Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Luna
That night, I couldn't sleep.
My mind kept replaying the café—him standing in the doorway, saying, "As long as you're happy."
The sky outside my window shifted from black to deep blue, then faded to gray. I stared at the ceiling, then at the small figure curled up in the crib beside me.
At some point, I finally drifted off.
I woke to tinkling sounds.
Opening my eyes, I found Laila already up. She was sprawled on the floor in front of her plastic toy piano, poking at the keys with her little fingers.
Sunlight poured through the window, catching in her golden curls and making them shine.
"Baby, you're up early?" My voice came out hoarse.
Laila looked up, eyes bright. "Mommy! This piano makes so many sounds! Listen—" She pressed a few more keys. "This one's like raindrops, this one's like a frog jumping, and this one—"
She paused, head tilted.
"This one's like stars blinking!"
I couldn't help but smile. "Stars blink with sound?"
"Yes!" She nodded seriously. "We just can't hear it. But this piano can!"
She scrambled up from the floor, clutching her toy piano, and climbed onto my bed, burrowing into my arms. Her little body was warm, carrying that sweet smell of sleep.
"Mommy, I want to learn to play this." She pointed at the keys. "A real one, not a toy."
"A real piano?"
"Yes!" She nodded hard. "Aunt Chloe showed me a movie with a girl playing piano. She was so pretty. Her dress was pretty, her hair was pretty, and everyone watched her play."
She looked up at me, eyes full of hope.
"Mommy, can I?"
I looked down at her, at the brightness in her eyes.
In that instant, the contents of that planning document flashed through my mind.
Music enrichment courses—age four is the sensitive period for music. The recommended piano teacher graduated from Juilliard School, specialized in teaching young children, with a six-month waiting list. But Cassian had already secured a spot.
Those densely packed words spun through my head like a carousel.
"Mommy?" Laila tugged at my pajamas. "What are you thinking about?"
"Thinking about..." I paused. "How to get you piano lessons."
She bounced excitedly in my arms. "Really? Really? Can I wear a pretty dress? Can I be like in the movie—"
"Yes, yes." I held her still. "But first you need to eat breakfast, brush your teeth, wash your face, and get dressed. Do all that, and then we'll talk about dresses."
"I'll go right now!" She jumped out of my arms and pattered barefoot toward the bathroom, then stopped halfway and turned back. "Mommy, you have to keep your promise!"
"I will."
Satisfied, she disappeared into the bathroom. Soon, I heard running water and her humming some unrecognizable tune.
I sat on the bed, watching the sunlight on her toy piano.
Laila wanted to learn piano.
She wanted to do so many things. Dance, paint, and now piano. She wanted to explore the world, try everything new.
And I couldn't even give her full days.
That planning document had a yard where she could run, a professional music room, twenty-four-hour security, and everything she needed.
Things I couldn't give her.
But he could.
I picked up my phone, looking at that familiar number on the screen. Six years, and I still remembered it.
Taking a deep breath, I hit dial.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Just as I thought it would go to voicemail, he answered.
Silence on the other end.
"Hello?" I said. "Cassian?"
"Luna?"
His voice was impossibly hoarse, like something had caught in his throat. I even heard something hit the floor—probably dropped whatever he was holding.
"It's me."
A rustling sound came through the phone, then his breathing, fast and heavy, like he was trying to calm himself.
"You... you called me." His voice still shook. "Sorry, I just... I didn't expect it."
I froze.
Right. Six years. I'd changed my number, never reached out.
"About your proposal," I kept my voice steady. "I want to talk."
"Yes." He answered instantly. "I'm listening."
"I have conditions."
"First, Laila and I need a separate living space. Your part and ours—completely separate."
"Of course." Cassian didn't hesitate. "The entire second floor is yours. I'll stay in the first-floor guest room."
I hadn't expected him to agree so quickly.
"Second, you don't interfere with my work or social life. When I rehearse, when I perform, who I see—that's my business."
"Okay." Same tone. "I won't ask about your work. Or your... social life."
He paused, and I heard what that pause meant—social life, including Seb.
But he said nothing more.
"Third, like you said, I can leave anytime. If I'm uncomfortable, or if Laila doesn't adjust, we're gone. You can't stop us."
Silence on the other end for two seconds.
My heart tightened.
Then he said, "Okay."
"You... don't have anything to say?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Luna." His voice was soft. "You need these conditions because you don't trust me. And you shouldn't. I've given you every reason not to."
I gripped the phone, silent.
"I agree to everything you said." He continued, "Not just now—anytime you ask, I'll do it. I won't interfere with your life."
His voice grew softer.
"I just... want you and Laila to have a safe place. Everything else is up to you."
Before I could respond, the bathroom door opened. Laila ran out, face still wet, a few damp strands stuck to her forehead.
"Mommy! I'm done! Can we eat now?"
On the phone, Cassian's breathing hitched.
"Laila?" he asked softly.
"Yes."
He was silent for two seconds.
"Tell her... good morning." His voice was rough.
I looked down at Laila, who was looking up at me expectantly.
"Wait a second." I told the phone, then covered it and said to Laila, "Go get dressed. Mommy will make breakfast."
"Okay!" She ran to her room.
I put the phone back to my ear.
"Still there?"
"Yes," he said. "Always."
Something stirred inside me.
"I agree to move in," I said. "But the conditions are what I just said. Remember them."
"I remember."
He paused. "When are you moving? I'll come get you."
I thought for a moment. "Tomorrow. But no need. Chloe's coming."
"Okay." He was silent for two seconds, then called my name. "Luna."
"What?"
"Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you for coming."
I didn't respond. I hung up.
Laila ran out in her clothes, pulling my hand toward the kitchen. "Mommy, hurry! I'm hungry!"
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on her face.
I looked at her, and the uncertainty inside me slowly dissolved.
Not for him. For her. So she could have a yard to run in, a piano to play, a safe neighborhood and good education.
As for the rest...
One step at a time.
The next morning at nine forty-five, I had my suitcase packed. I'd taken the day off.
Chloe came early to help. There wasn't much—two suitcases, Laila's toys, and that blue marble from the windowsill.
"You're sure?" Chloe asked.
I nodded.
She said nothing more, just patted my shoulder.
The car started, heading toward the place I once lived.
I watched the streets slide past, a strange feeling rising inside me.
Six years ago, I ran from here.
Six years later, I was back.
Only this time, not as a wife.
That was fine.
When the car pulled up to the house, Laila shrieked from the back seat.
"Mommy! Look at that yard!"
These years, Laila had moved around with me, completely unfazed by changing homes. I'd made her suffer. She deserved a stable childhood. My heart ached.
The yard was planted with hydrangeas, pink and purple blooms everywhere, and a small swing set—not like the old one at the apartment. This was new, the wood still gleaming pale.
Cassian stood at the door waiting. He wore a simple white shirt and casual pants, looking gentler than usual.
"Welcome," he said, stepping aside.
I carried my luggage in. Chloe had to leave early for something.
The living room looked familiar, but things had changed—colorful cushions on the sofa, padded corners on the coffee table, a small child gate at the stairs.
"Second floor is yours," Cassian said. "I'm in the first-floor guest room."
I went upstairs and pushed open that familiar door.
Then I froze.
The bed and nightstand hadn't changed. Even the curtains were the same color. On the windowsill sat the plant I'd kept years ago—a small succulent. I thought it would be long dead.
But it was alive.
The leaves were thick, green, clearly well cared for.
"I water it once a week." Cassian's voice came from the stairs. He stood there, not entering. "It's pretty easy to care for. Never died."
I faced away from him, silent. The familiar scene made my eyes sting.
Six years. I thought everything here would be cleared out, forgotten. But he'd kept it.
"Thank you," I said quietly, voice rough.
He didn't respond. After a moment, footsteps sounded—he went downstairs.
Laila had already rushed into her room.
The moment she opened that door, I heard her scream.
"Mommy!! Come look!!"
I walked over, and I froze too.
It was a princess room.
The walls were pale pink, painted with stars and moons. A small crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, light falling on the bed—a princess bed with white posts, pink canopy, a dozen stuffed animals at the headboard.
By the window was a small bookshelf filled with picture books. And what shocked me most was the connected room—a mirrored wall, a ballet barre, professional dance flooring.
A small practice studio.
Laila had already rushed in, standing at the barre, striking a ballet position, then turning to shout at me. "Mommy, look! I can practice here!"
Cassian stood in the doorway, watching her, tension in his eyes.
"I don't know what level she's at," he said, voice tight. "The barre is adjustable, the floor is professional, won't hurt her feet. If she doesn't like it, we can change it."
"She loves it," I said softly.
A smile appeared on Cassian's face, faint but genuine.
Laila ran a lap around the room, touching every toy, then ran back to the door, looking up at Cassian.
"Cassian, did you do this?"
Cassian crouched down, eye level with her.
"Yes. Do you like it?"
"I love it." Laila was a bit shy. "Thank you!"
She tilted her head looking at him, then pulled on my finger.
"Mommy, can you help me put away my clothes? I want to play in the yard."
I tapped her forehead. "Go play."
Laila cheered and ran out. "Cassian, you come too!" Cassian stood there, looking lost.
"You should go down too," I said without looking up. "I can handle this."
With my permission, Cassian followed Laila to the yard.
Soon laughter drifted up. I didn't need to look to know how happy Laila was.
After unpacking, I stood at the window looking down. The sunlight was perfect.
Laila ran through the flowers, Cassian watching quietly nearby.
Suddenly, Laila ran to him. I heard their conversation clearly.
"Cassian, can you fix my hair?"
In that moment, I saw Cassian freeze completely.
He looked down at the small hand pulling his. "Fix... your hair?" His voice trembled.
"Yes!" Laila turned around, showing him her ponytail. "Mommy did it this morning, but it came loose when I played. Can you make it tighter?"
He took a deep breath, kneeling behind Laila, taking the hair tie.
Then he froze.
That hair tie in his hand looked like some alien object. He stared at it for several seconds, then at Laila's hair, completely clueless where to start.
Laila waited a moment, then turned to look at him. "Cassian, don't you know how?"
"I... I do," he said, clearly lacking confidence. "I just... need to think about it."
He sneakily pulled out his phone, turning away from me, quickly searching something—probably hair tutorial videos.
I almost laughed out loud.
Five minutes later, he put down his phone, took a deep breath, and started.
His movements were gentle, like he was afraid of hurting her. He separated her hair into three sections and began braiding.
Laila stood still. "Why are your hands shaking?"
He was silent for a second.
"Because I'm afraid of hurting you."
Laila laughed, and that laugh made his hands shake again.
Finally, the braid was done.
When Laila ran to the living room mirror, I came downstairs too. She studied her new hairstyle seriously.
It was a crooked, lopsided braid—loose in some places, tight in others, like a drunk little snake lying on her head. Several strands hadn't been woven in, sticking out messily.
I looked at Laila in the mirror, struggling not to laugh.
Laila looked at herself, then suddenly laughed.
"Cassian, you're so bad at this!"
Cassian stood nearby, expression tense like awaiting a verdict.
Laila turned around, ran to him, and looked up.
"But it's cool!" she said, opening her short arms and hugging his leg.
Cassian froze.
The next second, he crouched down and pulled Laila into his arms.
The hug was gentle, careful, like holding something fragile and precious. I saw his eyes redden.
But he held it in, didn't let the tears fall.
In that moment, watching them, an indescribable emotion welled up inside me.
Blood.
That word surfaced in my mind again.
Laila was close with Seb, too. When Seb held her, she laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. But it wasn't the same.
That difference—I could see it clearly now.
When Seb held her, she was a beloved child. When Cassian held her, she was coming home.
I turned away, taking a deep breath.
Time flew. That evening, Chloe came back. After dinner, she stayed with us.
I gave Laila a bath and read her a bedtime story. She lay in that princess bed, hugging her new toy, and soon fell asleep.
I closed the door gently and returned to my room.
Chloe had already showered and was lying on my bed scrolling through her phone. Seeing me enter, she scooted over and patted the space beside her.
"Come here."
I lay down next to her, staring at the ceiling.
Silence for a moment.
"Adjusting okay?" she asked.
"I guess." I sighed. "Honestly, Chloe. It's like he's suddenly a different person."
Chloe hummed. "I didn't expect it either. But him and Laila... maybe that's just how blood works."
I was silent.
Chloe reached over and squeezed my hand. "You don't need to feel pressured," she said. "Take your time."
I nodded.
Moonlight slipped through the curtain gap, drawing a silver line across the floor.
The thorn in my heart was still there. The scar was still there.
But something nearby was quietly loosening.