To Love A Villain

Chapter 244: Side Story - New Parents

>>Third Person POV (Aurelia)

Some hearts are born in fire,

shaped in silence,

tempered by days no one saw

and wounds no one mended.

And yet, two broken souls,

dragging the rust of all they’ve carried,

can meet in the hush between tragedies—

and find, not rescue,

but rest.

Not perfection,

but peace.

The baby was crying again. The sound of her wailing echoing in the room.

Hael shifted her gently in his arms, his broad hands awkward and tender as he tried for the third time to bounce her in a slow rhythm, the way Amber did. But the tiny girl writhed against his chest, her soft cries rising in pitch, becoming desperate, almost angry. Zola’s small fists clenched tight, her face scrunched, her breath caught in hiccuping sobs that pierced through Hael’s chest like tiny, perfect knives.

"Shhh, hey now... I’m right here, why are you crying," he whispered, voice low, strained. "It’s okay, I got you. I got you."

He didn’t, though.

Not really. And he knew that as well. This was all too new for him.

His hands, that can summon any spell with a flick on his fingers, trembled slightly as he rocked her. His silver eyes, rimmed with sleeplessness and something deeper—guilt, maybe—flicked toward the door every few seconds, as if willing Amber to appear and make everything okay again.

Hael was strong, in the way that only those who had suffered learn to be. But strength didn’t teach him this. It didn’t teach him how to hold a one-month-old child who cried like her world was ending, even when he was doing everything he could to hold it together for her.

Zola wailed louder. It was as if she was pushing him away with her voice alone.

"I know," he murmured. "I know. You don’t want me. You want her."

As if summoned by the aching thread in his voice, Amber rushed into the bedroom. Her hair was messy, damp from a hasty attempt at rest, but her eyes were clear, alert—the kind of alert that only came from new motherhood and unending love.

"Hael," she said softly, stepping close.

"I—I’ve been trying," he said, helpless, still rocking Zola. "She won’t stop. I tried everything."

Amber didn’t respond right away. She only reached out, her hands warm and gentle, and placed them around her daughter. Hael hesitated.

His arms didn’t want to let go, even as Zola screamed in them. He looked down at her—his daughter—and for a second, his face cracked open with something fragile and raw.

But then he let her go. How could he keep her when she didn’t want him?

The moment Zola touched Amber’s chest, her cries faltered. Her breathing hitched a few more times, then slowed. Her little head tucked into the crook of her mother’s neck, and her body melted against her.

Silence.

Not the kind that suffocates.

The kind that heals.

Amber didn’t say ’I told you so.’ She didn’t need to. She just swayed, holding Zola close, rubbing slow circles into her back. And Hael—empty-armed, full-hearted—sat on the edge of the bed and watched them with a strange ache blooming in his chest.

He looked at Amber, hands slack on his knees. The rhythmic hush of Amber’s voice calmed Zola almost immediately, the baby’s breathing slowing as her little body nestled deeper into her mother’s warmth. Hael watched it all unfold—the peace he couldn’t bring, the quiet he couldn’t offer.

And with every breath Zola took against Amber’s chest, something in him pulled tighter. Not anger. Not jealousy.

Just... loss.

A subtle kind of grief.

He stared for a few more seconds, then slowly rose to his feet. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch Amber’s shoulder, and for sure, he didn’t even try to reach for his daughter. He just walked out, his footsteps almost too quiet to hear.

Amber turned her head as he left. Her eyes lingered on the doorway long after he was gone, but she didn’t move to follow. Not yet.

She had to put Zola to sleep first before she went after her husband.

It took her a few minutes, but Zola finally fell into slumber.

She thdn walked slowly to the crib, whispering to the little girl as she laid her down, tucking the edges of the blanket around her like a prayer. She brushed soft strands of baby hair away from Zola’s brow and kissed her cheek once.

"I’ll be right back," she whispered.

***

The lab smelled of parchment, ink, and candle smoke. The stone walls were cool, lit only by the glow of two orbs floating lazily above the desk. Scrolls lay spread in chaotic order, arcane markings curling across them like restless vines. Hael stood hunched over them, sleeves rolled, fingers stained with ink and something more ancient.

Amber stepped into the doorway and leaned quietly against the frame. For a moment, she said nothing. Just watched him. The way his jaw tightened, the way his hand trembled slightly when he reached for the next scroll.

He wasn’t reading them. He was simply looking but his mind was elsewhere. No one would be able to tell if they saw him, She knew him too well.

"Hael?" she asked softly.

He didn’t turn.

"I’m just busy," he said, almost too quickly.

Amber stepped closer, her voice gentler now. "That’s not what I asked."

"I have to finish this mapping," he added, as if that explained everything. "These sigils—if we don’t interpret them right, the whole calibration will be off when the conduit opens. This is an assignment I have to complete—"

"Hael." She said his name like it was a hand on his back. Not pushing. Just there.

He paused. Let the quill fall from his fingers with a clink. Then he sighed, low and long, and finally looked at her. His eyes were tired. Wounded in ways he couldn’t name.

"She didn’t want me," he said.

Amber walked to him, close enough to reach for his hand. He didn’t take hers. Just stared down at the scrolls like they might offer him better answers.

"She cried so much. And the second she was in your arms, she was fine. Like I wasn’t even... part of her. Like I scared her." It was another foreign feeling to him. He never wanted attention like this before, like he wants from Zola.

Amber frowned and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist from the side, resting her head lightly against his shoulder. He was stiff at first, uncertain, but didn’t pull away.

"She’s one month old, Hael," she murmured. "All she knows is my heartbeat and my scent. That’s not rejection. That’s instinct."

He exhaled. "Feels like rejection."

"She’ll learn you. You’re not something she’s supposed to just know." Amber pulled back and looked up at him. "And Hael... you didn’t exactly grow up knowing how to be loved. Of course this feels foreign to you. But that doesn’t mean she hates you."

"I couldn’t fix it," he said, voice low. "I held her and she only cried harder."

"You held her. That is fixing it. That’s being there, even when it hurts. Even when she cries. That’s the only way she’ll ever learn to feel safe with you."

Hael finally looked at his wife, and in that glance was something sharp and soft all at once.

"I just... wanted to be enough." He was still learning how to voice his feelings and he was doing a great job at it now.

Amber smiled, brushing a thumb over his ink-stained hand.

"You are. She just doesn’t have the words yet to tell you."

Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t heavy this time. It held room.

Room for healing.

Hael turned slightly, letting his forehead rest against hers. "You’re sure?"

"I’m sure," she whispered. "She doesn’t hate you. She’s just new to this world. And so are you."

Hael leaned against the edge of the worktable, the weight in his chest softening but not quite lifting. Amber was still close, their foreheads brushing. Her presence always felt like a slow-burning lantern in a long, dark tunnel—never blinding, but constant.

After a moment, he gave a faint, sheepish breath of a laugh.

"We’re both new at this," he said quietly. "How come you’re so good at it already?"

Amber chuckled, warm and light. She pulled back enough to meet his eyes, a spark of old memory lighting her smile.

"I kind of cheated," she admitted, a touch of playfulness in her voice. "In my other life—the one in the modern world, I lived with these noisy neighbors. My neighbors had more kids than sense. Seven, I think. Maybe eight? I lost count."

Hael raised an eyebrow. "Seven?" He couldn’t fathom how someone would go through the pain of having seven children.

"At least," she said, laughing now. "They were always running around barefoot and wild, covered in dirt and stealing stuff from each other. But I loved them. I used to babysit whenever their mother needed to work. I changed diapers, broke up fights, played pretend for hours. One of them—little Talin—used to call me ’mama number two.’" Her expression softened. "I guess some of it stuck."

He watched her as she spoke, like he was trying to memorize the way her eyes lit when she talked about the past. Like it was a story he never thought to ask for until now.

"Sounds... like a whole different world."

"It was," she said, quieter now. "A softer one. But parts of it are still with me. I think they help."

Hael nodded slowly, then looked down at his ink-streaked fingers again, his tone turning quieter.

"I’ve never held a baby that small before," he said. "Or... any baby. At all."

Amber didn’t react with pity—just understanding. She reached out and took his hand in hers this time, gently wiping a little ink from the side of his thumb with her sleeve.

"Then you’re learning everything from the beginning," she said. "That’s not something to be ashamed of, Hael. That’s something to be proud of."

He exhaled, deep and slow, letting her words settle in places he didn’t know were aching.

"I didn’t know they made noises like that," he added dryly. "Like tiny angry birds being set on fire."

Amber laughed again, tilting her head. "They do. And they’ll keep doing it for a long time."

He gave her a small smile. "Great."

"But you’ll get better. Day by day."

"I’m not sure I’m cut out for this."

"You are," she said with quiet certainty. "I know you are. Because you held her even when it hurt. You kept trying even when you didn’t know what to do."

He looked at her, and for the first time that night, let a sliver of hope cross his face.

Amber stepped closer and laid her hand gently over his heart.

"And I’ll always be here to help."