Chapter: 22

I would always be grateful that whatever animosity Kieran carried for me never spilled over to our son. So even if he never loved me, I could rest assured that he loved Daniel.

I couldn't remember the last time we'd had breakfast together, and doing it now, after we were divorced, was not only ironic but just plain ridiculous.

Although I would admit—to myself only—that watching Kieran devour the pancakes and eggs I'd made with gusto slightly appeased the anger and irritation I felt earlier.

When breakfast was over, Daniel rushed upstairs to get ready for school, rebuffing my offers for help. "I'm nine!" he called over his shoulder as he went. "I don't need my mommy to dress me."

I might have laughed if Daniel's refusal of my offer didn't mean I was stuck stewing in the tension between Kieran and me.

I cleared my throat and stood, reaching for Daniel's empty plate. Kieran moved too, faster than I, and grabbed it.

I shot him a questioning glare.

"You shouldn't be doing dishes with your injured arm," he said, taking my plate out of my grip before I could protest.

I raised an eyebrow, watching Kieran move to the sink, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

This was the man who'd never enjoyed a meal I cooked. Who'd never spared a thought for who cleaned up afterward.

The only conversations he'd ever initiated were curt notifications about when he'd be taking Daniel to family gatherings—ones I was never invited to.

I'd grown accustomed to his indifference. To being a ghost in my own home.

Yet now, after our divorce, here he stood in my kitchen, scrubbing dishes like our earlier argument had never happened?

The kitchen bled into the dining space, one smooth line from marble island to wooden table, and I sank back into my chair, watching Kieran's back as his hands moved in the sink, making quick work through soapy water.

It was a surreal sight. A version of him I'd never seen.

The muscles beneath his t-shirt shifted and rippled as he moved, and I couldn't help but stare. At four inches over six feet, he towered over almost everything and everyone, and his body was covered with taut muscles, chiseled to perfection—a living monument to Alpha perfection.

I'd dreamed of this once. A normal domestic scene: wife cooking, husband cleaning, maybe me slipping arms around his waist, and he'd turn, landing a kiss—

When I heard Daniel bounding down the stairs again, I averted my gaze, feeling my cheeks burn like I'd been caught doing something bad.

Kieran wasn't mine to look at anymore—not that he'd ever really been in the first place.

"Im ready," Daniel announced, shouldering his Pokémon backpack. I smiled at him and stood up from my seat. "Come o—" "I'll take him to school."

A large puff of frustration left my mouth in the form of air as I turned to Kieran. "I'm perfectly capable of driving my son to school,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady and calm.

"I know," he said. "But you should be resting, not overexerting yourself."

I blinked. Since when did he care? For ten years, Kieran had barely acknowledged my existence—now suddenly, he was all up in my business?

"Dad's right," Daniel piped up, coming to me. He wrapped an arm around my waist, and I automatically rested my chin on his head. "Go get some more rest, Mom."