I moved to Leo, crouching beside him. "Leo, this is Mr. Cassian. He's the friend I told you about. And this is Dr. Romero. They want to play that science game, remember?"
Leo held up his T-rex. "This is Rex. King din’saur."
"He looks very fierce," Cassian said, and I could hear him struggling to find the right tone. "What does he do?"
"He eats everything!" Leo roared, moving the dinosaur toward Cassian. "Rawr!"
Something flickered across Cassian's face—surprise, maybe, or wonder. He looked at me, and for a moment, I saw past all the anger and betrayal to something else. Fear. The same fear I'd been living with for two and a half years.
He didn't know how to be a father any more than I'd known how to tell him he was one.
"Mr. Barone?" Dr. Romero prompted gently. "Shall we proceed with the test?"
The moment broke. Cassian nodded, his mask sliding back into place.
The test was quick. Dr. Romero explained it to Leo as a "tickle game," swabbing the inside of his cheek while Leo giggled. Then Cassian's turn. Another swab. Done.
"Results will be expedited," Dr. Romero said, packing his materials. "You should have confirmation by morning, Ms. Quinn."
I showed him out, and suddenly it was just the three of us.
Leo returned to his dinosaurs, already forgetting the strange doctor. Cassian stood frozen in the middle of my living room, looking lost.
"Would you—" I forced the words out. "Would you like to stay? For a bit? Leo's bedtime isn't until eight. You could… get to know him."
I watched him struggle with the decision. Part of him clearly wanted to run. But his eyes kept drifting back to Leo, hungry and desperate.
"Yes," he said finally. "I'd like that."
The silence stretched between us, awkward and heavy. Leo continued playing with his dinosaurs, oblivious to the tension.
"Have you eaten?" I asked, defaulting to the mundane because I didn't know what else to say. "I was about to make Leo dinner. It's nothing fancy—just chicken nuggets and mac and cheese—but you're welcome to—"
"Yes. Thank you." Cassian's formality seemed absurd in my tiny kitchen, but I nodded and moved toward the stove.
He followed me, stopping at the edge of the kitchen like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to enter. His eyes tracked every movement as I pulled out Leo's dinosaur-shaped plates, the special fork he insisted on using, and the sippy cup with the straw.
"You do this every night," he said quietly. Not a question.
"Every night." I turned on the stove, hands shaking slightly as I poured mac and cheese into a pot. "Sometimes he helps. He likes to stir."
"What else does he like?"
The question caught me off guard. I glanced at him, finding genuine curiosity in his expression.
"Dinosaurs, obviously. And trucks. He's obsessed with garbage trucks—we have to watch them every Tuesday." I stirred the pasta, grateful for something to do with my hands. "He loves being outside. The playground. Puddles. He's fearless on the slide but terrified of the neighbor's cat."
Cassian absorbed every word like he was memorizing it. "What's his favorite food?"
"Pancakes. Especially if I cut them into shapes." I smiled despite everything. "And any fruit. He'd eat strawberries for every meal if I let him."
"Does he sleep through the night?"
"Mostly. Sometimes he has bad dreams and comes to my bed." I lowered my voice. "He's a cuddler. Always has been."
Something crossed Cassian's face—pain, maybe, or regret. All the nights he'd missed. All the mornings he'd never woken up to find a small body curled against him.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I know that doesn't fix anything, but I am. So sorry."
