Julian answers. I hear low voices in the foyer, then footsteps, and Cassian walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing jeans and a dark henley that fits him in ways that make it hard to look away. His hair is slightly damp like he just showered. I catch myself noticing and force my eyes back to the vegetables I’m not actually cutting anymore.
“The boys are in the playroom,” I say without looking up.
“Alright.”
He doesn’t move immediately.
“You don’t look like you’ve had enough rest,” he says.
“Why do you care?”
“Because you’re raising my sons. If you’re exhausted, it affects them.”
The practicality of it stings more than it should. Right. The boys. That’s why he’s asking.
“I sleep fine,” I lie.
“Aurelia—”
“The boys are waiting for you.”
He studies me for another moment, then leaves.
I exhale and go back to the vegetables with hands that won’t stay steady.
An hour later, I’m folding laundry in the sitting room when laughter pulls my attention.
Cassian and the twins are on the floor with the new robot kit Julian bought. Some complicated thing with moving parts and lights. Finn is chattering nonstop about what color they should paint it. Liam’s carefully reading the instructions aloud, stumbling over the bigger words.
Cassian helps him sound them out. Patient. No frustration when Liam has to try three times to get “hydraulic” right.
I watch him with them and feel something crack open in my chest. This is what they should have had from the beginning. A father who sits on the floor and builds things with them. Who listens when they talk and answers their questions seriously.
I gave them everything I could. But I couldn’t give them this.
Cassian glances up and catches me watching. Our eyes hold.
Heat crawls up my neck. I look back at the laundry, folding the same shirt twice because my hands forget what they’re doing. When I glance up again, he’s still watching me.
The twins don’t notice. Too absorbed in making the robot’s arm move.
But the air between us shifts. Gets heavier.
I stand up and take the laundry basket to the other room just to have an excuse to leave.
Another half hour passes.
I’m in the hallway putting away linens when Cassian’s phone buzzes. I hear him excuse himself, tell the boys he’ll be right back. His footsteps move toward the front of the house.
I keep folding towels and try not to listen to his voice in the next room. Low and controlled. Business call, probably. Something that can’t wait even during visits with his sons.
Nadia appears from upstairs. “I’m making cookies with the boys. Thought they could use a break from building.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Want to help?”
“I should finish this first.”
