As the three of us get ready to head out, I look at Cole.Uncertainty clouds his eyes, but hope shines through. He’s ready to take the first step. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll figure out what comes next.
Cohen grabs my hand, pulling me out of the house, eager to get on with our day. “Come on, Mom! Let’s go! I want to go to the park!” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, excitement practically radiating off of him. His energy is contagious, and for a moment, I let myself forget the complications of everything. It’s just us.
“Wait for me, little man!” Cole calls, jogging to catch up with us. There’s a softness in his voice, like this is the first time he’s truly relaxed all day. His eyes are still unsure, like he’s feeling his way through this, trying to figure out his place in the world I’ve built with Cohen. But there’s something about the way Cohen interacts with him—it’s easy. Like it’s all falling into place.
The park is just down the street, and when we get there, Cohen immediately runs off, heading for the swings. I watch him, my heart swelling with pride. He’s always been so full of life, so open to the world. I’ve always believed in his ability to handle whatever comes his way, and today—today I’m seeing him react to someone new in his life with that same openness.
Cohen’s laughter rings out as he pumps his legs higher and higher, the wind catching his hair in wild strands. It’s pure joy that makes the world slow down for a moment.
“Do you think he’ll like me?” Cole asks, his voice low as we sit on the nearby bench, watching Cohen swing higher and higher.
I turn to him, my eyes meeting his. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that I didn’t expect. The man I thought I knew—so tough, so unshakable—has changed. I see it now in the way he watches Cohen, the way his chest tightens every time Cohen laughs, every time he notices something new.
His hands nervously twist the edge of his jacket, betraying the calm he tries to hold on to. “I’m not used to feeling this…hopeful,” he admits.
“He already does,” I say, my voice gentle. “You don’t have toworry about that. Cohen has a heart as big as his imagination. It might take time, but he’ll see you for who you are.”
Cole nods, but I can tell the uncertainty still lingers. The part of him that feels like he missed too much, that can never catch up. I want to reassure him, to tell him it’s never too late to be part of Cohen’s life, but I don’t have the right words. All I can do is watch them—watch them both—and let time take care of the rest.
After some time, Cohen finally runs back to us, his face flushed with excitement.
“Mom, can we go get ice cream now?” he asks, practically jumping up and down.
I laugh, my heart light as I look at Cole. He’s watching Cohen with such tenderness that it almost breaks me. I never imagined this—never imagined him here, with us, in this moment.
“Sure, buddy,” I say, standing up. “Let’s go get ice cream.”
We all head to the local ice cream shop, and Cohen is bouncing from one foot to the other as we wait in line. He’s already picked out his flavor: mint chocolate chip. I can’t help but smile at how much like me he is with ice cream choices.
“I’ll have the same,” Cole says, looking down at Cohen with a grin.
The clerk hands us our ice cream, and we sit at a small table outside. Cohen is already halfway through his cone, his face covered in chocolate and mint as he talks a mile a minute about everything he’s going to do today. He’s planning out the rest of the afternoon like we’re going to conquer the world together.
Cole leans in slightly, his voice low but warm. “He’s got your energy. It’s contagious.”
I watch him, feeling a lump in my throat. How did we get here? How did I get so lucky to have this little boy? To have this life, even with all its messiness and complications?
I glance at Cole, and something in his eyes catches me off guard. He’s looking at Cohen, his expression soft, his gaze a little distant, like he’s trying to piece everything together. He notices my eyes on him and meets my gaze for a brief second.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he mumbles, his voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe I’m here with him. With you.”
I nod, swallowing the emotions rising in my chest. “Me neither,” I admit, my voice cracking just slightly. “It feels…unreal. But it’s real, Cole. This is happening.”
He nods slowly, then reaches out and gently wipes a smear of ice cream from Cohen’s cheek with the edge of a napkin. The gesture is so small, but it hits me like a punch to the chest. It’s instinctive, natural—fatherly. And for a brief second, I see what could’ve been if life hadn’t torn us apart.
Cole leans back in his chair, watching Cohen chase a butterfly near the sidewalk. His voice is quiet, almost lost in the breeze. “Back then…I used to wonder what our kids would look like. What they’d sound like. In prison, that was what got me through—the what ifs. I’d lie awake some nights just trying to picture our future. It never felt real. But this—” he gestures toward Cohen with a soft, disbelieving smile, “—this is more than I ever let myself hope for.”
I don’t say anything at first, afraid I’ll cry again. Instead, I reach across the table and rest my hand on his. He glances down at the contact, surprised, but doesn’t pull away. He squeezes once, just once, like a promise.
We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around town, Cohen leading the charge, making spontaneous decisions about where to go and what to do. It’s clear that he’s enjoying having Cole around. I can see how easy it is for him to connect with him, and it makes me believe in the possibility that this might actually work. That, over time, they can build something. Including Colein Cohen’s life is possible, and Cohen can have the father he’s always deserved.
At one point, Cohen insists on showing Cole the “secret fort” he made in the bushes near the community garden. Cole crouches down to examine the makeshift shelter, his eyes lighting up with childlike wonder. “I can’t believe you built this,” he says, voice full of admiration. “You’re full of surprises, kid.”
As the sun dips lower in the sky, we finally make our way home. The day has been full of laughter, full of moments that feel so simple but so meaningful. And as we approach my front door, I feel the weight of everything crashing back down. The reality of it all. Cohen is tired, and I can see it in his little shoulders slumping as we walk inside.
“I’m going to get ready for bed, Mom,” Cohen says as he heads to the hallway, his voice a little quieter now.
“Okay, lovebug. I’ll be right there to tuck you in,” I say, my voice soft and gentle.
