Page 38 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"She probably needs changing," she says, lifting the baby into her arms. "And it's laundry day."

I nod, glad for the distraction from how her shirt clings to her skin with sweat. "I'll help."

An hour later, the backyard clothesline sways with freshly washed linens. The breeze catches them, making them billow like sails. It's a strangely domestic scene—one I never thought I'd be part of. My life before was solitary, focused on work and survival. Now there are baby clothes and soft blankets dancing in the wind beside my shirts.

Aurelie works methodically, shaking out tiny garments before hanging them. Sephy lies in a basket beside her, gurgling happily at the patterns of light and shadow playing across her face. She's wearing only a diaper, her chubby legs kicking at the air.

I exit the back door carrying a stack of folded towels I'd taken from the previous load. "Where do you want these?"

"Just on the table is fine," Aurelie calls over her shoulder, not turning.

I move toward the small outdoor table we use for folding, when suddenly a rogue gust whips a drying sheet directly into my face. The fabric wraps around my head like a shroud, blinding me. I stumble, arms flailing, and drop one of the towels into the dirt.

"Mother—" I bite off the curse, remembering Sephy's presence just in time.

Just as I extract myself from the sheet, a tiny sneeze erupts from the basket. I look down to find Sephy staring up at me with wide violet eyes, a string of drool connecting her gummy smile to my now-damp shirt sleeve. Perfect timing.

"Betrayed," I mutter dryly, eyeing the infant with mock suspicion. "By my smallest housemate, no less."

The sound that breaks from Aurelie's throat startles us both—a full, unrestrained laugh that rings through the yard. It's musical, unrehearsed, and completely genuine. I turn to stare at her, towels forgotten.

Her head is thrown back, auburn hair catching the light. One hand presses against her stomach as if to contain her mirth. Her entire face has transformed—eyes crinkled at the corners, dimples appearing in her cheeks that I've never seen before. She looks younger. Unburdened.

Beautiful.

When she finally catches her breath, she meets my gaze. Something shifts in her expression as she studies me—surprise, maybe, at what she sees.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing, it's just..." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I swear I see something in her eyes as she studies me—something like longing, though I'm sure it is only wishful thinking. "I've never seen you smile like that before."

I hadn't realized I was smiling. "Like what?"

"Like you're not carrying the weight of everything." She lifts Sephy from the basket, cradling her against her chest. "You looked... happy."

The word hangs between us. Happy. Such a simple thing, yet it feels foreign on my tongue. When was the last time I felt that?

"Maybe I am," I admit quietly, picking up the dropped towel and dusting it off. "Right now, at least."

Her smile softens, turns intimate in a way that makes my chest ache. "Good. You deserve that."

She can't possibly know how those words land—like a blow and a caress simultaneously. No one has ever concerned themselves with what I deserve.

Later, I'm in the kitchen preparing dinner—nothing fancy, just a stew with dreelk and zynthra from the market. I've managed to acquire flour for bread, a luxury I rarely bother with when it's just me. But Aurelie mentioned once how much she missed fresh bread, and the memory of her face when she said it was enough to send me searching through the market stalls.

I'm concentrating on kneading the dough when I hear her enter the kitchen, Sephy strapped to her chest in the sling I fashioned from an old shirt. The baby has fallen asleep, soft snores emanating from her tiny form. I can feel Aurelie's presence behind me, but she stays silent.

When I finally turn, curious, I find her pressed against the counter, lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

"What?" I ask, looking down at myself. Did I spill something?

A small giggle escapes her, quickly muffled by her hand. "You, um... you have flour..."

She gestures vaguely at her face. I reach up, feeling the telltale powder coating my cheek and forehead. Probably my nose too, based on her expression.

"Baking is messy business," I defend, trying to maintain my dignity while feeling increasingly ridiculous.

She loses the battle with her laughter then, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry," she gasps. "You just look so... so..."

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