Mrs. Paxton’s mouth rounded, then she dropped her chin. “I see. I—at least you did the right thing and—”

“Oh! Not like that.” Leah’s fingers dug into the too-soft flesh around her waist. “Please don’t think less of Clay. Think more of him.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Not even your father-in-law.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Leah stood and walked to the wedding portrait on the wall. Clay looked so handsome in his service uniform, his smile white in his strong face. “He—he told you I was attacked and stabbed, and that he saved my life. But he didn’t tell you I was also—I was—that man—violated me.”

“Oh my goodness. Oh no. You poor child.”

Her breath strained in her tightened chest, and she stroked the rim of the wood frame, forcing herself to concentrate on Clay rather than the wolf. “When I found out I was pregnant, Clay offered to marry me so I wouldn’t have to put my baby up for adoption. So she could have a good name. So I could have his allotment to raise her.”

Mrs. Paxton murmured.

Leah faced her, and her heart wrenched at the turmoil on her face. “Helen—she isn’t really Clay’s daughter. And she isn’t really your granddaughter. I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Paxton pressed the baby to her chest and lowered her face over the downy black hair on Helen’s sweet head.

The only sound in the room was the creak of the rocking chair.

Leah hugged herself. Now she’d driven away someone she was growing to love, someone who loved her little girl like a real grandma. But she had to tell the truth.

Mrs. Paxton drew a deep breath, her head still bowed over Helen’s. “You know I didn’t give birth to Wyatt or Adler, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She raised dark eyes just like Clay’s. “They look nothing like me and don’t carry a drop of my blood, but they’re my sons. I love them the same as I love Clay, and I always will.”

“I—I understand, but this—”

“Helen is my grandchild, and I love her the same as I love my Timmy. Both babies—” She bit back a sob and shook her head. “I don’t care how they came into the world. I love them, and they’re mine.”

Leah’s gut churned. How she wanted to accept the acceptance, but it didn’t seem right. “But Mrs. Pax—”

“Mama, and don’t argue with me.” Her voice wavered. “Don’t you argue. You married my Clay, and you love him. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I—I do.” But why did love have to hurt, squeezing and twisting everything inside her?

“I know he loves you too.”

Leah lowered her face. She refused to shatter that illusion as well.