The house had long since gone quiet. Andrea was asleep,
curled up on her side with her hand resting on the empty space I’d left behind.
She looked peaceful, but I knew her heart was still racing underneath it all.
That truth she’d shared with me earlier cracked something
open. Not in a bad way. Just... something real. A wall she’d built to survive
finally came down.
And now it was my turn to hold the space for it.
I slipped out of bed, padded down the hall, and pushed open
the nursery door.
Anthony was still awake. Barely. Just blinking sleepily at
the ceiling, clutching that ratty little stuffed giraffe he refused to part
with. When he saw me, his mouth broke into that big, goofy smile that could
melt the core of the Earth.
“Dada,” he whispered, reaching up without hesitation.
I swallowed hard and walked to him, scooping him up and
settling into the rocking chair with him in my arms. He rested his cheek
against my chest, his thumb slipping into his mouth like he was half baby, half
boy.
And I held him there.
“You know,” I murmured softly, “I didn’t help make you. Not
the way some dads do.”
He blinked up at me, big eyes reflecting the nightlight’s
gentle glow.
“But I chose you. Every day. I woke up and said,
‘That’s my boy.’ Even when you cried all night. Even when you get yogurt in my
shoes. Even when you made me read the same book twelve times in a row.”
A little sleepy giggle bubbled out of him, and I smiled
through the lump in my throat.
“You’re mine,” I said firmly. “And I’m yours. Forever,
okay?”
He reached up and touched my cheek. “Forever?”
“Forever and ever.”
He nestled back into my chest, and I felt his breathing
slow. His little heartbeat against mine—soft, steady, and safe.
And just like that, I knew.
It didn’t matter whose blood ran in his veins.
It didn’t matter what kind of chaos came knocking.
He was my son.
And no one—not even Tio—could take that from me.
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