The next morning was soft.
Sunlight bled gently through the trees, casting fractured gold across the living room floor. Somewhere deeper in the house, Michael’s footsteps were barely audible always measured, always somewhere else.
Leo sat cross-legged on the big rug, toy cars scattered in front of him, but his hands weren’t moving. His eyes were on Erica.
“Mom?”
She was at the table, her second cup of coffee going cold. She looked up. “Yeah, baby?”
He hesitated just for a second. “Is he my dad?”
The question didn’t hit like a bomb. It was quieter than that. But no less destructive.
Erica closed her eyes for a breath, then stood and came to sit beside him. She tucked her legs underneath her, matched his height.
“Yes,” she said. “He is.”
Leo didn’t respond right away. His fingers t
