Page 18 of Wolf's Whisper

I glance at the clock. "In about an hour, honey. Why don't you help Dillion with his math homework? I saw him struggling earlier."

Abel groans but nods, knowing better than to argue when chores or schoolwork are involved. "Okay," he says and trots off to find his brother.

I smile to myself; they're good kids. They've been through so much, but they keep pushing forward like their mom.

As soon as Abel disappears searching for Dillion, I hear Chloe enter the room. I see her clutching her favorite stuffed bunny in one hand and carrying her coloring bag, which has all her coloring books and crayons, in the other. She looks up at me with those big, innocent eyes that always fill my heart with love

With a soft yet determined voice, she asks, "Can I color with you, Mommy?"

"Of course, baby," I say, patting the space next to me on the couch. She plops down, her tiny legs swinging as she flips open her coloring book to a page half-filled with scribbles.

I fold a towel and glance over at her. "What are you drawing there?"

"It's a wolf," she says proudly, holding the page for me to see. My breath catches momentarily as I take in the crude but adorable depiction of a gray-furred creature with bright blue eyes.

A wolf. Of course.

"That's beautiful," I say, keeping my tone light despite my heart beating. "Why a wolf?"

Chloe grins, her little nose scrunching up. "Because Abel told me that wolves are strong, and they protect their pack," she explains, her voice filled with the confidence only a five-year-old can have. "Just like you, Mommy."

I blink rapidly, trying to fend off the sudden sting of tears. "Oh, baby girl," I whisper, reaching over to smooth her hair. "That's very sweet of you to say."

"Is Miss Wolf your pack?" she asks innocently, her crayon pausing mid-stroke.

I freeze for a moment, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. Leave it to a child to cut straight to the heart of things without realizing it. "Well," I start carefully, "Miss Wolf is... someone very special who's helping us right now."

Chloe nods sagely as if this explanation satisfies her for the moment. "Okay," she says, returning her focus to her drawing. "I like her. She looks at you like Daddy used to before he got mean."

Her words hit me like bricks, and I struggled to keep my face neutral. How do you explain the complexities of love, heartbreak, and healing to a five-year-old?

"I’m glad you like her, sweetheart," I manage to say, trembling slightly. "She’s very kind, isn’t she?"

Chloe nods emphatically, her bunny ears flopping as she does. "She makes me feel safe," she says matter-of-factly.

And there it is—the thing I can’t deny. Around Wolf, I do feel safe. Not just physically but emotionally too. It’s something I haven’t felt in years.

I stay quiet as Chloe continues coloring, her small hand steadying the page while she fills in the rest of the wolf's fur with streaks of gray and white. The innocence in her actions gives me a moment to reflect, to let the chaos in my mind settle. For all the noise in my head, this simple act of coloring with my daughter feels grounding.

"Mommy," Chloe says after a while, tilting her head as she studies her work critically. "Do you think Miss Wolf has a pack too?"

I chuckle softly, leaning back against the couch. "I think she does, sweetie. A very big one." I think of the Wild Jester's MC—loud, rough around the edges, but fiercely loyal to their own.

Chloe hums thoughtfully, pressing her crayon into the paper. "Do you think we could be part of her pack one day?" Her question is so innocent, so sincere that my heart clenches.

"I don't know," I admit gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But I think she'd like that."

She beams up at me before returning her focus to the page, her little tongue poking out in concentration. "Good," she says simply. "Because I think she'd be a good wolf for us."

Later that evening, after dinner and the bedtime routine that always feels like running a marathon, I finally collapse onto the couch. The boys are tucked in, their video game arguments thankfully silenced for the night. Chloe had insisted on sleeping with her wolf drawing beside her pillow, and seeing it there made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t quite describe.

I run a hand through my hair and grab my phone from the coffee table. My thumb hovers over Wolf's name in my call log. We hadn’t spoken since she left earlier today, and I can’t helpbut wonder if she’s thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about her.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I hit dial.

She picks up on the second ring. "Hey," she says, her voice low and warm.

"Hey," I reply, my voice sounding softer than I expected. The weight of the day seems to slip away just hearing her.

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