"He has my eyes," I say simply. "And my nose. He’s my son, through and through. I'm not the type of man to turn my back on that."
"I'm starting to see that." She hands me the last dish. "I want you to know... I didn't come here expecting you to take care of us indefinitely. I just needed help getting back on my feet."
"I know." I set the dish down. "And I'll help with that too. Finding work, whatever you need."
She looks up at me then, her brown eyes searching mine. "Why? You don't even know me."
"I know enough," I say. "I know you kept our son safe and loved on your own for two years. I know you swallowed your pride to come find me when you had nowhere else to turn. I know you make really good chicken soup."
That earns me a small smile. "The soup is my grandmother's recipe."
"Well, she was a good cook too, then."
Max interrupts our moment, tugging on my pant leg. "Story?" he asks, holding up the book I bought him.
I look to Sidney for guidance, and she nods encouragingly. "Ready to do this again?"
"Sure." I say, taking the book. "Let's go sit on the couch."
Max climbs into my lap without hesitation, a trust so complete it terrifies me. I open the book about the father and son fishing, my voice rough as I begin to read.
The story is simple: a dad takes his son fishing for the first time, teaching him patience, showing him the beauty of nature. At the end, they don't catch any fish, but it doesn't matter because they had the day together.
"Again," Max demands when I finish.
"One time is enough, Max," Sidney says gently. "It's nearly bedtime."
"Actually, I don't mind," I say, surprised to find it's true. "One more time?"
She smiles, something soft in her expression. "Okay. One more time."
I read the book again, more comfortable with the words this time. Max leans against my chest, his small body warm and trusting. When I finish, his eyes are heavy with sleep.
"Bath time, then bed," Sidney announces.
"I can help," I offer, then immediately wonder if I'm overstepping. "If you want."
She looks surprised but nods. "Sure. That would be great."
Bath time is a revelation. Max loves the water, splashing and laughing as Sidney washes his hair. I sit on the closed toilet seat, handing her supplies as needed, marveling at how efficient she is at the whole process.
"He loves baths," she explains. "Even when we were struggling, I always made sure he had proper baths. Sometimes I'd take him to a friend's place just for that."
I nod, watching her gentle hands support Max as he plays with a washcloth. "You're a good mother."
She glances up, surprise in her eyes. "Thank you. I try."
"No, seriously," I insist. "I've seen bad parenting. My own father was..." I trail off, not wanting to get into that history. "Anyway, you're doing a great job with him."
She smiles, the compliment clearly meaning something to her. "That means a lot."
After the bath, Max is bundled into pajamas and settled in his portable crib in my bedroom. I watch from the doorway as Sidney reads him another story, kisses his forehead, and whispers "I love you" before turning out the light.
We head downstairs in silence, the reality of our situation settling around us again now that Max is asleep.
"I should let you get some rest," I say, sensing her exhaustion. "I'll be on the couch if you need anything."
She nods but hesitates at the bottom of the stairs. "Dean? I... I've been thinking about what happens next."
