Page 182 of Unholy Obsession

But then his expression shifts, softening. “You’re not awful at that,” he says, which might be the closest thing to a compliment he’s given me in years.

“High praise,” I retort, but my voice lacks bite.

The truth is, holding this tiny human is terrifying. And kind of amazing. And has my brain spiraling in about sixteen different directions.

Could I do this? Could I be responsible for a little life?

A month ago, Bane found me curled up in the bathtub at four a.m., weeping because I couldn’t remember if I’d taken my meds. I was convinced I’d taken too many, or none at all, and that I was about to either die or lose my mind completely.

He sat on the bathroom floor for an hour, just holding me, breathing with me, until the panic subsided enough for him to show me the pill organizer. Monday’s compartment was empty. I’d taken exactly what I was supposed to.

And then there was the day I ran out of the house in nothing but his shirt and my underwear because I’d seen a fox in the garden and was suddenly, irrationally convinced it was my spirit guide trying to tell me something.

Bane found me twenty minutes later, halfway down the lane, still trying to chase down and talk to the bewildered animal.

So, yeah. Probably not Mother of the Year material.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Bane murmurs, his lips brushing my temple.

I look down at Lily, who’s now attempting to eat my necklace. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

I sigh. “Just... life stuff.”

His eyes soften, seeing right through me as always. “We have time,” he says quietly. “For all of it.”

He means kids. We’ve danced around the topic, never quite addressing it head-on. His gentle “we have time” is both permission to wait and the promise that he’s not going anywhere while I figure my shit out.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel stable enough, sane enough, to be a mother. If the meds will ever balance out just right, if therapy will finally click and make me whole. If the fear of passing on whatever genetic time bomb sits in my DNA will ever fade.

Other days, I think maybe I’m overthinking it. My own mother was a complete disaster, and I turned out... well, I turned out.

Lily suddenly decides my lap is no longer the place to be and makes a grabby-hands motion toward Kira, who swoops in to reclaim her offspring.

“She’s probably getting hungry,” Kira says apologetically.

I hand over the baby, ignoring the strange emptiness I feel once my arms are free again. “She’s amazing,” I say, and mean it.

Kira’s smile is pure sunshine. “She is, isn’t she?”

Bane’s hand reaches out, fingers threading through mine. A silentI’m here. A wordlesswhenever you’re ready.

The thing about Bane is, he never pushes. Not about the important stuff. He might dominate me in a thousand delicious ways in the bedroom, but out here? He waits. He watches. He offers his steady strength without forcing it on me.

It shouldn’t work, this thing between us. The wild girl and the controlled priest. The chaos and the order. But somehow, it does.

We’ve spent the last months building something new from the ashes of what we had before. Something stronger and more honest.

There are days when I miss the mania—that electric euphoria, the feeling that I could conquer worlds. Days when the meds make everything feel flat and gray and I wonder if Bane secretly longs for the untamed girl he fell for.

But then he’ll look at me like he is now, like I’m the most fascinating creature he’s ever encountered, and I remember—he never loved me for the chaos. He loved me despite it. Because of it. Through it.

“We should probably head out soon,” Bane says, checking his watch. “We’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

Right. Back to England for another round of meetings about the foundation. Bane’s determined to put his father’s blood money to good use, funding mental health research, prison relief programs, and supporting programs for at-risk youth. It turns out my formerly penniless priest has quite the head for business when he wants to.

I’ve been tagging along, finding my own place in this new world we’re building. Turns out, my unique perspective on mental health systems is actually valuable. Who knew?

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