Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 144

NET USESSIUIT.

Liam Still Wets The Bed. Shh.

Sage

I’m learning that mornings here feel different. It’s so quiet and peaceful, like the world is holding its breath before it starts moving. I pad down the hall toward Diego’s room, my hair still damp from the shower, the smell of coffee and toast drifting up from downstairs. I push his door open with a smile already forming, but it freezes there. He’s not in his bed. He’s crouched in the corner, tiny hands balled up against his chest, shoulders shaking. His racecar sheets are crumpled, and for a second, my brain doesn’t catch up fast enough. All I know is the sound of a child crying in fear. My instincts snap awake. Before I even think about it, I’ve pulled the knife from under my sweatshirt and scanned the room, the closet, the window, under the bed, every corner. “Diego,” I breathe out, eyes sweeping. “What happened? Are you okay? Who’s here?”

He cries harder, little hiccuping sobs that make something twist painfully in my chest. I step closer, slower this time, crouching down to his level, trying to keep my voice steady even as my pulse hammers. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe. Tell me what…”

Footsteps thunder down the hall. Connor’s voice cuts through the haze. “Sage?”

He’s there in seconds, shirt half on, eyes scanning the room just like mine. His hand finds my wrist, coaxing the knife gently from my grip. I let it go, suddenly aware of how tightly I was holding it.

He drops to his knees beside Diego. “Hey, buddy,” he says softly, voice all calm warmth. “Talk to me, huh? What’s going on?”

Diego sniffles, hiccups again. He won’t look up at us; he just whispers, “I…I did a bad thing.”

Connor’s eyes flick to the bed, then to the dark patch on the sheets and understanding settles over his face. “Oh,” he says, his tone softening even more. “Did you have an accident, buddy?”

Diego nods miserably, face crumpling again. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry…”

“Hey,” I cut in, crouching closer beside him. “None of that. It’s okay. Happens to everyone.”

Connor glances up at me, the corner of his mouth twitching, and I can feel the tension start to bleed out of the room. I smile faintly and add, “I’m pretty sure Liam still has accidents sometimes.”

Diego hiccups out a tiny laugh, then looks at me through watery lashes, unsure if I’m serious.

“Don’t tell him I said that,” I whisper.

Connor chuckles quietly. “She’s right, you know. It’s fine, kiddo. We’ll get you cleaned up, and then we’ll have breakfast. Deal?”

Diego nods, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Connor scoops him up easily, murmuring soft nonsense words, while I strip the bed and toss the sheets into the laundry bin. When I look up again, Diego’s got his arms wrapped around Connor’s neck, already calming.

Ten minutes later, he’s in fresh pyjamas, the smell of blueberry soap clinging to him. His hair sticks up in wet tufts, and he looks a little embarrassed but a lot better. As we head downstairs, Connor squeezes my hand lightly. We pass through the wide kitchen doorway, where sunlight spills across the counter. Naomi’s already brewing coffee, humming something off–key. Diego tugs at my sleeve and whispers, “I didn’t mean to make you scared.”

I bend down and kiss the top of his head. “You didn’t, sweetheart. You just surprised me.”

He nods carefully and then grins when Connor says, “Alright, team. Pancakes or eggs?”

Liam Still wets me deu, SI,

“Both!” Diego yells, laughing now, and the sound of it makes the morning feel brighter.

I take a deep breath and watch them for a second. Connor flipping pancakes like it’s second nature, Diego perched on the stool beside him, swinging his legs. Yeah. Maybe this is what trying to live looks like.

I lean against the counter, coffee mug warm between my palms, just watching. Connor’s got Diego perched on a stool beside the stove, one of his big hands wrapped around the small one holding the jug of batter now.

“Nice and slow,” he murmurs, helping him tip it just enough to make a perfect little circle.

The sizzle fills the room. Diego’s eyes go huge, like he just performed a magic trick.

“Did you see that?!” he gasps.

Connor laughs, low and warm. “Sure did. That’s professional–level pouring right there.”

He helps him slide the spatula under the pancake, steadying his small fingers. “Okay, are you ready? One, two, three…flip!”

The pancake flips perfectly, landing with a soft whump in the middle of the pan and Diego squeals like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened. I can’t stop smiling. There’s something about seeing Connor like this that feels almost unreal. The same man who once made the whole city tremble is now teaching a four–year–old how to make pancakes. Footsteps echo in the hall, and Liam appears, rubbing at his eyes. His hair’s sticking up like he lost a fight with his pillow. He stops dead in the doorway, takes one look at the pan, and nods solemnly.

“Well, look at that,” he says. “You’re a natural, little man.”

Diego beams up at him. “Thank you!” he says, then leans in close as if to whisper, but it’s not even a whisper, it’s just his tiny voice in full volume disguise. “It’s okay if you still wet the bed sometimes.”

The room goes dead silent. Connor coughs, nearly losing his grip on the spatula. I bite my lip so hard trying not to laugh that tears prick my eyes. Liam blinks once. Twice. Then he grins, slow and amused.

“Ah,” he says finally, nodding again. “Good to know, little man. I’ll keep that between us.”

Diego nods, satisfied with their secret understanding.

Connor shoots me a look over Diego’s head, the kind that says you did this, and I shrug, grinning.

“See?” I say sweetly. “Everything is fine.”

He shakes his head, smiling despite himself, and flips another pancake onto the growing stack. The smell of butter and sugar fills the kitchen. Matteo wanders in behind Nico, drawn by the noise and the scent. Diego insists on telling them all about his “pancake victory” and “how Liam still wets the bed, but it’s okay.”

Liam groans, everyone laughs, and I can’t remember the last time a morning felt this light. When the pancakes are all cooked, Diego makes a point of bringing a big plateful over and sitting next to me at the table. I roll up his sleeves, help him pour the syrup and then cut them into little pieces for him. I know he’s not going to eat them all, but that doesn’t matter. He’s allowed to figure out just how much food his little belly can handle.

“Are they good?” I ask him.

Liam Still Wets The Bed. Shh.

“These are the best pancakes in the whole world!” He declares.