Forty Six

Lily

10 months later

  Happiness was a strange emotion, Rosalie had come to learn. No matter the weight of tragedy or the suffocating grip of fear, happiness had a way of creeping back into your life, stealthily weaving itself through the cracks of sorrow. It never stayed long, but it came back, time and time again, to take her mind off the worst of things.

  Tom had gotten what he wanted in the end, and now, here they sat together, a picture of what could almost pass for peace. The lake stretched out before them, still and serene, reflecting the golden hues of a late afternoon sky. Rosalie, nine months pregnant, rested beside him, her hands gently cradling the curve of her swollen belly. The quiet around them was almost eerie; they had never seen any birds settle by the lake, and sometimes they wondered if it was haunted, like so many things tied to their world.

  Tommy, their little boy, sat on Tom's lap, his small fingers plucking absently at the grass in the comfortable silence that enveloped the three of them. The boy leaned against his father's stomach, utterly content, the calm broken only by the occasional giggle as Tom would toss him a few centimetres in the air before pulling him back into his arms. Rosalie watched the scene with a soft smile, her heart swelling with the kind of happiness she had thought was beyond her reach.

  Tom's gaze lingered on her before shifting back to their son. He leaned down and whispered something in Tommy's ear, his words a soft hiss in that familiar, serpentine language—Parceltongue. Rosalie caught the smirk on Tom's lips and couldn't help but roll her eyes.

  "Is Daddy whispering secrets in your ear, Tommy?" she teased, reaching over to tickle her son gently. "What is he saying?"

  Tommy's giggle erupted into laughter as Rosalie's fingers danced across his small frame. Tom watched them both with a tender smile, the love in his eyes clear, even in this brief moment of teasing.

  Rosalie kept up her gentle tickling until Tommy, trying to catch his breath between his giggles, finally relented. "He said to tell you how beautiful you looked!" the boy exclaimed, his innocence glowing in every word.

  Rosalie's playful gaze turned to Tom, and she nudged him lightly with her elbow. "You know I hate it when you speak to him in your secret snake language."

  Tom chuckled. "Parceltongue, my love. And as this boy is the new heir of Salazar Slytherin, I would think you'd be more proud than annoyed that our son can understand it just as I can."

  She arched a brow. "Well, I like knowing what you're saying..."

  Tom gently set Tommy to the side and pulled Rosalie into a warm embrace, wrapping his arms around her from behind. The weight of her pregnancy made her lean into him with ease, but as she did, a sharp cough escaped her lips. Tom's expression shifted, his voice soft with concern. "Acting up again?"

  Rosalie waved him off, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It's nothing. Only a lingering cold. I'm sure it'll go away soon." She held her forearm instinctively, forgoing the itch that it caused her to feel, the mark covered and concealed with a charm Tom had yet to learn about 

  He placed a hand on her stomach, his other resting at the curve of her back. "But you know..." He broke the silence of Rosalie's own thoughts. "I really did tell him that you're beautiful. The most beautiful thing in the world."

  Rosalie snorted lightly. "Yeah, wait until you see me giving birth," she said, half-joking, half-nervous about the day that was fast approaching.

  Ignoring her teasing, Tom picked Tommy up again, holding him close and giving him a nudge. "Go on, tell Mummy how beautiful she is."

  Tommy, as if the words were his own, grinned and chimed in, "You're beautiful, Mummy!"

  Rosalie's heart melted as she pinched her son's cheek. "Thank you, my sweet boy."

  Her gaze met Tom's, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to dissolve. She reached up and gently cradled Tom's face in her hands, a smile playing at her lips. There was something so pure in these moments—when they were just a family, free from the weight of titles, power, and darkness. It was in these fleeting instances that Tom was just Tom, her husband, her love, and not the feared Dark Lord.

  But just as quickly as happiness crept in, so too did reality.

  Without warning, there was a sudden crack of Apparition behind them. The stillness was shattered as Malfoy appeared, his face grave. "My Lord, there's urgent business that requires your attention."

  Tom's expression immediately hardened. The loving husband was gone, replaced by the cold and commanding figure of Lord Voldemort. He stood, carefully passing Tommy to Rosalie, his once-soft gaze now distant and sharp.

  Rosalie's smile faded. She knew these moments were becoming shorter and shorter, the time they had together slipping away as war loomed closer. Every day, his priority shifted more and more to his cause, to his growing power. And though she cherished the time they spent together, Rosalie couldn't shake the nagging fear that soon, these moments would be lost entirely.

  Tom leaned down, his eyes lingering on hers for a brief moment before he kissed her forehead. "I won't be long," he promised, but Rosalie had learned not to hold onto such promises. Their time was coming to an end, and she knew that, for the past ten months she clung to that fear but the prolonged wait for her death caused her mind to writhe in fear secretly.

  Was it a gift that Dumbledore had given her this time before she was set to perish or was it simply and perfectly cruel?

  She nodded at Tom, her smile faint but understanding, as he turned to leave with Malfoy. The familiar ache of loneliness settled in her chest as she watched him go.

  With Tommy now settled in her lap, Rosalie shifted her gaze back to the lake. It shimmered in the fading light, the haunting quietness returning. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through Tommy's hair, her thoughts far away. She wondered, not for the first time, about Ben. What had become of him when she had told Tom all those months ago who had been the one to ruin it all? What had become of the promises they all made? Would the darkness that had begun to consume their lives ever leave them?

  For now, though, Rosalie let herself get lost in the quiet moments by the lake with her son, cherishing the love she held for her family. Because even though she couldn't stop Tom from what he was becoming, she knew that for now, they were still together.

  And that was enough.

---

  Tom stood in the dimly lit dungeon, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable as he watched the broken figure before him. The once-proud man known as Ben was a shadow of his former self. His body was emaciated, the sharp angles of his bones visible beneath his tattered clothes. His eyes, sunken and hollow, flickered with a dull, tortured light, as if the very life had been drained from him day by day.

  Tom had been doing this for weeks now—torturing Ben, breaking him piece by piece, ever since Rosalie had whispered that word. Betrayal. It had been enough to seal Ben's fate. Rosalie, the only person in the world whose word Tom truly trusted, had told him that Ben had gone behind his back. That Ben, once a loyal follower, had plotted to rid them of Rosalie. To take her away from him forever.

  And for that, there would be no forgiveness.

  Tom moved forward, his footsteps echoing in the small chamber. The sound bounced off the stone walls, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence that otherwise filled the room. Ben didn't flinch as Tom approached. He was past the point of fear now. His body was too weak to tremble, his mind too broken to muster any last flicker of hope.

  Kneeling down beside the dying man, Tom allowed himself a cold smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You've been quiet today," he remarked, his voice calm, almost gentle. "Has it finally sunk in? Have you finally realised how pointless this defiance has been?"

  Ben's head lolled to the side, his breath laboured and rasping. His lips, dry and cracked, twitched as if he wanted to speak but couldn't quite manage the strength. Tom reached out, gripping Ben's chin with a firm hand, forcing the man to look at him.

  "There's no one left to help you, Ben," Tom whispered. "No one who will come for you. No one who will save you. You've burned every bridge, and all for what? A fleeting moment of power? A misguided attempt to take from me the only thing I care about?"

  Ben's eyes flickered with a faint spark, something unreadable crossing his face. His lips moved again, this time forming a hoarse whisper, barely audible. "I did... it... for you... for the... greater... good... of our world.... she... she won't... live... much longer."

  Tom's grip tightened on Ben's face, his pulse quickening. "What did you say?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

  Ben closed his eyes, a faint, almost mocking smile curling his lips. "Rosalie... won't... live... much longer," he repeated, though his words were slurred, weakened by his failing body. There was something cryptic in his tone, something that sent a cold tremor through Tom's chest.

  Tom's mind raced. What did he mean? What could he possibly know about Rosalie that Tom didn't? Rosalie was safe, protected. She was carrying their second child, a second chance to be there for her.

  Tom shook Ben, his fingers digging into the man's frail body. "Explain," he growled, his voice losing its usual calculated calm. "What do you mean by that? What have you done?"

  But Ben's eyelids fluttered, his head lolling again, his body too weak to resist the pull of unconsciousness. His breathing grew shallower, more erratic. He was slipping away, and fast.Tom's heart hammered against his ribs as he shook Ben harder. "Tell me what you mean!" he shouted, his voice rising with an edge of desperation he hadn't felt in years. "What do you know about Rosalie?"

  But Ben's lips had fallen still. His chest barely rose with his shallow breaths. With a snarl, Tom pulled out his wand, pressing it against Ben's chest. "Crucio!" he hissed.

  Ben's body convulsed, his mouth opening in a silent scream, but there were no more words.

  Only pain. Only the writhing, twitching shell of a man who had nothing left to give.

  Tom's rage boiled over. He raised his wand higher, the magic thrumming through his veins. Another jolt of pain shot through Ben's body as Tom's curse hit harder, but still, no response. No more cryptic warnings. No more half-truths. Just silence.

  And then it happened.

  One final breath. One last, ragged exhale from Ben's lips. His body stilled, his head slumped, and the room grew deathly quiet.

  Tom froze. The realisation crept up on him slowly, like ice water pouring down his spine. He hadn't meant to kill him. Not yet. Not without getting the answers he needed. His hand shot out, grabbing Ben's collar, shaking him as if he could pull him back from the edge.

  "No!" he shouted, his voice filled with fury. He shook Ben harder, the dead man's body limp and unresponsive. "Wake up! You tell me what you meant! You tell me now!"

  But Ben was gone.

  Tom's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he stared at the lifeless body in his grasp. His mind raced, replaying Ben's final words over and over again. "She won't live much longer?" What did that mean? What had he done? What did he know about Rosie? Had it anything to do with her sickness?

  With a growl of frustration, Tom let Ben's body fall to the ground. He stood there for a moment, the silence pressing in on him like a suffocating weight. He had been so close. So close to finding out whatever secret Ben had been hiding. And now, it was gone with him.

  Tom turned away from the body, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Ben had to be lying. There was no way Rosalie was in danger. She was safe, protected in the home he had built for her. She was strong, resilient. Nothing could touch her, not now.

  But doubt gnawed at him. Ben had been a trusted follower once, someone who knew more than most. And there had been something in the way he'd said it—so calm, so certain. As if he had known something Tom didn't.

  He would find out what Ben meant. He would protect Rosalie, no matter what. Because if there was one thing Tom Riddle had never failed at, it was getting what he wanted.

  And what he wanted now was to make sure no one—no one—took Rosie from him again.

  Not even death.

---

  The forest dipped under the moonlight stretched before them, a world untouched by the chaos and bloodshed of their lives. Rosie walked in silence, Tom in silent suffering, their hands clasped together, fingers intertwined like roots growing from the same dark soil. The air was crisp and cool, and the only sounds that broke the stillness were the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl.

  Rosalie, in her long black cloak, hid the pregnancy she was uneasily thinking about, the darkness polar to the light of her hair and the paleness of her skin. Her steps were light, almost floating, while her beauty remained haunting. Tom had always admired that about her—how her darkness was never something to fear but to cherish. She was a creature of contradiction: beautiful and fierce, tender and fiery, loving and mysterious. She was the one thing in his life that made sense, yet she was the one thing he could never fully understand.

  He looked at her now, her pale skin glowing in the soft moonlight, and felt that familiar pull—the one that had drawn him to her in the beginning. It had been more than mere attraction. She had become a part of him, a mirror to his own soul, and for the first time in his life, he thought had known what it meant to love someone. Truly love them.

  But even as he loved her, Tom knew that he had never really learned how to love. Not in the way she had shown him.

  Rosalie glanced up at him, sensing his thoughts, her eyes reflecting both warmth and sorrow. "You're thinking too much," she said, her voice soft, laced with that familiar playfulness he adored. "You're supposed to be enjoying the moment."

  "I am," Tom replied, his gaze fixed on her. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Even after all this time, she captivated him, held him in a way no one else ever could. "I'm just... thinking about how beautiful you look."

  Rosie smiled faintly, shaking her head. "You always say that," she teased. "You think that will distract me from whatever is really on your mind."

  Tom chuckled, pulling her closer to him as they walked. "It's the truth. And you know I'm always honest with you, Rosalie."

  Her smile faded slightly, though the warmth remained in her eyes. "Are you?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost to herself. "Or have you simply charmed me into staying all this time, blinded by the version of you that I wanted to believe in?"

  Tom's steps faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, keeping her hand in his. "Rosalie..." he started, his voice carrying the weight of things left unsaid. "You've always known who I am."

  "Yes," she replied, looking straight ahead. "I have. And that's why I stayed."

  They walked in silence for a few moments, their footsteps soft on the forest floor. Tom's thoughts raced, his mind a whirlwind of emotion. He wanted to say something, to tell her that she had changed him—that her love had made him better. But that would be a lie, wouldn't it?

  Rosie had tried to save him. She sacrificed her love, her body, her life, to save Tom Riddle from himself but in the end even she, the keeper of her soul. No matter if she begged and pleaded and lay on her deathbed a perfect example of what he had to now avoid, his own selfish self hate only drew him against what she had been pulling him towards. To acceptance, to kindness, to the existence being the root of his sin and the blood still flowing in his veins the punishment.

  He couldn't change. Not for her. Not for anyone.

  She knew that.

  He knew that.

  And they both clung to that fact with their lives, hanging onto each other in the cold darkness of morality.

  "I thought..." Rosie began, her voice trembling slightly, though she held her composure. "I thought that if I loved you enough, I could pull you away from the path you were on. I thought that if I gave everything I had, you'd see that love could be stronger."

  Tom said nothing, his jaw tightening. He had heard these words before. She had told him this time and time again. But this time, it felt different.

  "I sacrificed myself" Rosalie whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "To save you from yourself. But even I—the owner of your heart—couldn't do it. I couldn't save you. I don't think you wanted to be saved; and I began to live with it."

  Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and sharp. Tom's grip on her hand tightened, but Rosalie gently pulled away, stopping in her tracks and turning to face him. She looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with both love and pain, a mixture he had come to know all too well.

  "You never changed, Tom," she said, her voice steady now. "You simply charmed me into staying. You made me believe that you could be saved, that you deserved to be loved. And I believed it, because I saw the good in you. I saw that you wanted to be loved. But you could never learn to love anything but me in return. Not truly."

  Tom's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He wanted to protest, to tell her that she was wrong, that he did  love things in his own way. But deep down, he knew she was right. He had always kept a part of himself hidden from the world, even from her—the part that was too afraid to let go of his darkness. His selfish love of only her ate away at him.

  "You've always been my black swan," Rosalie continued, her voice soft, yet firm. "Dark, beautiful, untouchable. And I've loved you for it. Every sacrifice brought me to the conclusion, that you, Tom Riddle, cannot be changed the way I wanted you to. You can bathe in my sunlight all you want but you will always live in the dark."

  Tom swallowed hard, his eyes locked on hers. He had never felt so helpless. He had always believed that love was something he could control, something he could bend to his will. But now, standing here with Rosalie, he realised that love was not something to be mastered. It was something to be given freely, without condition, without expectation. And he had never learned how to do that.

  "I don't want to lose you, I learned to love you. Isn't that enough?" Tom said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

  Rosalie smiled softly but didn't answer immediately. Instead, she squeezed his hands and tilted her head, her lips parting slightly as if she were on the verge of saying something, but then she stopped herself. Her eyes softened with a certain kind of understanding—a knowledge that went beyond words, something unspoken but present between them.

  Tom's heart tightened in his chest, and he thought of what Ben told him. "You're going to leave me, aren't you?" he accused, his voice sharp, his grip on her hands tightening. "That's what this is, isn't it? You're just going to abandon me? After everything, you're going to leave me alone. What is that teaching me about love? That I should give up on it?"

  Rosalie's expression shifted, sadness clouding her features for a brief moment before she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "No, Tom," she said gently, her voice almost a whisper. "That's not what I'm teaching you."

  "Then what?" Tom's voice cracked, his frustration and fear rising to the surface. "What am I supposed to learn from this? You think I can just... move on from you? Forget?"

  Rosalie shook her head again, her eyes filling with a deep, quiet grief. "I know you, Tom. I know that the moment I'm gone, as much as I don't want it to happen, the darkness will return to your heart." She swallowed, her gaze steady. "And you will forget about me."

  "No," Tom replied quickly, his tone fierce. "I would never forget you, Rosie. Never."

  Her lips curved into a sad smile. "You say that now, and maybe you even believe it. But I know you, Tom. I know what's inside you, the part of you that you can't outrun. That part will swallow everything. Even me."

  Tom's breath caught, the words sinking into him like cold steel. He opened his mouth to speak, to deny her, but the look in her eyes stopped him. It was a look that saw through him, a look that had always seen the truth, even when he tried to hide it.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the forest around them quiet and still, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Rosalie's fingers lightly traced his knuckles, and her gaze softened, though the sorrow never left it.

  "What more could I have done?" Rosalie whispered, her voice breaking ever so slightly, the question hanging in the air like a plea. "What else could I have done to save you?"

  Tom's chest ached at her words, his mind racing to find something to say, some reassurance he could give her. But before he could respond, Rosalie's eyes seemed to glaze over, as if she were no longer fully present with him.

  "I understand now," she said, almost to herself, her voice distant. "I understand how he did it. How Albus chose the world over my father." Her eyes refocused on Tom, her lips trembling slightly. "It... hurts. Tom, it hurts."

  Tom's heart clenched painfully in his chest, and he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead in a desperate attempt to comfort her, to reassure her that she wasn't alone. "Rosalie," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "You gave me love. You gave me more than anyone ever could. You did save me."

  But even as he spoke, he could feel her slipping away, not in body, but in spirit, retreating into some part of herself that he couldn't reach. He kissed her again, his lips lingering on her skin, trying to hold her there with him.

  Rosalie didn't say anything, but in her heart, she knew the truth. She had given him love, yes, but she had also brought him pain—pain that would linger long after she was gone. She had tried to save him from his own darkness, and in doing so, she had become part of the very pain that had shaped him.

  And now, as she stood here in the moonlight, holding the man she had loved beyond reason, she realised that she could never save him from himself. She could love him, but she couldn't change him. She couldn't pull him out of the shadows he had embraced for so long.

  All she could do was love him, even as she let him go.

  But she wasn't ready to say goodbye—not yet. Not tonight.

  Rosalie pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his, and for the first time that evening, her smile reached her eyes. "Let's not talk about this anymore," she whispered. "Let's just... be here. Together."

  Tom nodded, though the weight of her words lingered in the back of his mind, heavy and inescapable. He held her close, his arms wrapped around her protectively, as if he could shield her from everything—from the world, from the darkness, from the inevitability of time.

  And as they stood there in the stillness of the forest, bathed in moonlight, Tom realised that this moment, however fleeting, was all they had. And for now, it was enough.

---

  Rosalie lay on the bed in their dimly lit room, her face pale but determined. The hours had stretched long, and her breath came in slow, shallow gasps between the contractions. Tom knelt beside her, gripping her hand with both reassurance and an unspoken reverence. Sweat beaded her forehead, but she still glowed in his eyes. To Tom, even in this moment of intense pain, Rosalie was radiant—her beauty undiminished, her strength profound.

  "Breathe, Rosie," he whispered, his voice low but steady. His thumb stroked over her knuckles, trying to channel his calm into her trembling fingers. It pained him to see her like this, but he had promised himself he wouldn't leave her side. Not this time. He had missed the birth of Tommy, a regret that lingered in the back of his mind, but today was different. Today, he would be here for every moment, and nothing would pull him away from her side.

  Rosalie let out a shaky breath and squeezed his hand tighter as another contraction overtook her. Her face contorted in pain, and Tom felt utterly helpless. He had conquered worlds, taken lives, defied death itself, but in this room, beside his wife, he was powerless in the face of nature's unrelenting force. All he could do was hold on, whisper words of love, and wait.

  "You're doing so well," he murmured, brushing damp strands of her dark hair from her face. "So well, my love."

  Rosalie managed a smile, though it was faint, her lips trembling. "Easy for you to say," she huffed, her voice strained yet still tinged with the same playful spirit that had drawn him to her so many years ago. Even now, in the midst of agony, she remained his Rosalie—sharp, strong, and beautiful.

  "I'm glad you're here," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his. "I couldn't do this without you."

  "I'm not going anywhere," Tom replied firmly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He meant it in every sense. In this moment, he was hers, utterly devoted. No thoughts of power or conquest, no shadows of the past. Just her. Just them.

  As another wave of pain hit, Rosalie cried out, her grip on Tom's hand tightening so fiercely it felt like she might crush his bones. But he welcomed it—let her take his strength, as much as she needed.

  "It's almost time," the midwife's voice interrupted softly, but there was a tremor of urgency behind it. Rosalie nodded, eyes squeezed shut, bracing herself.

  Tom's breath hitched as he saw the intensity of the moment build, the culmination of everything they had been through together. The pain, the joy, the struggles—they were all converging here. Rosalie had sacrificed so much for him. Her love, her body, her soul, all for a man who once thought himself incapable of love.

  "You're almost there," Tom encouraged, his voice soft but determined. "I know you can do this, Rosie."

  With a final, guttural push, a sharp cry pierced the air—the sound of their daughter's first breath. Rosalie collapsed back onto the pillows, her chest heaving with exhaustion, but the relief was immediate. Tears welled in her eyes as the midwife handed the tiny, squirming baby to her.

  Tom stared, captivated, as Rosalie cradled their newborn daughter against her chest, her tears now flowing freely. She was so small, so fragile, and yet she had the unmistakable power to bind him even further to this woman. He reached out to touch the baby's tiny hand, his heart swelling with emotions he could hardly name.

  Yet beneath that surface, a darker thought twisted through his mind—one he couldn't quite banish. He looked at the baby, at her delicate form resting so peacefully in Rosalie's arms, and for a fleeting second, instead of feeling whole, he felt... a loss.

  She was a part of Rosalie, yes. But she was also something taken from Rosalie—a part of her that now existed outside, no longer just his. As beautiful as their daughter was, she had cost him something—a piece of Rosalie that could never return. A thought crossed his mind, unbidden: this child would bind Rosalie to him more deeply, keep her tethered to him. He had missed the birth of their son, but this time, he had been there. This time, the child would seal their bond. Rosalie would never leave him now, not with this baby in her arms.

  "She's perfect," Rosalie whispered, her voice thick with emotion, gazing down at their daughter with awe. She looked up at Tom then, her eyes soft but purposeful. "I want to name her Lily," she said. "Lily Riddle... after my best friend."

  Tom's breath caught in his throat, guilt rippling through him like a cold tide. William had died by his own hand, an action that had once cost him Rosalie. There was a hurt in his eye that she had chosen something so foreign. It was a necessary act, he told himself at the time. But now, seeing the love in Rosalie's eyes, hearing the name she wished to bestow upon their daughter, a pang of regret twisted within him.

  "Lily..." Tom repeated, tasting the name on his lips. It was a beautiful name—just as beautiful as Rosalie, whose name itself was a tribute to the delicate, dark bloom that had always seemed to reflect her. But something about it seemed ill fated.

  "I know," Rosalie whispered, sensing his hesitation. "I know what happened. But Lily was always there for me. Even after everything. It would mean so much to me... to her and to William."

  Tom looked into Rosalie's eyes and saw the depth of her feelings. How could he deny her? He couldn't. His own guilt, his anger, his own regrets—they were nothing compared to what this name meant to her.

  He smiled, though there was a bittersweet edge to it. "Lily Riddle," he said softly, nodding. "It's a beautiful name. As beautiful as you, my Rosie."

  Rosalie's face softened, and she reached out to take his hand once more. The birth had been long, hard, but now they had their daughter in their arms. Tom leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rosalie's forehead, then to their newborn's head.

  But even as he kissed her, that small, persistent thought remained. This child... was more than just a symbol of their love. She was also a weight that would keep Rosalie bound to him, a tether that would prevent her from ever walking away. He had given her something precious—something that would keep her loving him, keep her from ever seeing past his flaws and cruelty.

  "I'm glad you were here," Rosalie whispered again, her eyes fluttering closed in exhaustion, but her lips curved in a peaceful smile. "For this."

  "I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Tom replied, his voice hushed. But as he watched her, as he gazed down at their newborn daughter, he couldn't shake the dark thought that flickered in the back of his mind. The child was a bond, a reminder that Rosalie was his—now and always.

  For Rosalie, Lily was love. But for Tom, she was something more—something that would ensure Rosalie could never escape him, never forget him, never leave him alone. Lily Riddle only meant something to him because Rosalie meant something to him. 

  And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of Rosalie, Tom Riddle allowed himself to believe—if only for a little while—that he could truly be happy.

A/N

oh god....

okay so i lied again i seem to do that a lot. this will be the semi final chapter that i post (even though i have about 2 more which will be posted together sort of like part 1 and part 2.) everything is almost set into place at this point i dont even know what to stay with you im surprised you guys have read this far.

I feel like even though this is a fanfiction i cant emphasise enough how deep down tom doesnt give a fuck about his children its all about rosalie, unfortunately this isn't a happy family because tom is a manipulative soul destroyer my poor baby rosalie... Tom really only gives a fuck about rosie and wants children so shes more tied to him because atp hes grasping at straws to keep her as he digs himself deeper into his little hole of darkness.

hope u guys are gonna be ready for some plot twists muahhaaha.