Chapter 261: A Text From Mom Samson

The tension in Reid’s chest, coiled tight for eight agonizing months, slowly began to thaw as he watched the smooth, rhythmic rise and fall of my chest. Exhaustion had finally claimed me, pulling me under into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped safely within the warmth of his arms and the quiet breathing of our daughter between us.

That’s right, nothing else mattered to me.

​But Reid didn’t sleep yet.

​He lay there in the dim moonlight, his grey eyes wide and unblinking, tracing every line of my new face. His broad, calloused hand hovered just an inch above my skin, his fingers threading through the cool night air as if he were still terrified that the moment he actually touched me, I would dissolve into mist like a cruel illusion.

​A sharp, muted buzz broke the silence, vibrating softly against the mattress from the pocket of my discarded suit jacket on the floor.

​Reid shifted with painstaking slowness, careful not to disturb Sarah or wake me, and reached down to slip the phone from my pocket. The screen illuminated the dark room, displaying a missed notification:

​Mom Samson:Where are you, honey? The gala ended an hour ago and security said you left the main hall. Please text me when you get this, I’m worrying.

​Reid stared down at the name. Mom Samson. The mother of this new body, the family whose name I now bore. A heavy, complex knot tied itself in his gut as he stared at the lock screen.

​With a quiet exhale, Reid swiped the screen. Instinctively, his thumb tapped out six digits.

​Click.

​The screen unlocked instantly, revealing the home screen that was a shot of himself in his jersey, holding up the Stanley cup, gotten from the internet.

​Reid froze, his throat tightening so hard it hurt. But it wasn’t the home screen that made him free. The password he had just typed was our wedding date, the same code I had used for every device, every lock in my past life.

A sad, fragile smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his chest aching with a mixture of overwhelming sorrow and profound warmth. Even in a brand-new body, with a different face and an unfamiliar family, the core of who I was remained entirely untouched.

​He looked down at me, his eyes softening as he tapped out a quick response to the woman who was currently worrying over her son, crafting the message in the exact, considerate tone I had used for as long as he had known me:

​[To: Mom Samson]

Sorry, I got carried away and went out for a walk to get some air. I ended up staying with a friend nearby. Will be back tomorrow morning, don’t worry. I’m completely safe.

​He hit send and set the phone silently on the nightstand, turning back to face us.

His ​Kain had always been like this. Always taking care of everyone else, always worrying about the people around him, always carrying the weight of the world so no one else had to suffer.

​Reid leaned down, pressing his lips softly against my forehead, holding the kiss for a long, reverent moment as he inhaled the delicate, blooming scent of my night-blooming jasmine mixing with his pine.

​He’s really here.

​All those unbearable nights when Reid had laid awake in the dark, convinced he was losing his mind because he swore he felt a presence beside him... all those horrific, broken nights spent weeping into his pillow, screaming into the empty room, begging and pleading for his husband to come back to him, to not abandon him and Sarah in this bleak world...

​It hadn’t been in vain.

​A single tear escaped Reid’s eye, trailing down his cheek to sink into the pillow as he pulled the blanket higher around my shoulders, wrapping his broad arm firmly over my waist to hold me flush against his heart.

​Different face. Different hair. Different name.

​It didn’t matter. The soul sleeping peacefully in his arms was still his Captain. Still his Kain. Still his beloved husband—and his one and only for the rest of his life.

The next morning, Reid woke up first. His internal clock, built on eight months of taking care of Sarah, pulled him awake, but the very first thing he noticed wasn’t just the quiet breathing of our daughter. It was me.

​I had woken up even earlier, and now I was sleeping again, embracing our child deeply against my chest, soaking in her warmth. Reid smiled, his heart swelling so full it almost hurt.

Under the gentle morning light filtering through the sheer curtains, he studied my features. I looked a little like my former self, though much softer around the edges—more delicate, having never played a rough sport or spent years under grueling athletic training in this new body.

​Reid shifted, wrapping his broad arm around both of us, pulling us flush against his chest as he leaned down to whisper against my ear, "I love you so much."

​"Mm..." I hummed softly in my sleep, nuzzling closer into his heat without fully waking up.

​As he held us, Reid’s mind began to race. How was he supposed to explain any of this to his own father and mother? And what about Kain’s new parents—the Samsons? Would they ever believe or accept something like this? Could they even bring it up to them without looking completely insane? If word ever spread that the Samson family’s son was actually Kain Evans’s reincarnation, the entire world would implode.

​No, Reid thought firmly. Word can’t get out. We need to live peacefully from now on.

​He was already preparing himself to twist the narrative—ready to tell the world that he had finally moved on, that he was opening his heart to someone new. Pfft. Like anyone in our family or the media would ever believe that.

​Before he even had a chance to formulate a proper plan, the door handle turned softly.

​Brad stepped into the room, wearing a soft cardigan, his hands tucked into his pockets. He had come up to check on his granddaughter and make sure Reid wasn’t pushing himself too hard again, intentionally walking in without knocking so he wouldn’t disturb the child or wake Reid.

​The moment he stepped past the entryway, his eyes fell on the bed.

​Brad froze mid-step. His eyes went wide, his mouth slightly ajar as he took in the sight of three people sprawling on the bed—his grieving son, his newborn granddaughter, and a silver-haired young man wrapped tightly in Reid’s arms, holding Sarah against his chest.

​Reid’s head snapped up, his dark grey eyes locking straight onto his father.

"What... is the meaning of this?" Brad asked, his voice a low, disbelieving whisper that hung heavy in the soft morning air.