I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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The night air was cool against my skin, brushing past me like a ghost, but it did nothing to ease the fire that churned restlessly inside me. I drew in a deep breath, slow and deliberate, like maybe if I held it long enough, the fire might dissipate. It didn't.
Eventually, I turned.
The woman who had vanished from my life before I ever had a chance to understand what the word mother was supposed to mean. The one who walked away before I could even form memories of her. The one who left me to grow up in shadows.
But now—now she stood right in front of me.
Up close, the resemblance was undeniable, even if I'd spent years trying to convince myself otherwise. Her cheekbones were sharp and familiar, the shape of her eyes painfully similar to my own. And no matter how much I wanted to reject the connection, to pretend she was just another stranger, I couldn't.
We shared the same blood.
Whether I liked it or not.
A long, loaded silence settled between us. The dim streetlight overhead flickered, casting a pale glow across her face. I caught the shimmer in her eyes, a glint that might've been unshed tears or just the reflection of guilt. But I didn't react. I didn't blink. I kept my voice level, holding back the storm that threatened to break loose as I finally asked the question that had lived inside me like a splinter buried too deep to remove:
She hesitated, her throat moving as she swallowed hard. It looked like the answer physically hurt to speak.
"Your father and I…" Her voice cracked. "We were just kids. High school sweethearts. We didn't mean for it to happen, but I got pregnant. And when I told him, we made plans—we were going to get married. We were going to figure it out."
She paused, her gaze falling to the ground like she couldn't bear to meet my eyes.
"But then he died. A car crash. No warning, no goodbye. Just gone."
She blinked rapidly, like she was trying to hold back tears or time. "After that, everything fell apart. I was seventeen. Scared. Alone. My parents weren't supportive, and I…I didn't believe I could give you the life you deserved. I thought… I thought maybe someone else could. Someone stronger. Someone better."
She looked up at me again, and her voice dropped, nearly a whisper. "I've regretted it every single day since."
I listened. I heard the words. But they weren't enough—not the right ones, not now.
I shook my head. Not because I didn't understand her story. But because she didn't understand mine.
"That's not what I asked," I said, my voice low. Steady. Cold. "I'm not asking why you left. I'm asking why you're here now."
She froze. And just like that, the weight of those words crashed into her like a wave. I could see it in her face, the way her expression broke open, like I'd slapped her with the truth she wasn't ready for.
She stepped forward cautiously, like any sudden movement might push me further away.
"Lucas," she said, my name barely making it past her lips. "Walking away from you was the worst mistake I've ever made. I've spent years trying to find you. After the orphanage, they told me you'd been adopted, but the records were lost. I had no idea where you'd gone, or if I'd ever see you again."
Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled out her phone. She turned the screen toward me. A photo.
Emily and me. Sitting on the porch. Just a candid moment—coffee mugs in hand, smiles that weren't forced for once. Peaceful. Almost normal.
"I saw this online," she said, voice soft but shaking. "And after that, I hired a private investigator. He found you. He told me about Richard, about what happened. I'm so sorry. I didn't come here to hurt you. I just… I needed to know if you were okay. I needed to see you."
I let out a slow breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in, eyes drifting away from her face. The pain in her words was real. I could feel that. But pain doesn't undo absence. Regret doesn't erase what was missing.
"You were just a kid yourself," I said quietly. "Caught in a situation way too big for someone that young. I get that."
She seemed to draw in hope from that one sentence like it might open a door between us.
But I wasn't finished.
I looked at her again—truly looked.
"That doesn't mean you get to show up now. Not after all this time. Not after the years I spent clawing my way through a life that didn't have you in it. You don't get to pick and choose when to be a mother. I grew up without you. I survived without you. And now that I've built something, now that I've managed to hold myself together… now you come back?"
I met her eyes dead-on, unwavering.
"And as you can see… I'm doing just fine."
Then I turned. Walked away.
She didn't try to stop me this time—not really. But she caught up enough to press a small business card into my hand before I could leave for good.
"If you ever need anything," she said softly. "Even if it's just to talk… call me."
I didn't respond. I didn't look back.
Behind me, I could feel her still standing there—alone, beneath that flickering streetlight. The glow buzzed weakly, uncertain, like it didn't know whether to shine or fade.