Brought By Destiny

Chapter 5

Confessions and Culinary Comfort

Michael’s POV:

I woke up a while later to find the sun high in the sky; it’s already noon. Lilly is still deep in a restorative sleep, and Ryan is sitting beside her, his small fingers gently playing with a lock of her hair. I look at him and smile, and he mirrors the expression, though his eyes remain clouded with worry.

“Momy won’t wake up,” he says, his little face crumpling into sadness again.

I sit up and gesture for him to come to me. He crawls across his mother’s form and tumbles into my arms. I pull him into a hug, whispering into his ear while rubbing his back. “She’s just sick right now, buddy, but she’s going to wake up very soon. I promise.”

He pulls back, looking into my eyes searchingly before giving a small, trusting nod.

“Want to eat something?” I ask, brushing a stray hair away from his forehead. He nods eagerly. “First, let’s get you cleaned up. How about a bath?”

He agrees, and I head to the storeroom. I open an old, brown wooden cupboard where I remember my mother storing my childhood things. I find a few sets of my old clothes and head back to the room. I take Ryan to the bathroom and we end up having a grand time splashing around in the water.

I dress him in my old t-shirt and trousers; surprisingly, they fit him quite well. He looks absolutely angelic...honestly, much cuter than I ever did in these clothes.

Downstairs, I make him a bowl of cereal. I’m the first to admit I’m not a "great cook," but Ryan eats quietly, appearing content. As I watch him, my heart sinks. I can’t imagine what he and his mother have endured to end up on a dark road in the middle of the night.

There is clearly a massive story behind them. Eventually, I put on some video games, and we played together on the sofa.

Suddenly, Ryan lets out a joyful scream. “Momy!”

He bolts toward the stairs, throwing his arms around her legs. Lilly is standing there, looking dazed and shocked by her surroundings. But the moment she sees Ryan, she collapses into a hug, her tears flowing freely.

“Are you hurt?” she sobs, checking him over. He quickly assures her he’s fine, kissing her cheek and wiping her tears away with his tiny thumbs.

“Smile, Momy!” he begs.

She lets out a shaky laugh and tries to get him to pronounce his name correctly, but he’s stubborn as ever. I stay back, simply admiring the raw, beautiful picture they make. Finally,

I cleared my throat to get her attention. I suggest Ryan try a new game so I can speak with her, and I lead her toward the kitchen for a meal.

After she finishes eating, I go to fetch the medicine. I return to find her sitting with Ryan on the sofa. I stand before her and offer the tablets; she looks at me with a flicker of apprehension.

“Don’t worry,” I say gently. “They’re just painkillers and vitamins.”

Relief washes over her face, followed by a visible wave of embarrassment. I sit opposite her, my gaze drawn to those mesmerizing green eyes.

They are stunning, yet they harbor so much hidden trauma. She looks breathtaking in that yellow nightgown. Because she isn't wearing anything underneath, the thin fabric leaves little to the imagination.

Damn, Michael... she is hot. You can’t deny that, my inner devil whispers. I quickly push the thought away. She is a girl in need, and I have no foul intentions. Yet, there is an undeniable pull, an instinct to know her and, more importantly, to protect her.

“Thanks for helping me, and sorry I bothered you,” she says, her head lowered.

I simply nod. I want to help her, if only for the sake of humanity. After a moment, she asks to use my phone. She steps away toward the window to make a call. I’m dying to know who she’s talking to, but I know it isn't my place to pry.

When she finishes and hands the phone back, I decide it’s time to be honest. “I have to confess something. I... I changed your clothes last night. I’m sorry; I felt I had no other option given the state you were in.”

She looks down at her attire and then back at me. She doesn't say a word, she just gives a small, understanding nod. I offer a weak smile, but she moves to sit back with Ryan. I join them on the other side of the sofa and ask, as politely as I can, if she would be willing to share her story.

She hesitates, then takes a deep, shaky breath. “I had a happy life until I was ten,” she begins. “My dad died in an accident. My mother remarried, and they had a daughter. For a while, we were happy. My stepfather and sister were good to me... until my mother died of lung cancer.”

She pauses to catch her breath. Having lost my own father, I feel her pain deep in my bones.

“After she died, my stepfather changed,” she continues, wiping a stray tear. “He became abusive. He would come home drunk and hit me and my sister. He pulled us out of school, claiming it was an unnecessary expense. He forced me to work at a café owned by his friend. Every penny I earned went to him. I’d work all day, and he’d only give me one meal at night.”

By now, her tears are falling fast, and I find my own eyes welling up. How can a human being be so cruel to such an innocent soul?

“What happened last night?” I ask, my curiosity, getting the better of me. “And where are your sister and your husband?”

She sighs, ready to answer, when Ryan interjects. “Momy! Hungry...”
She wipes her eyes and looks at me apologetically. I understand and stand up.

“If you don’t mind, can I cook?” she asks with a small, hopeful smile.

“Of course,” I say, leading the way to the kitchen. “Use whatever you need. Just... try not to break anything, or my mum will have my head!”

She chuckles, a sound that warms the room and begins rummaging through the fridge. I sit on the counter opposite the stove, and I’ll admit, I’m ogling her. She’s giving me some very wild thoughts, so I try to distract myself with conversation.

“Are you a good cook?” I ask, biting into an apple from the fruit basket.

“You’ll have to tell me that after you eat!” she smiles, setting a pot of water to boil.

“What’s on the menu?”

“Pasta! It’s Ryan’s favorite. I never really got the chance to figure out what I liked or disliked in my life,” she says quietly. The weight of that statement hits me hard.

I watch her in silence for a moment. She’s tied her hair into a messy bun, but a few loose strands frame her face perfectly. The way her hips sway as she moves around the kitchen, her delicate features, those pink lips... she’s captivating. She handles the knife like a professional, chopping vegetables with expert precision. She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow; I just shake my head and look away.

“Do you live here with your parents?” she asks, adding the vegetables to the pot.

“Yes, my mother and my stepfather,” I reply.

“Oh,” she says, her eyes lifting to mine. “What about your real dad?”

“He died in a road accident,” I say, a familiar sadness blooming in my chest.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says softly.

I give her a weak smile and a nod. She turns back to the stove, and I hop off the counter to go check on Ryan in the living room.