Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I do.” He stretches out, settling in. “Someone's gotta keep watch.”
“Over what?”
“Both of you.” His eyes meet mine across the darkened room. “Sleep, Melissa. I got this.”
And somehow, for the first time in weeks, I believe him.
The paperwork finally arrives on a Tuesday.
Ripper’s contact came through, digging up everything we needed. That she's mine, biologically and legally, and no one can take her away again.
I flip the first manila folder open. Adoption records. Group home placement. And a recent abduction report filed with Oranga Tamariki.
The words leave me in a whisper. “Olivia Masters. Age five.”
Hella taps at the history part. “Adoptive parents died in a car accident. Seemed like real good people, too, Melissa. She was then placed in Future Homes.”
My blood runs cold. “When did they die?”
“Two weeks before we found her.” He pulls out another page. “A week later, security footage shows a man matching Richard Donovan's description enter the group home. Used forged documents claiming to be her father.”
Piece of shit. “Why?” I demand. “Why take her? Why now?”
“Don’t know,” Hella answers, his voice deadly calm. “Could be control. Wanted to watch you build a life, then destroy it by taking the one thing you thought was safe. The baby you gave up to protect.”
Richard's game wasn't about the assault. It was about making me pay for surviving it.
The blank space where her father's name should go feels like an accusation.
“Put 'Unknown.'" I slide the paper toward Hella, who's reading through the new and legitimate documents with a frown.
“Or I could sign it.” He doesn't look up; his tone casual. “Make this official.”
My pen freezes mid-air. “What?”
“Makes sense.” He shrugs, as if he's suggesting we grab pizza for dinner, not alter the course of his life. “She trusts me. If the world sees me as her father, it makes her safer. Gives her a name that means something.”
“Hella—”
“Melissa.” He finally looks at me, and there's something vulnerable in his eyes I've never seen before. “If you don’t want me to, I get that. I don’t have a great track record of the whole commitment thing, but I swear it on my life.” He pauses, but not out of hesitation. To make sure I’m hearing him loud and clear. “I will love that girl so fucking hard any future man who tries entering her life will seem like a disappointment.”
I gasp, the declaration melting every organ in my body. “You want to—” I can't finish the sentence, can't wrap my mind around what he's offering. “Why?”
“Because she deserves a father who gives a shit.” He pushes the certificate toward me. “And because I do. Give a shit, I mean. About her.”
Pieces of a puzzle I didn’t know were scrambled finally shift into place.
“Okay.” My voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”
He signs his name in the father slot—Huxley Garett Ward — and I reread it again. Garett? This is who Garett is named after? Not that I needed proof, since all he’s been since she came into our lives is committed, but this is a reminder. A reminder of the kind of man he keeps hidden inside.
He’ll never disappoint her the same way he’ll never disappoint Garett. The permanence steals my breath. We're bound now, legally and otherwise, through the little girl currently napping upstairs.
“Name?” He taps the line. “You wanna keep Olivia?”
I close my eyes, thinking of everything she's been through. Everything she's survived. “Olive,” I say finally. “It means peace. Legally keep it Olivia, but we can call her Olive.”
“Peace.” He tests the word, and a small smile crosses his face. “Yeah. That works.”
Olivia Hart-Ward. Our daughter. Even if the biology doesn't match, our hearts do.
And for a brief, shining moment, I let myself believe this could work.
Reality crashes back in by week four.
Olive's comfortable now. Sleeping in her own room. Hella took her shopping and moved her into the room opposite Garett’s. Mint green walls, freshly painted skirtings, and a swing chair that hangs in front of the window. He even bought her a little vanity with the light bulbs around the mirror.
She spends her days with me, learning to bake and telling me stories about Garret and the other kids at the compound. With every passing day, she unravels more about herself, and I absorb every single inch of it. Right down to the stories she told me about her other mother and father. I tell her it’s okay to love and miss them, and that she’s special enough to have two sets of parents.
Closing the book of Hairy Maclary and his shenanigans, I wait until she's sound asleep before tiptoeing out to find Hella.
Sliding open the patio door, I lean against the frame, allowing myself a few brief seconds to admire this moment. Him working on his bike, grease covering skin, sweat beading over abs I’ve traced with my tongue.