“Triangle sandwiches coming right up,” I said, heading to the kitchen.
Behind me, I heard Leo ask Chloe, “Will you let me check the puppies’ hearts again tomorrow?”
“Of course. You’re getting really good at it.”
“I want to be an animal doctor like you when I grow up.”
“Then I’ll teach you everything I know.”
My heart melted.
Chapter 18
Sam - Six Weeks After Chloe’s Birthday
Four weeks of being a family had taught me that parenting was equal parts joy and chaos, with a healthy dose of complete terror sprinkled in for good measure.
Like this morning, when I walked into the bathroom to find Leo had decided to give himself a haircut with my beard trimmer. Or last week, when he’d tried to “help” Kate refill the salt and pepper shakers at The Copper Fox and accidentally dumped an entire container of salt all over the floor. Or the time he’d asked me, with complete four-year-old seriousness, when he could start working as a vet, and then immediately followed up by asking if he could have ice cream for breakfast.
But it was also Leo’s laugh when I chased him around the yard pretending to be a dinosaur. The way he held Chloe’s hand crossing the street without being asked. How he’d started calling our house “home” instead of “your house.”
We were figuring it out. One day at a time.
“Daddy, can we visit the NEW puppies today?” Leo asked from his spot at the kitchen counter, where he wascarefully spreading peanut butter on his toast with the focused concentration of a surgeon.
Daddy. He’d started calling me that two weeks ago during Saturday morning pancakes, and every time I heard it, something warm and overwhelming flooded through me.
Around the same time, he’d transitioned from calling Chloe “Dr. Chloe” to “Chloe-mama.” Trudy had helped him work through it in one of their sessions – Leo had wanted to call Chloe “mommy” like he’d called Jenna, but he’d been worried it would be confusing or disloyal. Trudy had suggested “mama” as a way to honor both relationships: Jenna would always be his mommy, and Chloe could be his mama.
When Leo had first tried it out – shy and uncertain, watching Chloe’s face for her reaction – she’d cried happy tears and pulled him into the tightest hug. Now “Chloe-mama” rolled off his tongue as naturally as breathing.
“New puppies” referred to the latest litter at Chloe’s clinic – a boxer mix who’d had six puppies three weeks ago. The golden retriever puppies Leo had originally bonded with had all gone to their forever homes, which had resulted in days of tears and several therapy sessions with Trudy to work through his feelings about loss and permanence.
“We can visit after your session with Trudy,” I said, pouring coffee into my travel mug. “Speaking of which, we need to leave in twenty minutes.”
“Okay!” Leo took a huge bite of his toast, getting peanut butter on his nose in the process.
I grabbed a paper towel and gently wiped his face. “Buddy, you’ve got to slow down when you eat.”
“But I’m excited! Trudy said we might do the feelings cards today!”
Leo’s individual therapy sessions with Trudy had been Chloe’s idea. She’d suggested it during one of our familysessions, pointing out that Leo had been through significant trauma and that having a safe space to process his feelings – separate from us – might help him long-term. Trudy had agreed, and for the past month, Leo had been seeing her twice a week on his own, plus we had family sessions once a week where all three of us worked on communication and attachment.
Arthur had been pleased when we’d told him about the therapy. Apparently, voluntary mental health support showed the courts we were proactive about Leo’s emotional well-being, which would only strengthen our custody case.
But honestly, I didn’t care what the courts thought. I cared that Leo had stopped having nightmares every night. That he’d gone from asking every night if we’d still be there when he woke up to bounding downstairs asking about pancakes. That he smiled more easily now, laughed louder, and trusted more freely.
Chloe emerged from the bedroom, already dressed for the clinic. She’d been continuing her own therapy, though less frequently now. She’d told me last week that she felt like she was “finding her balance again”, and the daily sessions she’d needed right after she came home had tapered to once every two weeks now.
“Are you ready for the chaos?” she asked, stealing a sip of my coffee.
“Always.” I kissed her forehead, letting myself linger there for just a moment. These small touches, these quiet moments of connection – they’d become precious to me. Reminders that we were rebuilding not just as a family, but as partners. “How’s your morning looking?”
“Three wellness checks, one dental cleaning, and a kitten for his first round of shots.” She smiled. “Oh, and I promised Leo he could help me check the new puppies’ weights after his therapy session.”
“I heard,” I said, watching Leo finish his toast and immediately start building a tower out of the sugar packets he’d pulled from the basket on the counter. “How are you feeling about tonight?”
Tonight was our first real date night since Leo had come to live with us. Harper and Jack had offered to watch him – Emma was thrilled at the idea of having Leo for a sleepover – and Chloe and I were going to dinner at the Italian place two towns over.
