37. acceptance

The baby's cries filled the room, high and piercing, rattling against Marisol's skull.

Her breath was uneven, shallow. Her shadows curled around her feet, restless, responding to the storm brewing inside her. Ready to pounce at her command

Garrison stood in the doorway, gun lowered but not holstered. Not yet.

His gaze flicked from the baby to her, to the claws still curling at her sides, then back again.

"Marisol."

The way he said her name—low, steady, careful—made something in her chest tighten.

She took a step back. "Don't come any closer."

He didn't move. "Talk to me."

Marisol let out a bitter laugh, but it was hollow, shaking at the edges. "Talk to you?" Her voice cracked, throat raw. "You—You don't get to do this now. You don't get to show up and act like you—like you—"

The words stuck like ash in her throat, burning before they could escape.

Like you care. Like you were ever there. Like you were actually her real father.

Her inner darkness surged, the voice screaming to end them all. That he wouldn't understand. Crooked branches creeping down her flesh as the shadows beneath slid away in fear. Her eyes becoming blank as glass as her fear overwhelmed.

Garrison exhaled slowly, his grip on the gun shifting. Not raising it—just keeping it between them, a boundary neither of them wanted to cross. Thanks to Lila he was prepared he knew what this was. What he had to do.

"I know you think you have to do this alone," he said. "I know what you've been through. But this—" He gestured around the room, to the playpen, to the trembling shadows around her. "This isn't you."

His grip on the gun loosened, but he didn't put it away. Not yet. Not until she let him.

Her chest constricted, something breaking apart inside her.

"You don't know me," she whispered, but it didn't carry the venom she wanted.

"I know enough."

Something in his voice—something warm, steady—was worse than anger.

Worse than fear.

It was understanding.

And she couldn't take it.

"Stop it!" she snapped, voice rising, her control slipping. "Stop acting like you care! Where were you?! Where were you when Carlos took everything?! When I had nothing!?"

Her roots lashed out, a pulse of black tendrils rippling toward him.

Garrison moved—fast—but not fast enough.

The edge of her strike clipped his shoulder, tearing through fabric, grazing skin.

His breath hitched.

Marisol froze.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

No.

No, no, no.

"I didn't—" Her voice wavered. Her fingers twitched.

Garrison's hand went to his shoulder, but he didn't flinch, didn't reach for his gun. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on her.

She pulled away from Garrison and turned towards—the baby.

The baby was still crying.

And—her breath hitched—the baby was hurt.

A scratch ran across its tiny arm. Thin, barely there, but wrong.

Her roots had done that.

She had done that.

Her vision swam. No, no, no.

She had wanted to help. She had reached for it. She had tried.

She hadn't meant to—

And then, movement.

The squirrels.

The tiny shadow creatures scampered toward him, chittering, moving on instinct.

Marisol's panicked, her inner demon clawing at her thoughts. The Doom tree commanding the squirrels.

Kill him.

She barely had time to command them away before—

Garrison knelt, scooping one up in his uninjured hand.

He scratched beneath its chin, slow, steady.

The squirrel let out a soft clicking noise. Relaxed. Its tiny claws kneaded at his sleeve, settling comfortably on his shoulder.

The second squirrel joined, curling against his neck.

Marisol's mind bubbled forward.

What?

Garrison looked down at them, then back up at her, something gentle in his eyes. "Guess they don't think I'm a threat."

Marisol swallowed hard, hands trembling. Why? Why aren't they attacking? Why aren't they listening again?

She took a sharp step back, shaking her head. "Stay away."

Garrison didn't listen.

Slowly, carefully, he closed the distance between them.

She should move. Should command the shadows to stop him. Should push him away.

But she didn't.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever—her step father was looking at her. The real her. He wasn't looking at her like a monster.

He reached out.

Marisol flinched.

Not away.

Forward.

Into the embrace she hadn't known she needed.

His arms wrapped around her, firm, steady, real.

She went rigid at first, unsure if she should pull away—if she even could.

And then, slowly, the tension bled out of her.

Her shoulders shook.

Her roots receded.

"It's okay," Garrison murmured. "I'm here."

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the sting behind them.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice heavy with something unspoken. "I should've been there."

Her fingers curled into his jacket.

She had wanted to fight him. Had wanted to hate him.

But this?

This was worse.

Because it felt safe.

And she didn't know if she deserved that anymore.

The baby still cried.

The blinking red light on the camera still flickered.

And somewhere, Carlos was watching.

Marisol didn't care.

For the first time in a long, long time—she let herself be held.

And then—a sound.

A whimper.

Her hands trembled, black roots receding into her skin.

She stared at the wound, her breath catching in her throat.

Garrison followed her gaze. He didn't move, didn't accuse. Just waited.

And then—he spoke.

"It's okay you dont have to be anything special. You just have to be you."

Marisol sucked in a sharp breath.

"What do you mean? I hurt this poor baby!"

"We can get this little guy help when we get out of here," Garrison said, crouching beside the playpen. His voice softer now. "You don't have to prove anything. Not to me. Not to them." He gestured toward the shadows. "And especially not to yourself."

Marisol's throat tightened.

Her eyes flicked back to the baby.

Her hands twitched.

She didn't know how—but she knew.

The roots on her fingertips flickered.

And then—time moved backward.

The wound faded. Reversed, like it had never been there at all.

Marisol's looked at it confused.

She looked at her hands.

At Garrison.

At the baby.

The baby cooed softly now, reaching up—not in fear, but in curiosity.

Her shadows returned to her feet as her body returned to normal

Garrison's voice was quiet but his tone was loud and encouraging.

"See.. You're more than what you give yourself credit for."

Her fingers curled against her palm. Her breath steadied.

She didn't answer.

She didn't need to.

For once she felt like she truely belonged.