Chapter 8
766 Words
Lena’s POV
The envelope wasn’t in the mailbox. It was on the doormat.
No postage. No return address. Just To Mateo written in soft, slanted handwriting.
I stared at it like it might disappear. Like if I blinked, it would dissolve back into the fog of all the things we didn’t know.
Ethan wasn’t home, still at the hospital for his internship shift. Mateo had finally fallen asleep, tucked into the bassinet with his stuffed dinosaur and one sock already kicked off. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the dishwasher and the light patter of my own heartbeat.
I opened the envelope slowly.
Inside: a photo. And a note.
I hope you’re taking care of him.
I wasn’t ready, but he deserves love.
His name is Mateo. Please keep it.
I had to sit down.
It was one thing to think of Mateo as the baby we’d been placed with. One thing to follow the schedules and feedings and diaper rotations and act like we were just stand-ins for something temporary.
But this? This made him feel permanent.
Real.
Loved.
I walked to his room, our room, now and stood beside his bassinet. His chest rose and fell slowly. I ran a fingertip over his tiny fist, then pressed the letter to my heart.
“I don’t know how anyone could let you go,” I whispered. “But I swear I’ll never treat you like you weren’t worth keeping.”
And I meant it. Every word.
Ethan’s POV
“So,” Logan said, “are we gonna talk about how Lena always looks like she’s five seconds from rolling her eyes at you, and yet you still act like she’s the most fascinating person in the room?”
I glared over my burrito. “We’re not talking about that.”
“Right. You’re definitely not into her. And I’m a humble guy with no opinions.”
It was our lunch break, and he’d followed me to the taco truck outside the hospital like a determined golden retriever with relationship theories.
“She’s complicated,” I admitted. “We have… history. Kind of.”
“History like you almost kissed once and then she ghosted you, or history like you accidentally watched Up together and cried in sync?”
I winced. “Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.”
Logan smirked. “So, what now?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We’re co-parenting. This is a full-time thing. A baby. Mateo isn’t just an assignment.”
His face shifted serious, for once. “You like her. That’s okay. Just don’t screw it up.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“And if you do screw it up,” he added, grinning again, “at least don’t make it weird. We’re all neighbors now. One baby monitor away from a telenovela.”
I laughed, despite myself. But as the humor faded, something else settled in.
I wanted to be the kind of person she could rely on. For Mateo. For her. For whatever this was becoming.
Lena’s POV
Ethan got home late.
He walked in, dropped his keys, looked at me and froze.
“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
I handed him the envelope.
He read the letter twice, lips pressed into a thin line.
“She named him,” I whispered. “Mateo.”
He looked up. “We’re keeping it?”
“Of course we are.”
There was a quiet beat, and then he said softly, “You’re really good at this.”
I blinked. “What?”
“This. Mateo. The long nights. The bottle feeds. The songs you hum when you think I’m not listening.”
My cheeks went warm. “You’re better than you think, too.”
He laughed under his breath. “Lena Morgan complimenting me. Mark your calendars.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late.”
And just like that, the air changed. Not heavy. Not light. Just full.
With possibility.
Later that night
I couldn’t sleep.
Mateo had drifted off again, soft baby breaths filling the monitor, but my brain wouldn’t quiet.
I walked into the kitchen to get water.
And I saw the envelope again. Still on the counter.
Still open.
But something about it made me pause.
I turned the photo over.
There was writing on the back I hadn’t noticed before.
Two numbers.
One looked like a date.
The other… was a code.
No. An address.
And underneath it:
There’s more you should know.
- Writer
