Chapter 19 Wen #2
But I knew. Even at seven, I knew.
She wasn’t coming back.
Days turned into weeks and I kept asking when Mama was coming home. Kept leaving my favorite toys by the door so she’d see them when she arrived. Kept drawing pictures for her that my grandmother pinned to the fridge with a sad smile.
Weeks turned into months and my grandmother stopped making promises. Started using phrases about “your father’s choices” and “sometimes adults make mistakes” that I didn’t understand but felt heavy anyway.
Eventually I stopped asking because the answer was always the same non-answer that made my grandmother’s eyes go shiny.
They weren’t coming back. Mama had left me with her parents and never looked back. Papa was in jail for things I wasn’t old enough to understand but was old enough to know were bad.
I cried every night for a year. Quiet sobs into my pillow so my grandparents wouldn’t hear and feel worse than they already did. Whimpering for parents who didn’t want me enough to stay. Who’d decided I was too much trouble or too much responsibility or just too much.
My heart broke in a way that never fully healed. A crack formed that ran through the center of me and never quite closed no matter how much my grandparents loved me. Because their love couldn’t fill the space left by the people who were supposed to love me first and chose not to.
I was seven again. Standing in that driveway. Feeling that crack widen with each second the car didn’t come back. Feeling myself splinter into pieces that I’d spend the rest of my life trying to hold together.
Then someone hugged me from behind. Strong arms wrapping around my small body. A solid presence at my back.
“Shh, shh, little mate. I’ve got you.”
The voice was wrong for the memory, too deep and grown up. But it felt right somehow. Safe in a way nothing else did.
I kept crying but the arms held tighter. The voice kept murmuring comfort.
My eyes blinked open slowly as the sobs continued. My head was pounding viciously. My heart was squeezing from the nightmare that wasn’t really a nightmare but a memory I couldn’t escape.
A thick, familiarly inked arm was draped over my waist. A warm, huge body was pressed against my back, solid and real in a way the dream hadn’t been.
Mal.
He’d gotten into bed with me and was holding me while I cried. His hand found mine and threaded our fingers together as he nuzzled into my hair.
“I’m here, Wen. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.” His voice was a murmur against my temple. Soft and desperate and full of promises. “I promise. I swear on everything I am. I’m not leaving you.”
I cried harder at those words. Couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that soaked his shirt. All the tears I’d held back over the years came pouring out in a flood I couldn’t control.
He just held me through it. Didn’t try to shush me or tell me it was okay or make it stop.
Just let me soak his shirt with my pain while he kept murmuring promises against my hair.
His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand.
His other arm tightened around my waist to pull me closer against his chest.
When I finally ran out of tears (when my body was physically incapable of producing more) he pressed a kiss to my shoulder.
“What hurts?” he asked quietly.
“My head.”
He kissed my cheek. “I will be right back.”
He slipped out of bed and I immediately felt the loss of his warmth. Heard him walk to the door. Heard him murmur something to someone outside in a voice too low for me to make out the words. The door closed.
A few minutes later he was back, climbing into bed with a steaming cup.
“Healing tea,” he said. “It will help with the headache. Drink.”
I sat up with effort and took the cup from him. Sipped carefully because it was hot. It tasted herbal and bitter but warmth spread through me immediately, starting in my stomach and radiating outward. The pounding in my head eased to a dull ache.
I drained the cup and handed it back to him.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked gently.
I shrugged. “It was a nightmare. Same old, same old.”
“You never had one of those when I was in your apartment.”
I glared at him. “Well. I wonder what happened to trigger them back.”
Guilt crashed through the bond with enough force to make me gasp. His guilt. So strong it made my chest ache in sympathy.
“I am sorry, Wen. Please.” He dropped to his knees next to the bed and looked up at me with teary eyes that gleamed in the firelight. “I hate this. I hate what I have done to you. I will choose an heir tomorrow. We will go back to your Earth. I will fix this.”
I sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are still threats to you. Andreas might have yielded, but that doesn’t mean everyone accepts you as king. You heard the nobles. Some of them were openly disrespectful. You have to fix that before you can leave. Otherwise, you’re just abandoning your kingdom for real this time.”
He winced. “I know. You are right. But I do not know how to fix both. How to secure my kingdom and keep you happy.”
“I don’t know either.”
“What can I do for you? Please. Tell me what you need.”
“Just give me time,” I said quietly. “I need time to process. To figure out what I want. What I can handle.”
He nodded slowly. “Time. Yes. I can give you time.”
He stood and walked toward the bathroom. Paused at the door.
“I love you, Wen. That has not changed. Will never change. No matter how angry you are. No matter how badly I have failed you. I love you.”
He disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed softly.
I settled back onto the pillows and pulled the covers over myself this time. The tea worked wonders as the headache faded to nothing. My body felt warm and relaxed in a way it hadn’t since before the portal.
My eyes grew heavy again but my mind kept churning.
Mal kneeling beside the bed with teary eyes.
The way he’d held me through the nightmare without asking for anything in return.
The bond between us pulsing with his love even through my anger.
How he’d literally fought for his throne today with me watching.
How he’d protected me from the guard without hesitation.
But also that woman. Amaia. Her announcement about a wedding that Mal swore didn’t exist.
Was he telling the truth? Through the bond I didn’t feel deception, just desperation and guilt and love that felt genuine.
But could I trust that? Could I trust him after he’d dragged me here against my will?
I didn’t know.
Sleep pulled at me harder. I let it take me. Let the darkness swallow the questions and the pain and the confusion.
Because right now, I was too tired to figure out any of it.