Bonds

-Maya's POV-

My birthday was still a few months away, but if I could have wished on a shooting star right now, I knew exactly what it would be. My father and Alex, crammed together in a tiny car, driving off a cliff straight into the fiery depths of you-know- where.

Okay, maybe that was a bit much. But seriously, the nerve of those twol Here I was, having to call Ms. Rodriguez back yet again to watch the twins while Ivan and I dealt with their latest explosion.

Did this drama ever freaking end?

And to top it all off, Alex had the audacity to stand there, completely unapologetic, like he hadn't just thrown my father through a wall. As if that wasn't bad enough, my jerk of a father practically blamed the whole thing on me. Of course he did.

Now, here I was, staring down at a pile of massacred carrots at 1 am in the morning. My wolf was practically clawing its way out of my skin. She was furious, and let's be honest, so was 1. We both needed to rip something to shreds, but I knew unleashing her wouldn't exactly be the best course of action.

With all the chaos, I still hadn't fully processed the fact that I'd shifted. It felt surreal, like a scene from a movie that had somehow landed smack dab in the middle of my very real life.

"Those carrots would beg for mercy if they could-talk," a voice said behind me.

I jumped, startled. Ivan stood at the entrance of the kitchen, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a hint of amusement. He raised an eyebrow, silently conveying the message with his eyes.

Following his gaze, I looked back down at the chopping board. What had I been doing? Slicing carrots? More like brutally murdering them. Each one was reduced to mangled shreds, a testament to my simmering frustration.

He chuckled softly and walked towards me. "Maybe you should put down the knife for a bit," he suggested gently. He took the knife from my hand without a struggle and carefully pushed the destroyed carrots aside.

"They'll never learn to behave, will they?" he muttered, more to himself than to me.

I let out a sigh, the frustration slowly draining away. There wasn't much point in arguing. He was right and also, chopping vegetables wasn't exactly the most therapeutic activity at this hour.

He pulled me into a hug, his warmth a welcome comfort. "Your father is an ass," he murmured into my hair. "But honestly, I can't really hate him. After all, he's the reason I met you."

A small smile finally tugged at the corners of my lips. "You just had to switch things up and make me feel like a complete goofball, didn't you?"

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Just speaking the truth, love."

He pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting my chin up. "ignore what he said," he muttered softly. "It's not worth your energy, especially if it turns you into a carrot killer."Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

I burst out laughing, the anger finally dissolving. He really did know how to disarm me, how to make me see the ridiculousness of the situation. "Thank you," I whispered, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me.

Then, a yawn escaped my lips, catching me by surprise. "We should probably get you to bed," Ivan said, concern flickering in his eyes. "I don't know why you were even chopping vegetables at 1 am, but hey, we have work tomorrow. And unfortunately, I can't exactly call in sick again. They need me there."

"Yeah, you're right," I mumbled, leaning into him. The exhaustion was hitting me like a ton of bricks. The adrenaline from the whole Alex fiasco had kept me going for a while, but now it was wearing off, leaving me feeling drained and emotionally raw.

He led me out of the kitchen and down the hallway, his hand warm and steady on my lower back. The twins' room was quiet, the soft glow of a nightlight casting dancing shadows on the walls. I pecked in for a moment, watching them sleep peacefully, their little chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm. A small, tired smile softened my features.

"They're getting so big," I whispered, the wonder of motherhood washing over me even in this state of exhaustion.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "They are," he agreed. "And they wouldn't be here without you."

His words sent a warmth through me that had nothing to do with the exhaustion. He always knew how to make me feel cherished, even on the worst of days.

We tiptoed into our room, the silence thick with unspoken thoughts. I sank onto the edge of the bed, kicking off my shoes with a sigh.

"Do you want me to help you get changed?" he asked gently, already reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

I shook my head, the effort suddenly feeling monumental. "I can manage," I mumbled, pulling off my shirt and tossing it onto the laundry pile with a dull thud.

He didn't push it. Instead, he walked over and dimmed the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a soft twilight. The exhaustion, finally unburdened of the adrenaline rush, washed over me in waves. My eyelids felt heavy, threatening to shut with every blink.

"Try to get some sleep."

I snuggled deeper into the covers, the warmth a welcome embrace against the chill of the night. But sleep, that elusive friend, remained just out of reach. My mind, despite its fatigue, was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

The fight with Alex replayed in my head on a loop, each harsh word echoing in the quiet of the night. My frustration simmered alongside a dull ache of betrayal. How could he act so callous, so unrepentant after causing such a scene?

Then there was my father. His dismissive words about me causing the fight stung, even though I knew better. He was a master at deflecting blame, always leaving me feeling like it was somehow my fault.

A sigh escaped my lips, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the silence, I rolled onto my side, facing away from Ivan, needing a moment to process everything,

"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

I considered lying, saying yes just to appease him. But the knot of tension in my stomach wouldn't allow it. "No," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. He reached out a hand, hesitantly at first, and then rested it gently on my back. The warmth of his touch was a grounding force, pulling me back from the storm raging inside.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

And I did. Not with grand pronouncements or dramatic outbursts, but with quiet words, each one EIT. with the exhaustion and frustration of the day. I spoke of the fight, of my father's words, of the fear that sometimes gnawed at me about raising the twins in this chaotic

environment.

He listened patiently, his touch a silent source of comfort. He didn't offer grand solutions or empty platitudes. He simply listened, his presence a steady anchor in the swirling emotional sea.

As I spoke, the intensity of my emotions softened, replaced by a quiet acceptance. The problems wouldn't magically disappear, but talking about them, sharing the burden with someone who cared, made them seem a little less daunting.

By the time I finished, a heavy drowsiness had settled over me. My eyelids drooped, the words slurring on my tongue.

"Sleep," Ivan whispered, squeezing my hand gently. "We'll deal with everything else tomorrow."

And with that, sleep finally claimed me, a fragile peace settling over my troubled mind. But even as I drifted off, a part of me remained watchful, a mother's instinct keeping vigil over her precious slumbering family.

The night stretched on, punctuated by the soft snores of the twins from down the hall. Despite the Com exhaustion, sleep wouldn't come easily. Every now and then, I'd wake with a start, the events of the day replaying in fragmented pieces.

The first rays of dawn peeked through the blinds, painting the room in a soft, golden light. The house remained quiet, a testament to the exhaustion that had claimed everyone.

I turned my head, eyes falling on Ivan's peaceful face. He slept deeply, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Awave of gratitude washed En: over me. He was my rock, my confidante, the steady hand that held me up when the world felt like it was spinning out of control.

I crept out of bed and went to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Leaning against the sink, I splashed water on my face, trying to chase away the lingering exhaustion. A glance in the mirror caught my eye. I looked tired, extremely so. My hands instinctively went to the mark on my neck, where Ivan had claimed me.

But as I blushed, brushing my hand over it, something felt off. I quickly pulled my shirt down, heart pounding in my chest. My breath hitched. The spot was completely healed, the mark - gone.