"You don't have to figure it all out right now," Lyan said gently, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. His large, calloused hand held her son's tiny one, and for a moment, the tension in the air seemed to ease. Clarisse looked down at the small scene unfolding in front of her—Lyan, this powerful, commanding man who had brought armies to their knees, now standing here with her son, offering him warmth and tenderness. It was hard to reconcile this image with the man she had resented for so long.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she adjusted her grip on her child. "I just… I didn't ask for any of this," she murmured, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable than she wanted it to be. "I didn't ask to be a widow. I didn't ask for my son to grow up without a father."
Lyan nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I know. Life has a way of forcing us into things we never asked for."