Brick by brick

Trust doesn’t return like a wave.

It’s built. Brick by fragile brick.

Some mornings, I still woke up holding my breath, expecting the world to crack open. But the sun would pour through the windows, soft and golden, and I’d hear the quiet hum of life downstairs—Anthony babbling, Doc flipping pancakes, Joe arguing with the coffee machine.

And I’d remember: I’m safe here.

Doc never asked where I’d gone that night. Never made me explain. He just wrapped me in a blanket of presence—of steadiness. He didn’t press; he just stayed.

He was teaching me how to trust again without ever saying the word.

There was this morning—one of those quiet ones—when I found him in the backyard with Anthony. They were in the garden, Anthony in his rain boots though the sky was clear, Doc crouched beside him, letting the little guy dump too many seeds in one hole. They were both laughing.

And something broke open in me.

I walked out to them, barefoot in the damp grass.

“Hey,” I said softly.

Doc looked up. “Hey, darling.”

I took a breath. “I’ve been thinking…”

He stood slowly, brushing soil from his hands, eyes searching mine but not pushing.

“I want Anthony to have your name,” I said.

His brows lifted, just slightly. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “You’ve already been more of a father to him than anyone ever could be. And I know I’ve been scared, and I’ve run, and I’m still learning how to stay. But I see the way you love him. And me. And I want him to know that. To feel that, not just in moments, but in every part of his life.”

Doc blinked once. Then again. And when he spoke, his voice was thick.

“I’d be honored.”

We hugged there in the grass—Anthony tugging at our legs like a curious puppy—and I felt something shift inside me.

Maybe not everything had to be earned through pain. Maybe some things could be given—love, safety, family—because someone chose you. Over and over.

The adoption process was quiet but sacred. I held Anthony on my lap in the courtroom while Doc signed the papers, his hand steady, his eyes full.

When the judge asked if he understood the responsibility, Doc said, “He’s already mine.”

That night, Doc tucked Anthony into bed and whispered, “Goodnight, son,” for the first time.

I stood at the door, heart full and eyes stinging.

After Anthony was asleep, I crawled into bed beside Doc, curling into his side.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“So am I,” he said. “But I think love is just being scared together, and choosing each other anyway.”

I kissed him softly, my palm over his chest, where his heart beat solid and sure beneath my hand.

“I’m choosing you,” I whispered.

His arms tightened around me.

“And I’m staying.”