Dinner wound down with plates scraped clean and laughter still buzzing in the air. Betty insisted on piling seconds on Gabriel’s plate until he finally surrendered, groaning that he couldn’t take another bite. The younger siblings scattered after dessert — Miranda grabbing a book, Chris chasing Andrew down the hall — leaving just us, Mark, and his parents at the table.
Philip leaned back, studying us with that calm, steady presence. His voice wasn’t probing or suspicious — just thoughtful. “You boys carry yourselves differently. I noticed it the moment you walked in.”
My gut tightened, the memory of claws and blood still raw under my skin. Gabriel shifted, suddenly more interested in his fork than conversation.
But Philip’s tone was kind. “Mark’s always been… different too. We never quite knew why. He has a good heart, but there’s something deeper in him, something we don’t pretend to understand.” He glanced at Betty, who nodded softly. “We’ve never tried to fix it. We’ve only tried to love him.”
Betty reached across the table then, her hand warm on mine. “And now we see the same thing in you both. Different doesn’t scare us. It only means God made you special in ways the world might not understand yet.” Her eyes shone, steady and sincere. “Thank you for looking out for our son.”
I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt tight. I’d been called a monster more times than I could count, been shoved, locked away, screamed at. But here, in this tidy parsonage, with the smell of pie still in the air and gentle hands on mine, I was being thanked. Loved.
Gabriel cleared his throat, his usual cocky grin failing him. “Honestly, ma’am, it’s nothing. Mark’s… he’s easy to look after.”
Philip smiled at that, his gaze flicking between the three of us. “Well, keep doing it. And know this — you’ll always have a place at our table. You’re welcome here, any time.”
Something settled inside me then, something I hadn’t realized was clawing so hard at my ribs. Belonging. Not to a blood pack, not to some survival instinct — but to simple, human warmth.
When we finally stood to leave, Betty hugged me tight, whispering, “You’re safe here.” Gabriel got the same, and for once, he didn’t crack a joke about it.
Outside, the air was cool, the church steeple casting a long shadow across the lawn. Mark walked us to the Humvee, his expression soft but searching. He didn’t ask about the claws, or the growl, or the way I nearly tore a bully apart. He just said, “They really like you guys.”
I looked back at the glowing windows of the parsonage and swallowed hard. “Yeah. I… like them too.”
For the first time, I realized it wasn’t just Mark we’d found. It was a whole family — and that might’ve been the rarest treasure of all.