Clara could already picture the guilt that would cloud Lucius’s face when he realized how much time had passed without him, followed by the stunned disbelief that would settle over him when she placed Angel in his arms and told him she was their daughter. She could imagine him staring down at the tiny girl, searching her face as though he were trying to make up for three months of memories he had never been given the chance to create. And knowing her husband, she also knew that any guilt or regret would soon be overtaken by an overwhelming tenderness. Lucius had always loved their children fiercely, and Angel would be no exception. He would probably spend the first few minutes asking Clara a dozen questions about the pregnancy, the birth, and every little thing he had missed, before declaring that he intended to make up for every second he had been away. The thought brought another smile to Clara’s face, though it did little to ease the ache of having spent more than a year without him. She wanted him home so badly that even the thought of his familiar voice filling the house again made her heart feel lighter.
She rinsed the last traces of soap from Angel’s skin, then wrapped her in a soft, fluffy towel and lifted her carefully from the tub. Angel immediately nestled against her chest, making a contented sound as Clara kissed the top of her damp head. "You’re going to steal your daddy’s heart the moment he sees you," she whispered, holding her daughter close. "He might have missed the beginning, my love, but he’ll have the rest of his life to make up for it." Angel responded by curling her tiny fingers into Clara’s dress, her eyelids growing heavy as she settled against her mother. Clara held Angel a little closer, breathing in the familiar scent of baby soap and warmth when a deep rumble rolled across the heavens.
She paused, her attention immediately drawn toward the bedroom window. Outside, the late-morning sky remained bright and clear, with sunlight illuminating the rundown buildings and narrow streets of the impoverished district. The air hung still, and the streets below continued their usual activities beneath the cloudless sky. There were no dark clouds gathering overhead, no sign of an approaching storm, and not even the slightest breeze to suggest that the weather was about to change. Yet another rumble shook the heavens, deeper and louder than the first, making the windowpanes vibrate faintly in their frames. Clara stared outside, her brows drawing together as she instinctively tightened her hold on Angel. What was that all about?
The sky was perfectly clear, so why did it sound as though a storm was gathering overhead?
Unless it was not a storm at all. Her eyes widened slightly as a possibility flashed through her mind, and her heart began to pound against her ribs. Could it be that Lucius had finally...
Her thought was cut short when the air in front of her shimmered, and a familiar figure appeared in the middle of the bedroom with the silliest grin Clara had ever seen on him. Asgorath stood there as though he had merely stepped out for a brief walk rather than returned from a thousand years of imprisonment, his eyes immediately searching her face with unmistakable excitement. For several seconds, Clara could only stare at him, unable to move or utter a single word. She had imagined this moment countless times during the thirteen months he had been away. She had pictured herself running into his arms, crying against his chest, scolding him for leaving her alone for so long, and telling him everything that had happened in his absence. She had imagined so many different reactions that she had convinced herself she would be prepared when the day finally came. Yet now that he was standing right in front of her, looking at her with that ridiculous grin, every rehearsed word vanished from her mind. She could only stand frozen, clutching their daughter against her chest as her eyes filled with disbelief.
"Did you miss me, babe?" Asgorath asked, spreading his arms slightly as though expecting her to rush into them. His grin widened when she continued staring at him without responding, and he let out a soft chuckle. "Come on, sweetheart. Is that how you welcome your husband after being separated from him for so long? I nearly died of loneliness in that wretched place, and this is all I get?" He took a step toward her, clearly enjoying her stunned silence, but paused when his gaze finally dropped to the tiny bundle in her arms. His smile faltered as he stared at the infant nestled against Clara’s chest, taking in her round cheeks, the wisps of crimson hair on her head, and the little hand curled against her mother’s dress. For the first time since appearing, Asgorath looked genuinely confused.
His eyes shifted from the baby to Clara, then back to the baby again, as though he were trying to make sense of something that should not have been possible. "Uhm... Clara, babe... whose baby is that?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he stared at the little girl nestled in his wife’s arms, confusion written all over his face as he tried to understand why Clara was holding a baby he had never seen before.
Clara’s lips suddenly began to tremble. Her eyes glistened, and the hand supporting their daughter tightened slightly. A small, broken sound escaped her throat, and tears began streaming down her cheeks. Asgorath’s confusion vanished the instant he heard her cry. Completely forgetting about the mysterious baby, he crossed the room in two long strides and wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her carefully against his chest while making sure not to crush the little bundle between them. Clara immediately buried her face against him, clutching the back of his shirt with her free hand as the tears came harder.