Second chance to love again

November 1, 1981, 3:58 am. The little boy, not more than a year old, was looking at him, with those blue eyes that had so captured him. The boy had dried tears on his face and his eyes were still wet, but he wasn't crying. The bruise on his forehead didn't hurt anymore thanks to the little restraint he'd managed to do with a clean cloth, even though it was hurting, it was still bleeding slightly, but he didn't do anything. There was nothing he could do but sit in front of the boy and look at him. Did you make a good decision? Of course, he tells himself, because if she had talked to her old friend at some point and they had agreed, she would ask him to take care of her son if neither she nor her father could. It wasn't the first choice, but between an irresponsible and a traitorous assassin, it was the best option. He remembers his anger nearly getting out of hand when he remembered a police officer telling him he had to take him to Patty Heyns herself and her fat husband, saying it was "necessary" as he was the last person with the same blood, and that they could protect him. Well, goddamn hell. They were at Donovan Manor now, in one of the first-floor rooms next to hers; He was thinking of putting a crib in his room, but then he shook his head: the boy was already sleeping alone. He had arranged a room with soft colors and the strange little bears that sang from time to time; the windows overlooked the large back garden, where there was also a small wood and a stream, and he had paid for some painters to make a starry fluorescent sky that would glow so that, at the child's sleep time, it would become a starry sky with waning moon. The place had many age-appropriate games and toys, as well as a large closet full of new clothes, since there wasn't much left after the bombing. The boy made a small noise in his throat, rising from the crib and holding on to the railing, looking at him. He raised an eyebrow and the boy laughed, narrowing his eyes and showing his two growing front teeth; his little joy also caused him to fall when he was jumping around, but he didn't cry, and the man sighed: the boy was very agitated, and he knew he had a long history from now on, where he would possibly have to fix a lot of things if the kid just didn't accept "no" the first time. Little Henry stretched out his little arms toward him, trying to get him to carry him, while making viscous noises with his mouth and opening and closing his hands, still looking at him, and Adrian frowned, though he still rose from his chair and went to the boy, taking him in his arms, unsure. When he'd settled down enough to believe he wasn't going to give up, he looked right at him. Henry turned his head a little to see him, but then he laid his head on his shoulder, lying on top of him, and one of his hands went to his hair, stretching it slightly, babbling. Adrian Donovan found himself rocking and gently stroking the boy's back, who was slowly falling asleep.