Page 74 of Fat Betrayed Mate
The uncomplicated acceptance in her voice brings fresh tears to my eyes. Children are so resilient, so willing to embrace love when it's offered. While Thomas and I have six years of pain and misunderstanding to navigate, Maisie simply sees what's in front of her: a father who wants to be part of her life.
"She should rest now," Dr. Knowles says quietly. "Take her home. Keep her warm, feed her when she wakes—she'll be hungry after the shift. Call me if anything changes, but I expect she'll be just fine."
Thomas lifts Maisie into his arms with careful tenderness, her small head nestling naturally against his shoulder as if she's been doing it all her life. The sight of them together—so clearly father and daughter—creates an ache in my chest that's both painful and sweet.
This is what we could have had all along, if not for Edward's hatred.
***
The walk home through Silvercreek feels surreal. Pack members nod respectfully as we pass, offering quiet congratulations and support. News travels fast in a wolf pack; everyone knows by now that Thomas has found his daughter, that we've survived Edward's attack, and that our family has been reunited against impossible odds.
Our family. The words still feel strange, tentative, like a gift I'm afraid to fully claim.
Maisie sleeps through the journey, exhausted from her ordeal. Thomas carries her with natural ease, his arms protective around her small form. He pauses when we reach my cottage, uncertainty flickering across his features.
"Come in," I say softly, leading the way through the door that I'd left in such panic just yesterday.
Everything inside looks exactly as we left it—Maisie's breakfast dishes beside the sink, her stuffed wolf fallen from the sofa, my half-empty coffee mug on the counter. Such ordinary objects, yet they feel like artifacts from another life.
Thomas follows me to Maisie's bedroom, laying her gently on her bed. Together, we tuck her in, a domestic act so simple yet so profound in its newness. He lingers in the doorway afterward, watching her sleep with naked wonder on his face.
"She has your nose," he whispers as we move to the kitchen. "And the way she furrows her brow when she's thinking—that's all you."
"But her eyes are yours," I reply. "And that stubborn chin."
We stand awkwardly in the kitchen, exhaustion, and emotion catching up with us now that the immediate danger has passed. Six years of separation stretch between us, alongside the fresh intensity of what we've just survived together.
"You should get some rest, too," Thomas says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "I can take the couch, or head back to my cabin if you'd prefer—"
"Stay." The word escapes before I can second-guess it. "The couch is fine. I just... I think Maisie would feel better knowing you're here when she wakes up."
He nods, relief washing across his features. "I'd like that."
Neither of us mentions the alternative—that he could join me in my bed, that we could pick up where we left off six years ago. It's too soon, too raw. We have time now. Time to heal, to rediscover each other, to build something new and stronger than what Edward destroyed.
That night, I fall asleep to the comforting knowledge that Thomas is just down the hall, that Maisie is safe in her bed, that for the first time in six years, I don't need to look over my shoulder or plan my next escape.
Morning brings a semblance of normalcy that feels almost shocking after yesterday's chaos. Maisie wakes hungry and energetic, showing remarkable resilience. She peppers Thomas with questions over breakfast—does he like pancakes, can he shift whenever he wants to, will he teach her to be a wolf too?
He answers each one with patient delight, soaking up every detail of her personality like a man dying of thirst. I watchthem together, this instant bond that seems to bridge the years of separation, and feel something long-broken inside me begin to heal.
Nic's arrival breaks the domestic bubble. He looks exhausted but satisfied as he accepts the coffee I offer.
"The Council representatives arrived at dawn," he reports. "Edward and his top lieutenants are being transported to the holding facility this afternoon. The rest of his followers are in police custody."
"What charges?" Thomas asks, his arm resting casually on the back of Maisie's chair.
"Multiple counts of kidnapping, assault, attempted murder." Nic takes a long sip of coffee. "Plus, they found records at his base. Detailed logs of the wolfsbane poisoning going back years. He documented everything he did to your mother, Fiona."
The casual cruelty of it—the methodical documentation of my mother's slow murder—makes my stomach turn.
"He was proud of it," I say, remembering the cold satisfaction in Edward's eyes when he spoke of "cleansing" her.
"The Council's working with human law enforcement," Nic continues. "Special task force for crimes against shifters. He'll face justice in both worlds."
Maisie looks up from her drawing, crayon paused mid-stroke. Though we've tried to shield her from the details, she's absorbed more than we realize. "Is the bad man going away forever?" she asks.
"Yes, sweetheart," Thomas answers, his hand gentle on her hair. "He can't hurt anyone anymore."
