Chapter 57

Beth didn't wake all at once.

It was the soft thump of footsteps that stirred her first—the hurried patter of smaller feet, followed by the uneven rhythm of a much heavier, familiar tread. Then came the squeak of a cabinet door. The dull clink of ceramic plates. The unmistakable whoosh-pop of the toaster springing to life.

She smiled into the pillow before her eyes even opened.

Cassie's laugh floated down the hallway, bright and free, followed closely by Changbin's voice—loud, exaggerated, half-sung in a terrible falsetto.

"MASTER CHEF BARNACLE STRIKES AGAIN! Oh no! The seaweed toast is escaping! Quick, Chef Gomi, to the rescue!"

Cassie shrieked with laughter. "Uncle Binnie, that's not toast, that's a sponge!"

"Well, that explains why it tastes like dishwater," he said gravely. "Abort the mission! Somebody call the narwhal patrol!"

Beth groaned softly, stretching beneath the covers as warmth spread through her chest. Her body was heavy, her limbs tangled in sheets that smelled like lavender and sunlight and the faintest trace of him. The corner of her mouth tilted up. There was no denying it: she felt rested. Safe. Whole in a way she hadn't felt in years.

A second voice joined them in the kitchen—quieter, smoother. Hana.

"Maybe we use the real seaweed this time," she said, her tone calm but amused. "And the real toast."

"Pshh," Changbin huffed. "Where's the drama in that?"

Cassie giggled. "You're so silly."

"I'm professionally silly, thank you very much."

Beth chuckled into the sheets. The sun was angling across the room now, warm and syrupy, casting soft lines across the hardwood floor. The bedroom door was cracked open just enough to let the golden morning in. She didn't want to move yet. Didn't want to disrupt this perfect stillness.

Her phone buzzed.

Once. Twice. Then a third time, vibrating insistently against the nightstand.

She frowned, rolling over with a reluctant sigh and squinting at the screen.

Henry.

The name punched a hole straight through the peace in her chest.

She stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen.

Then she answered.

"What?" Her voice came out sharper than intended. Low. Guarded.

"Good morning to you too," came Henry's voice—smooth, practiced, already laced with condescension. "Glad to hear you're back to picking up your phone. Must be nice to have the luxury of ignoring co-parents."

Beth sat up, the sheets slipping off her shoulders. "If this is about visitation again—"

"No. Not just visitation." His tone shifted. Sharpened. "I'm letting you know I'm appealing the court's decision."

The room tilted. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

"I am fully aware of the appeal, Henry. Why are you calling me about it?"

Her voice was low but steady, clipped at the edges with the effort it took not to let the tremble bleed through. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feet finding the hardwood floor, grounding herself in something physical—something real. Her other hand clenched the duvet in a tight fist, nails digging into the fabric as she pressed the phone harder against her ear.

Henry let out a scoff on the other end, all smugness and derision. "Because I wanted you to hear it from me, not from your attorney. Not from a court summons. I'm giving you the chance to do the right thing—before this gets ugly."

Beth blinked, stunned for a moment. Her heart thudded once, heavy and hot in her chest.

"You mean before you make it ugly," she said, slowly rising to her feet, the tension in her spine coiling like a wire about to snap. "You're calling me first thing in the morning, threatening legal warfare over Cassie, and you think you're the one doing the right thing?"

"She's my daughter too."

Beth's laugh broke out—dry and humorless. "Oh, now she is? Now that you've decided you can't stand the idea of someone else making her breakfast? Tucking her in at night? Teaching her how to tie her shoes without raising their voice?"

"She's not yours to keep from me, Beth."

"I'm not keeping her from you," she snapped. "The judge is. Based on your behavior. Based on what you did. And what you didn't do."

He was silent for half a second too long. Then: "You always did like playing the victim."

That did it.

Beth's whole body lit up, fury flashing white-hot behind her eyes. Her voice rose before she could stop it, sharp enough to cut through the morning air like a blade.

"You hit me, Henry."

The words hung there. Open. Raw. Unflinching.

"You pushed me in front of our daughter. You screamed at me so loud the neighbors called the cops. You humiliated me. Gaslit me. Controlled me. And now you're acting like I'm the one rewriting history?"

"I never—" he started, but she didn't let him finish.

"You did. And you know what the worst part is? I still tried to make it work. I still gave you space to be her father. But all you ever cared about was being in control. Not about her. Not about what she needs. Just about winning."

In the silence that followed, Beth's chest rose and fell in jagged breaths. Her hand was shaking now, knuckles white around her phone. Somewhere in the kitchen, Cassie was still laughing, the sounds of breakfast still unfolding in bright, gentle chaos. It felt like two worlds layered over each other—one soft, safe, golden... and the other still dark, still sharp with old ghosts that refused to stay buried.

Henry's voice returned, quiet now. Cold.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Beth. That fantasy you've built around yourself. The judges, the bodyguards, the fake family. I'm not going away."

Her lips parted on a soundless breath.

Then she hung up.

Beth stared at the blank screen in her hand, heart pounding in her ears, the silence in the room suddenly louder than the morning bustle beyond the door. Her breath hitched—sharp, ragged, nearly feral with how fast her pulse had shifted from warmth to rage. Then, without thinking, she threw the phone across the bed. It hit the pillows with a dull thud and bounced once before settling face-down.

Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her jaw clenched. Her whole body shook with the force of everything she hadn't said. Everything she wanted to scream.

So she did.

She dropped back onto the bed, face-first, and let it out—one long, muffled scream into the pillow, teeth clenched, throat burning, breath shattering against cotton. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't poised. It was raw. Ugly. Human. The kind of scream that came from deep in her gut, from the center of every sleepless night and every bone-deep fear that she still wasn't enough. That somehow, he could still take her daughter from her. Still reach into her life and poison it.

She screamed until her lungs gave out. Then flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling with wide, stinging eyes and trembling lips. Her chest heaved, the ache in her ribs sharp and echoing.

Outside the door, the kitchen had gone quiet.

A chair scraped softly against the tile. Light footsteps moved toward the hallway.

Then came the knock.

Gentle. Just once.

"Beth?" Changbin's voice, softer now. Concern tucked into every syllable. "You okay?"

She didn't answer right away.

She couldn't.

Her throat was still raw from the scream, her chest rising and falling like she'd just run a mile, and every inch of her skin felt too tight for her body. She was flushed, limbs rigid, curled fists still trembling against the duvet. For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, eyes rimmed red but dry—burned out by the force of the fury that had just torn through her.

The knock came again. Softer. Closer.

"Beth," Changbin said, voice low through the door now. "It's just me. I left Cassie with Hana for a minute."

She didn't mean to move. But her body turned toward the sound instinctively, like he was the gravity pulling her back to earth.

The door cracked open.

Light spilled in first—pale morning gold layered over his silhouette. He didn't step in right away. He waited. Eyes scanning her face. Her posture. The frayed edges of her breathing.

When she didn't push him away, he crossed the threshold.

His bare feet made almost no sound on the floor. He didn't ask what happened. Didn't say you look like hell even though she knew she did. He just came to her side, careful and steady, and sat on the edge of the bed like he had a hundred times in the last month—but this time, he didn't reach for her right away.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, voice barely more than a breath.

Beth nodded.

He reached for her hand first—gently pried her fingers open from the tight ball they'd curled into and slid his palm into hers. She hadn't realized how cold her hands were until they touched his. His thumb brushed along the side of hers, slow and anchoring. His other hand came to rest against her ribs, just above her waist, where her breath still hiccupped unevenly beneath her skin.

She closed her eyes.

The moment stretched, quiet except for the buzz of the refrigerator in the next room and the faint murmur of Hana's voice soothing Cassie in the kitchen.

"Henry called," Beth whispered.

Changbin's hand tightened around hers.

"He said he's appealing the ruling. That he's not done. That he's not going away."

There was no immediate answer. Just the weight of him beside her, steady and calm. A grounding presence in the middle of the chaos still echoing in her skull.

"I hung up on him," she said, voice cracking. "And then I screamed into the pillow like a crazy person. Cassie probably heard me—"

"She didn't," he cut in gently. "I was with her. She's fine."

Beth's breath stuttered. She pressed the heel of her free hand to her eyes.

"I hate him," she whispered. "I hate how he still gets in my head. How he makes me feel like I'm losing, like I'm—failing her. Like I'm still not enough."

Changbin didn't say you are enough.

He didn't need to.

Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the crown of her head, his breath soft against her hair.

"I know it feels like he still has power over you," he murmured, "but he doesn't, Beth. Not anymore. Not where it counts. Not here."

Her hand clenched in his shirt, clutching it against her chest.

"I'm glad you screamed into the pillow. You've been holding it in too long. Next time though I'd be happy to be the reason you scream."

Beth froze, her breath catching mid-inhale.

She wasn't sure if she'd heard him right.

Her head tilted slightly back, just enough to see his face, and—yep—there it was. That crooked half-smile, just barely there, tugging at the corner of his mouth like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to have said it out loud. Mischief, warmth, and something quieter all warred for space in his eyes.

She blinked at him.

Then—slowly, unbelievably—laughed.

It wasn't a big laugh. It was breathy, small, caught halfway between disbelief and relief. But it broke something in her. Something brittle that had been bracing for impact since the second her phone rang.

"You're such an idiot," she said, voice cracking on a half-sob, half-laugh as she scrubbed the heel of her hand down her face.

Changbin shrugged one shoulder, still not letting go of her hand. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

Beth shook her head, eyes glassy, lips twitching like she couldn't quite decide whether to smile or cry. She looked down at their hands—his fingers still threaded with hers, warm and grounding and real—and let out a soft, broken sigh.

"I needed that," she admitted.

"I know," he said gently. "That's why I said it."

Beth didn't answer right away.

She just stared at him, trying not to let the smile win. Her cheeks were flushed, either from the crying or the comment or both, and her breath was still catching in her chest—but the worst of it had passed. She could feel it in the way her limbs no longer shook. In the way the tension in her spine was giving way to something softer, something exhausted but safe.

Changbin didn't push. He just sat there with her, rubbing his thumb along the side of her hand, gaze steady and open and waiting.

Then, without warning, Beth sat up fast—too fast—and pulled him down with her, wrapping both arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest like she could disappear inside the safety of him.

He laughed, startled but not resisting, stumbling a little before collapsing onto the bed beside her.

"Woah, okay—hi—yes, hello, that's one way to snuggle—" he said with a grin, arms instinctively winding around her waist. "Should I be scared?"

Beth didn't answer. Just pressed her face tighter to the soft fabric of his t-shirt and let out a muffled groan that might have been something like "shut up."

Changbin chuckled, deep and warm. He shifted beneath her, his body angled on its side so he could wrap around her fully, one arm slung low across her hips, the other bent beneath her head. She clung to him, breathing him in like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

"You okay?" he murmured eventually, his voice low against her hair.

Beth nodded. Or tried to. It came out more like a nuzzle. "I hate him," she whispered, voice muffled into his chest. "But I love this. Us. You and Cassie. This whole... life."

He didn't answer with words. Just pulled her in tighter, his chin resting on the top of her head, his palm sliding slow circles over her back.

Then, just when the moment was about to dissolve into quiet again, his hand twitched. Then skated lower. Slipped just beneath the hem of her sweatshirt where the skin at her waist was warm and soft and freshly exposed.

Beth tensed. "Changbin..."

"Hmm?" His voice was innocent. Too innocent.

She pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare—"

He grinned.

Then he struck.

His fingers danced over her sides in quick, feather-light strokes, just above her hipbones, knowing exactly where to aim. Beth shrieked, jerking backward with a half-gasp, half-laugh that betrayed just how ticklish she was.

"Stop it!" she squealed, but she was already laughing, already twisting to escape as he rolled her onto her back and leaned over her with a triumphant grin.

"You wanted a distraction," he teased, pinning her gently beneath him with one arm while the other resumed its terrible mission.

Beth thrashed under him, laughing now in full, breathless gasps, the sound as real and bright as the morning sun spilling across the bed. "You menace—! I hate you—!"

"Lies," he said smugly. "You just said you loved me."

"I didn't mean it!" she shrieked, wheezing through her laughter as she flailed and kicked.

"You did. You so did."

He tickled her again and she yelped, grabbing a pillow and smacking him in the face with it.

He laughed so hard he rolled off her, collapsing onto his back beside her and gasping for breath. Beth followed, both of them panting, tangled in sheets and giggles, her head finding the space between his shoulder and his bicep like it was made to be there.

They lay there in the golden hush, their laughter tapering off, replaced by the soft rhythm of their breathing and the distant clatter of Hana still making breakfast in the kitchen. Cassie's voice drifted in now and then—louder, more excited, probably telling Hana a detailed story about sea turtles or toast pirates.

Beth curled closer.

"Thanks," she said, voice quiet again now, but steadier. "For making me laugh."

Changbin kissed the side of her head. "Thanks for pulling me into bed like an action movie hero."

She smiled against his chest.

"Come on, Hana and I made breakfast."

Beth groaned into his chest. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," Changbin said, grinning into her hair. "Because there are pancakes. And because I didn't let Cassie pour the syrup on her own, so I deserve a medal."

Beth huffed, but she was already moving, pushing off his chest with exaggerated effort. "Ugh. Fine. But I swear, if there's syrup on the ceiling..."

"There's not," he said, standing and offering her a hand. "This time."

She took it, letting him pull her up. He didn't let go. Instead, he laced their fingers together and tugged her gently toward the door.

"C'mon, sunshine," he said, voice playful. "Your public awaits."

The hallway was warm with the smell of cinnamon and toasted bread. Somewhere down the hall, the radiator clinked to life with its usual uneven rhythm, and from the kitchen, the low hum of Hana's voice drifted between the cheerful bursts of Cassie's chatter. As they reached the corner, Changbin slowed, then turned to glance back at her.

"You ready?"

Beth paused, fingers tightening around his just briefly. Her heart still felt bruised, still echoing with the shadow of Henry's voice—but the light in the kitchen, the laughter, the scent of sugar and morning and family—it was louder now.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm ready."

They rounded the corner together—and chaos met them like a wave.

Cassie spotted her before Beth had even stepped fully into the room.

"MAMA!"

She squealed the word with the force of a cannonball, launching herself across the linoleum like a torpedo. Beth barely had time to brace herself before small arms collided with her legs in a tangle of fleece pajamas and flailing limbs.

"Oof—CASS—!" Beth staggered backward, caught off balance.

Changbin moved instinctively, arms catching her from behind just as she began to tip. He steadied her, one hand pressed against the small of her back, the other braced beneath her elbow.

Beth clutched Cassie tight against her thighs, breath catching in surprise as her daughter wrapped around her like a koala, giggling manically.

"You almost took me down, little octopus," Beth murmured, breathless.

Cassie giggled again and looked up at her with a gap-toothed grin. "I missed you!"

Beth bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter's head. "I missed you too, baby."

"You okay?" Changbin murmured against her ear, his hands still steadying her. His breath was warm, his tone quiet—meant only for her.

She nodded without looking, her voice soft. "Yeah. Thanks."

He gave her hip a gentle squeeze before letting go.

Hana appeared then, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, an amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Good morning," she said, her voice warm and light. "Coffee's almost done. And someone has already sampled two pancakes while claiming they were 'testing for poison.'"

Cassie gasped dramatically. "It's my job, Mama! I'm the official poison tester!"

Beth snorted. "I see we've promoted you."

Changbin wandered toward the stove, flipping the last pancake with flair. "Chef Barnacle takes her job very seriously."

Beth looked around the kitchen, heart still pounding—but for different reasons now. The sun through the window lit the table in gold. Plates were already set. A vase of fresh tulips sat in the center—pink and white, probably picked up by Hana on her walk the day before. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla lingered in the air, and the sound of Cassie's laughter—real and unguarded—wrapped around her like a balm.

This was her life now.

Messy. Loud. Chaotic. Bright.

And worth fighting for.

Cassie pulled at her hand. "Mama, sit by me! I saved you the pancake with the heart in it!"

Beth blinked, smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "There's a pancake with a heart?"

"I made it on accident," Changbin said. "Then she claimed it and said it was fate."

"It was fate!" Cassie insisted.

Beth let herself be led to the table.

Let herself sit in the sunshine, between her daughter and the man who had caught her—literally and otherwise—more times than she could count.

And when the first sip of coffee hit her tongue, when Cassie leaned against her shoulder and Changbin handed her a plate with a pancake shaped like a squashed sideways heart, Beth realized that maybe fate had finally done something right.