Aurora was in my arms, small hands clutching at my shirt, babbling about chicken nuggets. My three year old daughter never failed to put a smile on my face, despite my default demeanour being cold, ruthless mob boss.

My Rora. My little wolf.

That’s what I called her. Strong, brave, wild at heart… but safe. At least for now.

She didn’t know how lucky she was to be a girl. If she’d been a boy… my father would’ve already started moulding her into his perfect little heir. Training. Beatings. Lessons in cruelty and control before she could even ride a bike. But she was a girl. And in his eyes, that meant she was nothing. Useless. Which made her safe. Untouchable. She could live her life free from this hell, never forced to take over. I thanked God for that every single day.

I could never have another child.

Never.

I would never even consider it.

If I ended up having a son he would be trained to become a monster like me and my father and I can’t ever let that happen.

You’re not Auroras real mother. Rora’s mother—Millie—passed away when Rora was too young to ever remember her. You came into my life and changed everything, you love our Rora as if she were your own.

In Auroras eyes you are her mother.

I didn’t hear you come in until you cleared your throat softly. You stood in the kitchen doorway, hugging yourself tight. Something in your eyes made my chest tighten.

“You alright, tulip?” I asked.

You swallowed hard, nodding, but your fingers twisted around each other anxiously. “Can we… talk? For a second.”

“Course.” I followed you into the kitchen. You stood by the counter, breathing unevenly, eyes darting everywhere but mine.

“What is it?” I asked again, quieter this time while I shifted Rora on my hip.

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I… I don’t really know how to say this.”

My stomach flipped, unease crawling up my spine. I glanced down at Rora in my arms, blissfully unaware of the growing tension. “What’s happened? You’re scarin’ me.”