Page 17 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

Such simple words, yet they twist something deep inside my chest. I've spent months looking over my shoulder, starting at shadows, sleeping in fits and bursts with one eye always open. The promise of someone else standing guard is almost too much to bear.

I don't press for answers this time. The room is still but full—full of unspoken histories, of tentative trust, of the steady rhythm of our breathing gradually synchronizing in the quiet.

When I wake again, it's to sunlight on my face, painting the inside of my eyelids red-gold. Sephy sleeps beside me, tucked safely between my body and the back of the couch. Rolfo is gone from the chair, leaving only the lingering impression of his presence behind.

8

ROLFO

Ipace back and forth in the kitchen, one eye on the stew that bubbles quietly over the hearth. Steam rises in lazy spirals, carrying the scent of herbs throughout my modest home. My spoon scrapes the bottom of the pot with each careful stir. The routine is calming, but my attention keeps drifting toward the closed bedroom door.

My ears, sharper than any human's, pick up the soft coos and whispers exchanged between mother and child. It's been two weeks since Ada first helped bring Sephy into this world, right here under my roof. Even though she's not staying here anymore, she has been stopping by each morning, checking on both mother and child, teaching Aurelie things I wouldn't know the first thing about.

This morning's visit seemed to go well. Ada left with that small, knowing smile that makes me feel like she can see right through me. Aurelie took Sephy back to bed afterward, and they've been there for hours.

Not that I'm counting.

I wipe down the countertop for the third time, moving the cloth in precise circles. The surface was clean an hour ago, but the motion gives my hands something to do. Next are the dishes—each one dried with careful attention, stacked with military precision. My home hasn't been this tidy since... Well, ever.

It's not nervousness driving me. It's focus. The same kind I use when tracking a mark or securing a perimeter. Only this time, the objective is keeping them safe, comfortable. Making this place something close to a home.

The click of the bedroom door latch snaps my attention up. Aurelie emerges, her steps silent across the wooden floor. Her robe is tied tightly at her waist, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders and a little messy from sleep she hasn't shaken. Sephy is nestled against her chest, tiny mouth working at her breast.

I freeze, dish towel suspended mid-air.

It's not discomfort that stops me. It's something closer to awe. The sight before me isn't one of fragility but of fierce resilience. This woman who escaped a monster, who survived against impossible odds, who's fighting for her child's future. There's a quiet power in how she stands there, still recovering yet utterly unbroken.

"The stew is almost ready," I say, my voice coming out lower, rougher than intended.

Aurelie nods, hesitating at the edge of the kitchen. "It smells good."

I motion to the chair at the small table. "Sit. You shouldn't be standing so long."

She moves carefully, adjusting Sephy as she sits. I notice her wince slightly—Ada mentioned the lingering soreness would take time to fade.

Without asking, I grab an extra pillow from the bench by the window, offering it to her. "For your arm. It helps with... the weight."

Aurelie stares at the pillow, then at me, a question in those hazel eyes. After a moment, she accepts it, tucking it under her arm where Sephy rests.

"Thank you," she says, not with words but with the slight relaxation of her shoulders, the momentary flicker of something softer in her expression.

I retreat to the workbench in the corner of the room, picking up a broken stool I've been meaning to fix. The rhythmic scrape of tools against wood fills the silence. It's comfortable enough—me working, her feeding Sephy, both of us existing in the same space without the need to fill it with empty words.

Sephy suddenly unlatches, her tiny face scrunching up in discontent. A high-pitched wail builds, and Aurelie shifts, looking momentarily overwhelmed.

Without thinking, I set down my tools and move to the hearth, where I already have water warming. I soak a clean cloth, testing the temperature against my wrist before bringing it over.

"Here," I offer, holding it out. "Ada says it helps to clean her face between feedings."

Aurelie looks up at me, brow furrowed, more confused than afraid. "You were listening to her instructions?"

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious under her scrutiny. "Hard not to in a house this size."

She takes the cloth, gently wiping Sephy's face. The baby's cries soften to hiccuping whimpers.

"You're... not what I expected," Aurelie says carefully, eyes fixed on Sephy rather than me.

"What did you expect?"

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