By the time the credits roll, his breathing has evened out into sleep. I click off the TV and carefully lift him, surprised by how light he feels. As I pass the master bedroom, I glance in and see Nina curled up in a chair with a book. She's giving us space.
We haven’t told Austin I’m his father. Soon, but not yet. I want him to get comfortable with me first, want this to feel natural when we finally drop that news on him. The last thing I need is for him to be disappointed when he finds out.
Getting to know him has been a surprise. I figured kids were just loud, sticky distractions, but Austin’s actually interesting. Smart. Funny in ways I didn’t expect. His questions make me think, and his excitement about random stuff is starting to rub off on me.
In his room, I tuck him under the Captain America comforter and flip on the nightlight. When I step into the hallway, Nina’s waiting for me, leaning against the wall with a soft smile that makes everything else go quiet.
“You’re good with him,” she murmurs, something warm in her eyes.
Relief floods through me. I’ve been winging this whole dad thing, and honestly, I had no idea if I was screwing it up.
“You’ve done an amazing job raising him. I wish you hadn’t had to do it alone.”
She shrugs, but I catch the flash of old pain in her eyes. “No point in living with regret. But there’s something I want to show you.”
I follow her into the bedroom, where a thick baby book lies open on the bed. She hands it to me, and we settle side by side as I turn through the pages. Photo after photo of Austin’s life unfolds in front of me—a chubby, bald baby growing into a toddler with a gap-toothed grin, then a kid with wild curls and mischievous eyes that already look like trouble.
Every milestone is documented. First steps, first words, first haircut. There’s even a letter Nina wrote for Austin to read when he’s older. Years of his life I missed, all carefully preserved in this book.
I’ll never get those years back, and the loss guts me. But at least she saved them, every photo, every scribbled detail. Like she always knew one day I’d need to see who my son was before I showed up.
I work to swallow around the tightness in my throat as I look up. Nina’s watching me with understanding in her gray eyes, her hand coming up to touch my jaw before she kisses me.
This book, this woman, this life she’s built for our son—it’s more than I ever thought I’d have. More than I probably deserve.
But I’m keeping it anyway.
31
NINA
“I can’t believethat’s where you’re living,” Keshia says as she takes a bite of her Caesar salad.
I gave her the full tour of the penthouse when she picked me up for lunch, and she spent most of it staring slack-jawed at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Can’t say I blame her. The view still takes my breath away.
“I know. It’s been almost a week, and I still feel like I’m house-sitting for someone who’s going to come back any minute and ask what the hell I’m doing there.”
Austin is home with Alessio right now. It’s their first time alone together, and my stomach has been in knots since I left. Not because I don’t trust him, but because parenting is full of curveballs that experience teaches you to handle. What if Austin falls and splits his lip? What if he has one of his rare meltdowns? What if he looks Alessio dead in the eye and asks if he’s his father?
The similarities between them are getting harder to ignore. Same way of scrunching their nose when they’re thinking hard,same habit of crossing their arms when they’re being stubborn. If I can see it, who’s to say my observant six-year-old won’t notice eventually?
At least I prepped Alessio for any heart episodes. I walked him through every symptom, gave him the cardiologist’s number, and made him promise to call me the second anything seemed off.
My phone buzzes against the table. I snatch it up, expecting Alessio.
It’s not. Unknown number. I open the message anyway.
This is Richie. We need to talk.
The blood drains from my face so fast I feel dizzy. Richie is Eric’s brother. The same charming specimen who got himself banned from three restaurants in one year for groping waitresses. I haven’t seen him since before my divorce, and that’s exactly how I like it.
I almost type back something sharp about having nothing to say to him, but I catch myself. Engaging with him at all feels like opening the door to a pushy salesman. Give them an inch, and they’ll take over your whole afternoon.
I block his number and shove my phone back in my purse. I assume he’s reaching out because they found Eric’s body, but that doesn’t mean I owe him anything. Not explanations, not shared grief, not my time.
Yet a chill runs down my spine at the thought of Eric’s family becoming a problem now that his body’s been found.
Richie was always unhinged, even when Eric was alive to keep him in check. I shove the thought away. I have Austin and Alessio to think about.
