The letter arrived on a Tuesday morning, slid beneath Maya's apartment door in an envelope stamped with the family court seal.
Her hands shook as she tore it open, eyes scanning the heavy legal text.
Motion filed: Damon Blackthorn requests unsupervised visitation rights.
Her breath stilled.
"Goddamn it," she whispered, sinking onto the couch.
Lila sat on the floor with her blocks, babbling happily to herself, oblivious to the storm brewing above her head. Maya pressed the letter to her chest, as if by crushing it hard enough, she could erase the words.
But they burned all the same.
When Ana arrived that afternoon, Maya thrust the paper into her hands.
Ana's eyes flew wide. "Unsupervised? Already? He's out of his damn mind."
"Tell that to the judge," Maya muttered bitterly. She ran a hand through her hair, pacing the room. "If he wins this… if they let him…" Her gaze flickered to Lila, heart twisting. "I won't be there to protect her."
Ana set the letter down, jaw tight. "So we fight harder."
Maya nodded, though dread coiled heavy in her gut. Because deep down, she knew Damon wasn't the same careless man she'd once loved and lost. He was dangerous in a new way now—because he was trying. And worse, he was starting to succeed.
The courtroom was colder than usual the next week. Or maybe it was just Maya's nerves.
She sat stiff beside Ana, clutching her lawyer's notes though the words blurred together. Across the aisle, Damon was a statue in a dark suit, his expression unreadable but his eyes locked on her.
When the judge called for arguments, Damon stood.
He didn't use a lawyer this time.
Maya's brows shot up in disbelief as he walked to the center of the room, towering and steady, his silver eyes catching the light.
"Your Honor," he said, voice resonant, commanding yet calm. "I stand here not as an Alpha, not as a businessman, but as a father. I've honored every condition the court has set. I've never missed a visit. I've proven I can care for my daughter. All I'm asking is a chance to do so without strangers watching every moment."
Maya's nails bit into her palms.
The judge tilted her head. "Mr. Blackthorn, your record does reflect consistency. However, the mother has raised concerns about abandonment."
Damon's gaze shifted, pinning Maya like a blade. For once, there was no arrogance in his look, only raw truth.
"I abandoned her," he said quietly, his voice echoing through the silent room. "And it is the greatest regret of my life. But I will not abandon my daughter. Not ever."
Maya's breath faltered.
The honesty in his tone—rough, unpolished—hit harder than any argument. For one unbearable moment, her chest ached with the memory of the man she'd once believed in.
She looked away before the tears could show.
That night, she found herself unable to shake his words.
Lila was asleep, curled with her rabbit, while Maya sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water she hadn't touched. The silence pressed heavy.
Her mind replayed Damon's voice again and again. I abandoned her. But I will not abandon my daughter.
Why did it sound like he meant both?
A knock shattered the quiet.
She froze. Who would—
The knock came again, firmer.
Her pulse spiked as she rose and opened the door.
Damon stood in the hall, shirt sleeves rolled, hair disheveled as if he'd been pacing for hours.
Maya's stomach dropped. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I needed to see her," he said simply. His voice was low, rough with restraint.
Her hand tightened on the doorframe. "Court hours are over."
"I know." His gaze burned into hers. "But she's my daughter, Maya. I can't keep walking away every night like she's not my whole damn world."
Her throat constricted.
"You don't get to say that," she whispered. "You don't get to show up here and—"
A small sound interrupted.
Maya turned to see Lila at the end of the hallway, rubbing her eyes, clutching her rabbit. "Mama?"
Before Maya could move, Lila saw Damon. Her face lit up. "Daddy!"
She toddled forward on sleepy legs, arms outstretched.
Maya's heart fractured.
Damon stepped inside instinctively, scooping his daughter into his arms. His large hand cradled her head, his face buried in her curls as if he couldn't breathe without her.
"I'm here, little wolf," he murmured, voice breaking.
Maya stood frozen, torn between fury and something far more dangerous.
Because the way Damon held their daughter—the way his shoulders shook, the way his lips pressed trembling kisses into her hair—wasn't a performance.
It was real.
And it was everything she'd ever wanted for Lila.
Later, after coaxing Lila back to bed, Maya found Damon still standing in the living room, staring at a family photo on the shelf—just her and Lila, smiling in the park.
"You shouldn't be here," she said softly.
He turned, eyes shadowed. "I know. But I can't… I can't keep pretending supervised visits are enough."
Maya crossed her arms, though her voice wavered. "You think one courtroom speech changes years of absence? You think holding her for an hour makes you a father?"
His jaw clenched. "No. But I'm here now. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving it."
She laughed bitterly, though tears stung her eyes. "Words. Always words with you."
He stepped closer, slow, careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. His scent—cedar and smoke—wrapped around her, achingly familiar.
"Not just words," he murmured. "Actions. You'll see."
Her heart pounded. She wanted to shove him away, to scream, to remind him of the night he walked out and left her broken.
But instead, she whispered, almost against her will: "Don't make promises you can't keep."
His silver eyes blazed. "I'm not walking away again, Maya. Not from her. Not from you."
And for the first time, she couldn't tell if it was a lie.