Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack (Evelyn and Damon) novel Chapter 86

Chapter 86

I typed back slowly, considering my words carefully. *It was more than okay. I think I needed it more than I realized.*

His response came quickly. *I’m glad. I love you, Evelyn. I know you’re not ready to say it back yet, and that’s okay. I just wanted you to know I meant it last night too, even though I thought you were asleep.*

My breath caught slightly, understanding immediately what he meant that he’d known, somehow, that I’d actually heard him whisper those words into the darkness, that he’d been aware, even then, that his private, unguarded honesty hadn’t gone entirely unwitnessed.

*You knew I heard you,* I typed, something between amusement and vulnerability coloring the words.

*I suspected. Your breathing changed slightly. I didn’t want to make it awkward by acknowledging it directly, but I wanted you to know I meant every word, whether you were actually asleep or not.*

I sat with that for a long moment, feeling something shift further in my chest-not full trust yet, not the complete, uncomplicated love I’d once felt for him before everything fell apart, but something warmer, more hopeful than the careful, guarded distance I’d been maintaining for weeks.

*Thank you for telling me that,* I typed finally. *And for this morning. I think I’m ready to stop holding quite so tightly to the distance. Not completely. But some.*

*That’s more than I hoped for today,* he replied. *I’ll see you tonight. I love you.*

I set the phone down, my heart still fluttering slightly, and looked over toward Willow’s crib, where she continued sleeping peacefully, entirely unaware of the quiet, significant shift happening in her parents’ complicated, still- healing relationship.

*My wolf offered caution,* I thought, settling back into the chair. *And she was right to. But maybe caution and genuine hope can actually coexist, the way I told him they could about his own father. Maybe I don’t have to choose entirely between protecting myself and actually letting this be real.*

I thought about the eight months of survival, the diner I’d built entirely alone, the strength I’d discovered in myself that I hadn’t known existed before everything fell apart. None of that disappeared just because I was slowly, cautiously allowing myself to hope for something good with Damon again. If anything, I understood now, that hard-won strength was exactly what made this careful, deliberate reopening possible-not weakness, not simply falling back into old patterns out of loneliness or convenience, but a genuine, considered choice made from a place of actual security rather than desperate need.

I spent the rest of the morning in quiet, comfortable domesticity, tending to Willow, tidying the small apartment, occasionally catching myself smiling at nothing in particular, still feeling the warmth of that unexpected morning kiss lingering pleasantly beneath everything else.

Around midday, my mother-in-law-if that was even the right term yet, given everything still unresolved- stopped by with Hazel, the two nannies trailing behind her, and I found myself genuinely pleased by the visit, settling into easy conversation while our respective daughters lay near each other on a blanket, Willow reaching curiously toward Hazel’s small, waving hands.

“You look happy today,” Damon’s mother observed, watching me with gentle, perceptive attention. “Different than the last few times I’ve seen you.”

“Something good happened this morning,” I admitted, feeling myself blush slightly again at the memory. “Small, but good.”

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She smiled knowingly, something warm and understanding in her tired but genuine expression. “Those small good things matter more than people sometimes realize. I’m glad you’re finding them, after everything.”

We spent a pleasant hour together, the two babies content on their blanket, conversation drifting easily between practical updates and quieter, more personal reflections on everything that had unfolded these past weeks. By the time she left, gathering Hazel and the nannies to head back toward her own apartment, I felt something settled and genuinely peaceful in my chest, different from the careful, guarded exhaustion that had characterized so much of these past several weeks.

I put Willow down for her afternoon nap and sat quietly in the armchair afterward, thinking again about that morning kiss, about Damon’s careful, considerate follow-up text, about the whispered “I love you” I’d pretended not to hear the night before.

*Maybe,* I thought, settling into the quiet stillness of the apartment, *this really is becoming something real. Not fixed yet, not fully healed. But real.*

I found myself looking forward to that evening, to seeing him again, in a way I hadn’t quite allowed myself to fee in longer than I wanted to admit-not just relief at having help, not just cautious appreciation for his consistent effort, but something warmer, more hopeful, something that felt, cautiously and carefully, like the possibility of actually falling in love with him again.

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