The house was silent, save for the soft rustling of wind against the windows and the gentle
rhythm of Zia's crayons scraping paper. She sat on the living room floor, a half-finished sketch of
a wolf in front of her. Its eyes were golden. Its teeth were bared.
Kara stood by the kitchen doorway, watching her daughter with an unease she couldn't name.
"That's a scary one," she said gently.
Zia looked up, her large eyes too wise for her age. "He's not scary to me."
"Who is he?"
"The man from my dreams. He protects me. But... he's sad."
Kara's throat tightened. "What else do you dream about, baby?"
Zia put down her crayon. "Sometimes I see a big house with black stone walls. And fire.
Mommy... were we ever there?"
Kara froze. That house. The Valentine estate. Xavier's mansion.
"No," Kara lied. "We've never been to a house like that."
Zia frowned. "But I remember. You wore a white dress. And I called someone Daddy."
Kara sat down slowly beside her, pulling her into her arms. "Dreams aren't always real, sweetie."
"But this one feels real. He smells like the man from the bookstore. Like smoke and cold wind."
Xavier.
Kara's heart pounded. Zia had met Xavier only once... and yet she already knew.
Later that night, while Zia slept, Kara paced the living room. She couldn't keep running. Xavier
had the right to know. And Zia had a right to the truth.
She pulled out the hidden box from the closet. Inside were the documents birth certificates,
photos from their wedding, the original contract. She stared at the pen-stroked lines that bound
her to a man who had no memory of her.
The doorbell rang.
She jumped.
Peeking through the peephole, her breath caught.
Xavier.
Again.
She opened the door slowly.
His eyes were tired, tormented. "We need to talk."
Kara nodded and stepped aside.
He walked in, gaze scanning the modest apartment. "She drew me."
"What?"
He pulled a folded paper from his coat pocket. It was the wolf sketch Zia's.
"Your daughter gave me this at the store," he said. "She said it was someone from her dreams.
Kara, she dreams of me. She called me Daddy."
Kara turned away, tears rising.
Xavier's voice broke. "She's mine, isn't she?"
A long silence stretched.
"Yes," Kara whispered.
He sank into the nearest chair, hands shaking.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried. But you... you didn't remember me. You told me to leave. I was protecting her."
His voice was hollow. "You kept my daughter from me."
Kara nodded, unable to lie anymore. "I thought I was doing the right thing."
He stood suddenly, pacing. "You should've told me anyway. I had a right to know!"
"She's not just yours, Xavier. She's mine too. And I was scared. Of what you'd become. Of what
you'd forgotten."
His breath came hard. Then softer: "I'm starting to remember."
Kara looked up.
"Flashes," he said. "Of you. Of a white dress. Of pain. I don't know what's real anymore."
"She is," Kara whispered. "Zia is real. She's the part of us that survived."
Xavier turned to the window. His reflection stared back at him—haunted, lost.
"I want to be in her life," he said finally. "But I don't know how."
"We start slow," Kara said. "You get to know her. No lawyers. No threats. Just... us."
His eyes found hers. "And us?"
Kara didn't answer.
Because she didn't know yet.
But in the next room, Zia dreamt of wolves under a silver moon. And she wasn't afraid.