THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THINKING AND KNOWING
1206 Words
Christian's POV
“What did you say she did?”
Matthias didn’t flinch under my tone.
“I’m as shocked as you are,” he replied evenly. “She hugged him.”
I stilled.
“She hugged him,” I repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
Silence stretched between us.
“And?” I prompted.
Matthias exhaled slightly. “He didn’t push her away.”
That alone was enough to shift something in my chest.
Tristan did not tolerate unnecessary contact. Not from staff. Not from distant relatives. Not even from me, unless initiated on his terms.
He had always disliked being touched without warning.
“And here’s the shocking part,” Matthias continued carefully. “He hugged her back.”
My jaw tightened slightly.
Elsa.
Of course it would be the girl.
“This is strange,” I muttered more to myself than to him.
“Yes, sir.”
“He’s never been one to be close to people.”
“I’m aware.”
“He hates physical familiarity.”
“Yes.”
My gaze sharpened. “What about the lady?”
Matthias tilted his head slightly. “She was there.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She made small gestures,” he clarified. “Gave him water. Wiped his forehead. Encouraged him. Spoke to him as if he were her own.”
I went still.
“As if he were her own?” I repeated.
“Yes, sir. She carried him along with her daughter.”
The words lingered.
Carried him along.
“Did he resist?” I asked.
“No.”
That single word unsettled me more than I liked.
“Do you think she has a motive?” I asked quietly.
Matthias didn’t answer immediately.
“I’m not sure,” he said finally. “But if she does, she’s doing a hell of a job hiding it.”
I leaned back in my chair.
Calculated.
Measured.
Nothing happens around my son without intention.
“Investigate her,” I said calmly. “Privately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need all information about her on my desk tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And clear my schedule.”
“For?”
“I’ll be attending sports day. Personally.”
Matthias allowed himself the smallest nod.
“Yes, sir.”
The next morning, I was already dressed when Tristan came down the stairs.
Casual.
Dark jeans. Plain shirt. No jacket. No tie.
He stopped halfway down.
I saw the surprise in his eyes immediately.
“Dad?”
“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” I said.
“For?”
“School.”
He blinked. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
He descended the rest of the stairs slowly. “You don’t usually—”
“I heard you’re participating in a math quiz.”
He straightened slightly. “Yes.”
“There’s a father-and-son segment, isn’t there?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Well,” I said simply, “I’m your father. We’re going together.”
For a moment, he just stared at me.
Then something lit behind his eyes.
Excitement.
Small. Controlled. But unmistakable.
“You’re… coming?”
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened slightly at his sides. “Okay.”
And for a brief second — one I almost missed — his expression softened into something unmistakably childlike.
I looked away first.
Have I been too strict with him?
The thought came uninvited.
I dismissed it just as quickly.
Structure builds strength.
But as we walked toward the car together, he walked half a step closer than usual.
The school field was louder than I expected.
Parents waved. Teachers organized. Children ran everywhere.
Tristan walked beside me with visible composure — but I noticed the slight lift in his posture.
He spotted Elsa first.
She waved dramatically.
“Tristan!”
He did something I hadn’t seen in a while.
He smiled.
“My dad is here with me today,” he told her.
There was pride in his voice.
Pride.
I hadn’t realized how much he needed that.
Seraphim approached shortly after.
She looked surprised.
“Mr. Christian,” she corrected herself smoothly, eyes meeting mine. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Of course,” I replied evenly. “He’s my son.”
Her gaze held mine for a second longer than necessary.
Measured.
Observant.
I wondered what she was cataloging now.
The activities began.
The math quiz segment required synchronized answers between parent and child — small boards, timed questions, hand signals.
Tristan and I didn’t need to speak much.
He glanced once.
I nodded slightly.
We answered.
Correct.
Again.
Correct.
The teacher laughed lightly. “You two think alike.”
I didn’t miss the way Tristan’s shoulders lifted slightly at that.
We aced the segment.
When it ended, applause followed.
He looked at me cautiously, as if unsure how to interpret the success.
“Well done,” I said.
His eyes brightened slightly. “You too.”
Later, during one of the physical activities, I noticed Elsa run toward Seraphim the moment her segment ended.
Seraphim dropped to her knees immediately.
Hugged her.
Wiped her sweat.
Smiled like nothing else existed.
It was instinctive.
Unfiltered.
Tristan stood a few steps away from me.
Watching.
Then he turned slowly.
His eyes lifted toward me.
Hopeful.
Expectant.
I froze for half a second.
I am not good at public displays.
Affection has always been deliberate. Structured. Minimal.
But the look in his eyes—
I stepped forward.
Awkwardly, I placed a hand on his shoulder.
Then, after a second’s hesitation, pulled him briefly into an embrace.
He stiffened—
Then relaxed.
His arms wrapped around me.
Not tight.
But enough.
I felt the heat from his skin, the rapid beat of his heart.
He pulled back first.
“I did well,” he said quietly.
“You did,” I replied.
I cleared my throat and reached into my pocket for a handkerchief.
“Hold still.”
He blinked in surprise as I wiped the sweat from his forehead.
The gesture felt foreign.
Unpracticed.
But necessary.
“There,” I said.
His expression shifted into something I hadn’t seen directed at me before.
Trust.
Across the field, I saw Seraphim watching.
Not intrusively.
Not critically.
Just… observing.
As always.
I wondered what she was thinking now.
Whether she saw weakness.
Or growth.
When the final activity ended, Tristan walked closer to me than usual.
He didn’t speak much.
But he didn’t step away either.
As we prepared to leave, he glanced once more toward Elsa and Seraphim.
Then back at me.
“Thank you for coming,” he said quietly.
I adjusted my watch.
“I’ll attend more events,” I replied.
His eyes widened slightly.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Something in my chest shifted again.
Unfamiliar.
Unsettling.
But not unpleasant.
As we walked toward the car, I found myself thinking—
Perhaps presence is not weakness.
Perhaps control does not require distance.
And perhaps—
The woman I ordered investigated yesterday…
Is not the threat I assumed.
But I do not operate on assumptions.
Tomorrow, her file will be on my desk.
And I will know exactly who Seraphim is.
- Writer
