His expression hardened and he brought his hand to his face, brushing his fingers over the slash across his cheek. “She was crazy and wanted to kill me most of the time. Nothing to be sorry about.”
I sighed, careful not to push him too hard. “Still. You shouldn’t have been exposed to any of it. You deserved to be loved by her.” He cleared his throat but remained silent.
“Is there something I can do for you? Anything at all?”
He gulped and shot me an uncertain look. “A hug, maybe? Please.”
My chest swelled with compassion for him, and I pulled him into my embrace.
“Of course,” I murmured against his dark hair, holding him tightly to me. “You don’t even have to ask.”
“This makes me a baby, doesn’t it?”
I scoffed. “Absolutely not. I needed one myself just a few minutes ago, and I’m much older than you. It makes us human.”
He hummed against my chest, but he didn’t agree or disagree.
“I’ve never gotten a hug from a mother,” he mumbled against my chest.
My heart twisted, knowing full well how it felt to crave that love. He had Lykos, but there was something about a mother’s love that couldn’t be replicated.
“Whenever you need one,” I croaked out, “I’m right here.”
He pulled back slightly and looked up at me. “Does that mean you’re not leaving?”
“I hope not.” I pulled him back into my arms. “Not unless your papa sends me away.”
“He won’t,” he said with unwavering conviction. “Violet?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think I inherited my mother’s crazy gene?”
I took a moment before answering, careful with my words. It wasn’t a casual question—it sat too heavy behind his eyes.
“That’s a common fear,” I said gently. “But it’s also a common misconception—that all mental illness is inherited, like it’s passed down cleanly from parent to child.” I shifted slightly, keeping my gaze steady on his. “The truth is, it’s not that simple. Some conditions can have genetic components, yes, but many don’t. A lot of what we see comes from the environment, lived experiences, trauma… Things that shape a person over time, not something they’re simply born with.”
His expression didn’t fully ease, but it softened—just slightly.
“I didn’t get to hear your mother’s thoughts or understand her internal world,” I continued, “but from what I’ve seen, her case doesn’t point to something you’re destined to inherit. And more importantly…” I paused, letting that land, “I don’t see any of her in you.”
There was still uncertainty in his eyes, but the edge of panic had dulled. Not gone, but quieter.
“Just promise me one thing.”
“Yes?”
“You’ll always ask for what you need.” He smiled, suddenly looking much younger than his years, like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. “Okay?”
He nodded. “And you promise me that you’ll stay.”
It was my turn to smile. “You got it.”
There were now two promises that I fully intended to keep.
THIRTY-SIX
LYKOS
