Claimed after divorce by my brother’s best friend

CH 4 - Aria

ARIA POV

*get this song ready, but play it only when I’ll tell you, please : “Labour (The Cacophony)”*

I’ve always hated hospital, even more after my father’s death. He’d been in a hospital bed for months after mom passed, and he never had a chance to make it.

Still, I didn’t slow down when the automatic doors opened. I didn’t look at the front desk. I heard someone call my name and ignored it.

My feet already knew where to go. My body moved on its own, like the rest of me had shut down except the part that knew where Owen was.

Kara was fully awake. She knew our pup’s scent better than my own. If she had needed to, she could have dragged me through a crowd blindfolded and still found him.

Room 17.

I pushed the door open and went straight to the bed.

Owen was propped up against white pillows, small and pale in the too-big hospital gown, an oxygen tube taped under his nose. His blue eyes were half closed, lashes dark against his skin. Machines beeped softly beside him, steady but it was not enough to calm my raging heart. I f*****g told her.

I took his hand.

Didn’t look at anyone else.

Didn’t even breathe properly. Couldn't.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice flat, already bracing for the answer.

I wasn’t speaking to Jasper.


I wasn’t speaking to Chloe.


I was speaking to the doctor standing at the foot of the bed.

He didn’t even have time to answer, because my husband piped in.

“You left,” he said. “And you didn’t pack his lunch. That’s what happened.”

The words didn’t register at first. They slid past me, dull and meaningless.

Then they landed.

I turned my head slowly.

Jasper was standing near the window, arms crossed tight over his chest like he was bracing himself. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were hard—not angry, not worried.

Accusing. Me.

Something inside me snapped cleanly in two.

Kara surged forward so hard it stole the breath from my lungs. She slammed against my ribs, teeth bared, hackles raised, every instinct screaming threat. Not Chloe. Not the doctor.

Him.

'He dares.'

Heat flooded my veins, fast and vicious, a low roar building behind my eyes. For a split second, my vision tunneled, red creeping in at the edges.

Accusing me.

Blaming me.

For his child.

For our pup.

“You are his father,” I said.

My voice was low. Controlled. Deadly.

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. My hands were shaking enough for both of us.

“You know he’s allergic,” I continued. “You’ve known since he was a baby. Since the first time his throat swelled. Since the night we sat in an ER wondering if he was going to stop breathing.”

Jasper opened his mouth.

I cut him off.

“And I told her,” I said. “ Clearly. Plus, there’s a list on the fridge and one in the pantry. I warned her. I didn’t just walk out and forget MY children.”

My grip on Owen’s hand tightened.

He stirred.

His fingers curled weakly around mine, grounding me so hard my vision blurred.

“Mommy,” he whispered. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” I said immediately, leaning over him. “I’m right here.”

Ella made a small sound behind me. I felt her press against my side, her hand reaching for mine like she was afraid I might disappear if she didn’t hold on.

“They took him,” she said. “He couldn’t breathe.”

My stomach twisted.

I squeezed her hand once. “I know.”

Kara snarled, deep and murderous.

'I want her blood'

That was the thought echoing through my skull. I wanted her blood too.

I warned her.
 I told her.

And, I trusted him. This was what trust bought me.

Then Chloe started crying.

Loud. Shuddering. Messy.

“I didn’t mean to,” she sobbed. “I swear. I must have mixed them up. The pantry was full and I just— I didn’t think—”

I finally looked at her.

Really looked.

Red eyes. Shaking hands. Tears soaking into her sleeves.

A performance.

A f*****g performance.

Jasper moved toward her before I even registered it.

He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her into his arms like she was the one bleeding out on the bed. Like she was the emergency.

I stared at him.

This was the moment. The exact one. The one I would remember forever.

My son lay in a hospital bed, oxygen taped to his face, his small hand trembling in mine.

And Jasper was comforting the woman who had almost killed him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “It’s okay, Chloe. I know the last two days have been a lot for you.”

A lot for her.

My vision went white at the edges.

The restraint snapped another notch.

I tasted iron.

She pulled back just enough to speak again, voice trembling. “I just wanted to help. I didn’t think—”

“That’s enough,” Jasper cut in gently. “This isn’t your fault.”

Then he turned to me.

And finished the job.

“You could have helped her,” he said. “Instead of throwing a tantrum and storming off.”

Tantrum.

The word detonated in my chest.

For a heartbeat, I genuinely considered killing him.

Not metaphorically.
 Not dramatically.

Actually.

I saw it — his head against the wall, the sound it would make, the way Kara would relish it. How easy it would be. How justified.

My fingers twitched.

Owen’s hand tightened around mine again.

I exhaled slowly, shaking.

Not from fear.

From holding myself back.

I didn’t answer Jasper.

If I had, I would have ended this in a way the children could never forget.

Instead, I turned back to Owen, brushing his hair away from his damp forehead, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest.

Chloe sniffed loudly. “I—I need air,” she said. “I can’t breathe in here.”

She rushed past me without meeting my eyes.

Jasper hesitated, just long enough for me to hope.

Then he followed her. Of course he did.

“I need to take a call,” he said sharply, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

He threw me one last annoyed look.

And then he was gone.

I sat down slowly on the edge of Owen’s bed, careful not to jostle him, still holding his hand as if letting go might undo whatever fragile balance was keeping him stable. Ella pressed herself into my side, her shoulder tucked tight against my arm. The machines beside us kept up their steady rhythm, beeping softly, utterly indifferent to the fact that something had just broken in a way I didn’t know how to fix.

For a long moment, none of us spoke.

Then Owen shifted.

“I didn’t eat it,” he said quietly. His voice was weak, but clear enough. “I smelled it first.”

My throat tightened.

“What did it smell like?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle, even.

“Peanut butter,” he said. “I told her. But she said it was fine.”

I nodded slowly, more to myself than to him.

Ella stiffened beside me, her small body suddenly rigid. “She didn’t let me play with the ball,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “She said soccer wasn’t for girls.”

I closed my eyes.

Just for a second.

When I opened them again, the room had gone soft around the edges, shapes blurring as I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, turning my head just enough to look at them both. “Neither of you. Not one thing.”

Ella leaned into me then, pressing her forehead against my arm like she used to when she was smaller. “You’re our mom,” she said. “Not her.”

That was it.

I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her close, holding both of them against me as if my body alone could keep the world from reaching them. Owen’s head shifted closer to my shoulder, his fingers still tangled in mine.

“I know,” I said, my voice rough. “I know.”

Time blurred after that.

Doctors came and went. Nurses adjusted monitors, checked vitals, spoke in low voices meant to soothe. I listened without really hearing, measuring progress instead by the way Owen’s breathing steadied, by the slow fading of the rash along his skin, by the color returning to his face.

I never let go of his hand.

Jasper didn’t come back.

Neither did Chloe.

When the doctor finally told us Owen was stable and cleared to go home, the relief hit me so hard my hands started to shake. It wasn’t happiness. It wasn’t even gratitude.

It was release.

I helped Owen change, lifting him into my arms when his legs gave out, his weight settling against me like he belonged there—which he did. Ella stayed glued to my side, her fingers hooked into the sleeve of my jacket, unwilling to let go.

The drive home passed in silence and when we finally reached the packhouse I was ready to crash on the bed. The adrenaline, the rage, the fear, all of the emotions had messed up with my mind, and worse, with my ability to hold Kara in. I twisted my mother's necklace around my fingers, the one she gave me just before passing away, and I really believed I should take it off and let Chloe understand clearly who she was messing with.

But this wouldn't help my pups at all.

The packhouse was silent when we arrived, still all the lights in our apartment were lit up.

I stopped short in the entryway.

Anastasia, Jasper’s mother, my mother-in-law, stood in the living room with her back to us. Her hands were clasped around two others, holding them together like she was presenting something sacred.

Jasper’s.

And Chloe’s.

“This is how it should have always been,” she was saying, her voice warm with certainty. “The two of you. Fate doesn’t make mistakes.”

My stomach dropped.

Jasper didn’t pull away. Oh no, he inhaled slowly, like bracing himself for the most divine treasure.

And then he looked at Chloe, smiling, nodding, “It doesn't,” he said.

Indeed.

———

— NOW, MY DEAR READER, PUT ON SPEAKER THE SONG.

Let it play.
Let it hurt.