"We'll go shopping tomorrow," I agree. "For both of you. Clothes, bed for Max, whatever you need."
"I can't let you buy everything," she protests. "I already feel like I'm taking advantage."
"You're not. He's my son too, which means I'm equally responsible for providing for him." I pull her closer. "And as for you… Consider it an investment in our future."
"Our future," she repeats, testing the words. "That sounds... nice."
I kiss her forehead. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."
She settles against my chest, her breathing gradually slowing as she drifts off. Max sleeps soundly in his crib, occasionallymaking small noises that tug at something deep in my chest. My son. My family.
For the second time in years, I fall asleep without needing alcohol to quiet the voices in my head. Instead, the steady breathing of Sidney and Max drowns out everything else, anchoring me to the present moment. To them.
Morning comes too quickly, announced by Max's cheerful "Mama! Up!" I crack one eye open to see him standing in his portable crib, hands gripping the edge, a wide smile on his face despite the gap where his infected tooth was removed.
Sidney stirs beside me, automatically responding to her son's call. "Coming, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep.
She catches me looking and smiles. "Morning."
"Morning," I reply, struck again by how right this feels. Waking up to them, starting the day as a family.
"Bike man!" Max exclaims, noticing me. He squirms in Sidney's arms, reaching toward me.
"Hey, buddy," I say, sitting up. "You want to come say good morning?"
Sidney hesitates only briefly before bringing him to the bed. Max immediately climbs onto my chest, his small hands patting my face with surprising force.
"Gentle, Max," Sidney cautions.
"It's okay," I assure her, though one of his pats catches me right in the eye. "Oof. Good morning to you too, buddy."
Max giggles, delighted by my reaction. I can't help but laugh too, wrapping one arm around him to keep him from toppling off the bed.
"How's your tooth feeling?" I ask him, pointing to my own mouth to help him understand.
He sticks a finger in his mouth, poking at the empty space. "All gone!"
"That's right, all gone. Does it hurt?"
He shakes his head. "No hurt. Ice cream?"
Sidney laughs. "Not for breakfast, mister. How about pancakes?"
His eyes light up. "Pancakes! With chocolate!"
"We'll see about the chocolate," she says, giving me a wink. "Let's get you changed first."
I watch as she takes him to the bathroom, talking to him softly about the day ahead. It strikes me that I know nothing about the daily routines of caring for a two-year-old. I've got a lot to learn.
By the time I shower and dress, Sidney and Max are in the kitchen. She's managed to find flour and eggs to make pancake batter, and Max is "helping" by stirring with a wooden spoon, most of the batter slopping over the sides of the bowl.
"Need another pair of hands?" I offer, rolling up my sleeves.
"Can you cook pancakes?" she asks, a challenge in her voice.
"I can try," I say with more confidence than I feel.
Turns out I'm terrible at flipping pancakes. The first three are mangled beyond recognition, which makes Max laugh hysterically. By the fourth, I've started to get the hang of it, and by the sixth, they're at least recognizable as pancakes, if oddly shaped.
