She studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “Fine.” And with that, she turns and leaves.
I sit on the bed for a second longer, releasing a heavy breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My heart feels pulled in two directions—past and present, truth and pain.
Then I stand and follow her out.
As I reach the stairs, my steps slow.
Blake is standing in the living room, tall and solid, Zaiden cradled securely in his arms.
He looks down at my son with quiet focus, instinctive care, like it comes naturally to him. For a split second, he looks like a possessive father guarding something precious.
My heart sinks.
I smile despite myself.
He looks up, catches sight of me and his face softens immediately. Without a word, he steps forward and pulls me into a warm, steady hug.
Blake’s arms ti
