits do when they feel safe enough to return.

Now he smiled like he used to. Not the careful, practiced smile he had worn in front of doctors, but the lazy, lopsided one that creased the corner of his eyes. He flirted whenever he wanted, leaning just a little too close, lowering his voice for no real reason. He made jokes that weren’t funny—objectively terrible, really—but they were warm in a way that lingered. Enough to make the chest ache pleasantly.

He was there. Present. Whole in ways that didn’t require memory.

He didn’t miss his appointments at the hospital. Not once. He woke up on time without reminders, already dressed, hair still damp from the shower, the faint scent of soap clinging to him. He slept well—deep, uninterrupted sleep that left no shadows under his eyes in the morning. And although our relationship felt like smooth sailing, we were taking slow, deliberate steps toward each other.

Casual romantic dinners where we sat side by side instead of across the table, him telling me about those missions that was fun but cruel. Playdates with Cyrus that turned into laughter-filled chaos. Cooking together, bumping elbows, stealing tastes from the pan. Quiet moments spent in the same room, not speaking, not needing to.

We didn’t commit to anything important. There were no promises whispered in the dark, no expectations laid out carefully between us. I didn’t force him either. I wanted to be loved by him as much as possible—but freely, without obligation, without pressure.

Right now, I stood near the doorway of my study, watching him play with Cyrus on the porch. Knox crouched low, his sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes as he pretended to be a monster, baring his teeth dramatically. Cyrus squealed, stumbling backward, laughter bubbling out of him uncontrollably. Knox froze for half a second before lunging forward again, careful not to scare him too much.

Erica joined them moments later, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped outside. She paused when she saw them, her lips parting slightly, eyes softening in a way that hadn’t existed before.

These days, Erica had been acting much better. The initial withdrawal, the sharp edges of jealousy and fear, had slowly been replaced by something domestic and grounding—cooking.

She cooked whatever she wanted now. Without asking. Without apologizing. She watched her son eat food she had made herself, the pride barely concealed in the way she hovered nearby, pretending to tidy up while her gaze stayed glued to him. Something she hadn’t had the chance to do before.

As a result, I had no choice but to make her one of our chefs. She looked healthier, her movements lighter, her posture no longer rigid. Happier than she had been in a long time.

“They look happy,” Mark said behind me.

I turned slightly, sensing him before I saw him. He was holding a file against his chest, fingers curled around the edge so tightly his knuckles were pale. “You’re back.”

He nodded, stepping closer, his eyes drifting to the porch. “Here. They want a statement from Knox and Erica. The lawsuit is progressing aggressively.”

I took the file from him, the paper cool beneath my fingertips, and walked toward my desk. As I opened it, the faint rustle of pages filled the room. “What about Knox’s progress?” I asked, not looking up. “Did you notice anything different today?”

Mark hesitated. He glanced outside again, his jaw tightening briefly before he spoke. “Yes. Although he doesn’t remember, it seems like he reacts to different things the way he used to.”

“I see.” I flipped through the pages, pulling out a highlighter and marking several important lines. My hand moved automatically, muscle memory guiding each stroke. “It’s best to keep notes on those small changes.” I paused, then looked up. “By the way, have you contacted the nursing home yet? We can’t leave Grandma Silverfang alone. Knox cares about her.”

Mark exhaled slowly, the sound heavy. “Well, I came here to talk to him about her. But it’s getting a bit complicated.”

My fingers stilled. “Complicated how?”

“Her health is declining.”

“What?” My eyes widened, my grip tightening on the file. A sharp, cold sensation settled in my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I didn’t want to add another burden to you,” he said quickly. “Your team is trying their best. But… she doesn’t have much time.”

The words hit harder than I expected. I felt the sadness wash over me in a slow wave, pressing against my ribs until it hurt to breathe. “Take Erica to meet her,” I said after a moment. My voice was steadier than I felt. “She deserves to know about her mother. And her mother still doesn’t know that she’s alive.”

Mark’s brows drew together. “Are you sure? She’s already in very bad shape. It could trigger another heart attack.”

“Consult the doctors first,” I replied firmly. “But it would be unfair to both of them if we didn’t try.”

He nodded, shoulders slumping slightly as if accepting the weight of inevitability. Grandma had lived her entire life believing she had lost her child to her husband’s heartlessness. Even if it was risky, we couldn’t afford to be selfish now.

Just as Mark turned to leave, Mirah walked in.

Both of them froze mid-step, bodies stiff, eyes avoiding each other with practiced precision. The air shifted instantly, thick with unresolved tension.

I rolled my eyes and leaned back into my chair, the leather creaking softly. They were impossibly stubborn. Neither of them had started talking things out, even after everything that had happened.

Mirah ignored Mark entirely and walked straight toward me. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor. “I got permission to meet your parents, Boss,” she said, standing tall. “You can meet them tomorrow.”

The words landed heavier than expected. I inhaled slowly, steadying myself. I had requested special visitation to meet my parents and Sam. Although Knox had finally found the answer to why his grandfather was so obsessed with him, I still couldn’t understand why my own family hated me so deeply.

Just being born as an accident didn’t justify the cruelty. A mistake shouldn’t have been enough to erase a child entirely.

I nodded at Mirah. “Okay. Good job.” I stood up, grabbing my phone from the desk, my fingers trembling just slightly.

“And talk things out,” I added, my gaze flicking between the two of them. “This kind of cold war isn’t allowed in my house. You look ridiculous. As if we can’t see how desperate you are for each other.”

“Boss,” Mirah whined, her shoulders dropping.

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

“No more whining, Mirah,” I said sharply. “You’re thirty years old. Be an adult. Both of you.” I moved toward the door, already losing patience. “Just kiss and make up already, you dumbass kids.”

I slammed the door behind me, the sound echoing down the hall. Enough. I deserved to enj
oy the quiet happiness of my family—for now—without watching two grown adults pretend they didn’t care about each other.