Damian’s Point of View
The next morning arrived before I could fully understand the weight of the decision I’d made.
I want to meet him.
My son.
Even the word felt foreign on my tongue, my first time. Son. A whole life—his life—existing without me in it. A boy I didn’t know, a name I hadn’t spoken, a laugh I’d never heard… but he was mine.
Ava hadn’t slept. I could tell by the stiff set of her shoulders as she paced across the penthouse, her phone clutched in her hand. She kept glancing at me, uncertain, as if waiting for me to change my mind.
I didn’t.
“I told Olivia we’re coming,” she said finally. Her voice was soft, like the words might bruise if spoken too loud. “She’ll have him ready.”
Ready. Like this was an interview. A reveal. But it wasn’t a surprise party. It was a recko
