There was someone else in my son’s world now.
And he mattered just as much.
I took a slow breath and placed the document on the table between us, but I did not push it toward him yet.
“I had thought about this carefully,” I said. “Not just as a mother who wanted to protect her child, but as someone who understood what it meant to lose time you could never get back.”
Ashton remained silent, watching me closely.
“Our son should stay with me,” I continued, choosing each word with care. “Michigan was where his school was. His friends. His routine. His sense of safety. I would not uproot him and drag him into another life just because the adults around him were still figuring things out.”
His jaw tightened, but I did not stop.
“That did not mean I was cutting you out. You would still be very present. Extended visits. School holidays. Long stretches during breaks. He would know you. He would have time with you that was not rushed or stolen between obligations.”
I met his eyes. “Stability mattered, Ashton. Especially at his age.”
“That made me a visitor,” he said quietly.
The words landed heavier than an accusation.
I hesitated, then added, “It made you his father who showed up consistently, without turning his life upside down.”
The silence stretched.
“There was another option,” I said finally, softer now. “One I did not expect you to like.”
His eyes lifted.
“You could come to us,” I continued. “Spend significant time where he already lived. You had the resources. Remote work. Temporary arrangements. I was not asking you to give up your life, but if someone had to bend, it should not always be the child.”
His expression hardened, not with anger, but something deeper.
I finished speaking and waited.
Ashton studied me for a long moment before he finally spoke. “You keep saying you were protecting him,” he said quietly. “But every option you offered kept him with you and left me in fragments.”
“That was not true,” I replied.
“It was,” he said. “Holidays. Breaks. Long visits that ended with goodbye. You called that stability. I called it absence with a schedule.”
I stiffened. “I was trying to do what was best for him.”
“And I was asking to be part of his everyday life,” he said, his voice tightening. “Not a visitor. Not a memory he packed away when the holidays ended.”
He leaned back, exhaustion etched into his face. “Tell me how your plan taught him that his father truly belonged.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
For the first time, I did not have an answer.
He leaned forward, his gaze locking on mine.
“Bailey, I was done asking,” he said. “We were getting back together. We were going to be a family. For him. And for us. No more half measures. No more waiting. This ended now.”
I froze, my heart hammering. “What… what were you saying?” I managed, my voice shaking.
“I was saying I wanted us,” he repeated, stronger this time. “Together. As a family.”
