Ten Years Raising His Bastard Pup

"Eighteen tomorrow," I said, guiding the silver bristles through Lyra’s golden strands.

"I know. It feels completely surreal." She met my gaze in the vanity mirror, her blue eyes bright and wide.

"Are you nervous about the gala?"

"A little. Everyone from the country club is coming, right?"

"Every single one," I confirmed, pausing to detangle a small knot near her neck. "The whole town wants to celebrate the Monroe family's shining star."

"Stop, you're embarrassing me."

"I'm your mother. It's my job."

"Adoptive mother," she corrected softly, a teasing lilt in her voice.

"Mother," I insisted, tapping her bare shoulder. "DNA doesn't mean a thing in this house. You are mine."

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I just want tomorrow to be perfect. I don't even know what jewelry to wear with the blue silk dress."

"We can look through my jewelry box after dinner," I offered. "You can borrow the diamond tennis bracelet."

"The one Kael gave you for your anniversary last year?"

"Yes. It would look stunning on you."

"I don't know," she murmured, picking at her fingernails. "I was hoping for something... different. Something of my own. Borrowing your things always makes me feel like a kid playing dress-up."

"You'll get plenty of gifts tomorrow. You won't feel like a kid for much longer."

"I guess."

"What's wrong, Lyra? You seem on edge."

"Nothing. Just birthday jitters."

"Are you sure? You've been quiet all afternoon."

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

The bedroom door swung wide open.

Kael stepped inside. He wore a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the dark ink of his tattoos. He held a small, dark velvet box in his right hand.

"Am I interrupting the girls' time?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Never." Lyra spun around on the plush stool, her face lighting up instantly. The gloomy teenager from a second ago vanished, replaced by someone glowing and eager.

"Good. Because I couldn't wait until midnight to give you this."

He walked over, his attention fixed entirely on Lyra. He didn't even glance at my reflection in the glass.

"Kael, we agreed to do gifts tomorrow morning," I reminded him. "Before the caterers arrive."

"I changed my mind." He popped the box open with his thumb. "Some things are too important to wait for."

A heavy silver chain rested against the black silk lining. Suspended from the center was a massive, teardrop-shaped emerald.

I froze. My hand stalled mid-air, the brush hovering inches from Lyra's head.

"Turn around, Lyra," Kael instructed, his tone dropping a fraction. "Let me put it on you."

She obeyed immediately, facing the mirror again and sweeping her hair over her left shoulder.

Kael stepped right behind her, crowding my space. I had to take a half-step back to make room for his broad shoulders. He reached around her pale neck. The silver clasp clicked shut.

The emerald settled perfectly into the hollow of her collarbone.

I studied the gemstone. The cut wasn't standard. It featured sharp, asymmetrical facets on the left side, designed specifically to catch the light at an odd angle. A tiny, almost invisible chip sat near the top prong.

"Do you like it?" Kael asked.

His hands rested on Lyra's bare shoulders. They stayed there, his thumbs pressing slightly into her skin.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

My chest squeezed tight. Ten years ago, my sister Elena fell from the jagged cliffs at Point Reyes. The police never recovered all her belongings from the rocks below. But that emerald—the one our grandmother had custom-cut in Europe, the one Elena wore every single day until the afternoon she died—was identical to the jewelry now resting on my daughter's skin. Even the tiny chip near the prong matched perfectly.

"Where did you get that?" The question slipped out, sharp and accusatory.

Kael finally shifted his eyes to me through the mirror. "An estate sale in the city. Why? Don't you think it suits her?"

"It's very unique." I kept my voice entirely flat. "It reminds me of something."

"Well, our Lyra is unique," he said, his fingers lightly tracing the line of her collarbone.

"It looks like a piece my sister used to own," I pushed, unable to let it go. "The exact same cut."

"Coincidences happen, Seraphina," Kael replied, his voice smooth and unbothered. "It's just a necklace."

"A very expensive coincidence."

"She turns eighteen once. She deserves the best."

Lyra stood up abruptly, knocking her knees against the vanity drawer. She threw her arms around Kael's neck.

"Thank you, Kael. It's the best gift I've ever received."

"Happy early birthday, sweetie."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

I watched them. The embrace lingered for three seconds. Then five. Then eight.

Lyra pulled back just enough to look up into his face. Kael gazed down at her.

A silent conversation passed between them. A heavy, secretive exchange that excluded me completely. Her eyelids fluttered slightly. His jaw clenched and unclenched. The air in the room shifted, turning thick and suffocating.

My stomach muscles seized into a hard, painful knot.

I tightened my grip on the silver hairbrush. The metal teeth bit fiercely into the flesh of my palm. I pressed harder, feeling the sharp points dig deep, leaving angry red indentations in my skin. I welcomed the sting. It kept me grounded.

"I'm glad you love it," Kael murmured to her, his voice rough.

"I'll never take it off."

Neither of them looked my way. It was as if I had vanished from the room entirely.

A sour, metallic taste coated the back of my throat, thick and nauseating. I swallowed hard, forcing the bile down.

"Alright, you two," I said. I stretched my lips into a wide, warm, motherly smile. "Let's not get all teary-eyed before dinner."

Kael stepped back, clearing his throat. "Right. Dinner. I'll go check on the roast."

"Don't burn it," Lyra teased.

"I never burn the roast," he shot back, a private smile touching his lips.

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

"He has amazing taste," Lyra said, touching the emerald with her index finger.

"Yes. He really does."

"Do you think it goes with the blue dress?"

"It goes with everything."

"Are you okay, Mom? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"You should sit down."

"I will, in a minute."

My fingers went entirely numb. The silver brush slipped from my grasp.

It hit the thick Persian rug with a muted thud, bounced once, and slid directly under the edge of Lyra's bed frame.

"Oops," Lyra said lightly, not looking away from her reflection. "Clumsy today, Mom?"

"Just distracted by the party planning."

I crouched down, dropping to my knees. I reached under the patterned bed ruffle.

The shadows were thick near the baseboard. My fingers brushed the cool metal of the brush handle.

Then, my knuckles bumped against something else. Something stiff.

I peered into the darkness under the mattress.

A man's dress shoe. Black calfskin. Size eleven.

Kael's shoe.

He hadn't been wearing those today. He had been in tennis shoes all afternoon.

My eyes locked onto the scuffed toe hiding deep beneath my eighteen-year-old daughter's bed. He shouldn't have been in her bedroom. Not like this. Not leaving his clothes behind.

"Did you find it?" Lyra asked from above.

"Almost," I whispered.