True to his word, he came in exactly five minutes later, kicking off his boots and hanging up his coat.
"Go wash up," I told him. "Dinner will be ready in ten."
He disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the water running. When he emerged, his hair was damp where he'd splashed his face, and he'd changed into house clothes—soft sweatpants and one of my t-shirts that hung loose on his frame.
"Better?" I asked.
"Much." He came over and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his cheek against my back while I finished cooking. "Smells good."
"It's almost ready. Set the table?"
He pulled away with a soft sound of agreement and started gathering plates and silverware. We'd fallen into such easy domesticity over the months. Taking turns with chores, moving around each other in the small kitchen like we'd been doing it for years.
At dinner, he told me about his day—about the mare, about a call he'd had with a potential client that he'd ultimately decided not to take on.
"She wanted me to help her hide assets in the divorce," he explained, twirling pasta on his fork. "Said her husband didn't deserve half of what she'd earned. But when I asked more questions, it became clear she just wanted to be vindictive. There were no abuse concerns, no custody issues. Just two people who fell out of love and couldn't be civil about it."
"So you referred her elsewhere?"
"I referred her to a mediator, actually. Told her she'd have better outcomes if they worked together instead of against each other." He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "She wasn't happy about it, but it was the right call."
"I'm proud of you," I said, meaning it. "For knowing your boundaries and sticking to them."
His cheeks pinked with pleasure. "Thanks, Daddy."
After dinner, we cleaned up together, then settled on the couch. I had a book I'd been working through, and Tanner grabbed one of his coloring books.
"Daddy?" he said after a while, not looking up from his page.
"Yeah, bud?"
"Can I ask you something?"
I set my book aside, giving him my full attention. His tone suggested this was important. "Always."
He set down his colored pencil and turned to face me. "Do you ever… do you ever wish I was different? That I didn't need to be little sometimes? That I was more… I don't know. Grown up all the time?"
My heart clenched. "Where's this coming from?"
"I just—" He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "I had a call with my parents today. They asked how I was doing, and I told them about cutting back my workload. About focusing on the cases that matter. And my mom said…" He trailed off, looking down at his hands.
"What did she say?" I kept my voice gentle, though I was already bracing myself.
"She said I was wasting my potential. That I'd worked so hard to build my practice, and now I was throwing it away to 'play house' on a ranch." His voice got thick. "She said I was being irresponsible. That I needed to think about my future."
I pulled him into my lap, settling him against my chest. "Look at me, bud."
He did, and I could see the hurt in his eyes, the old insecurities rising up.
"You are not wasting your potential. You're using it in a way that actually serves you instead of depleting you. You're helping the people who truly need you, the ones who can't afford high-powered lawyers, the ones who are fighting for their kids'safety." I cupped his face. "That's not playing house. That's being intentional about your life."
"But what if she's right? What if I'm being?—"
"She's not right," I said firmly. "And even if she was, even if you decided tomorrow that you wanted to quit law entirely and just work on the ranch full time, I would support you. Because your worth isn't tied to your productivity or your career. You matter because you're you, not because of what you do."
His eyes filled with tears. "You really mean that?"
"Every word." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. "And as for wishing you were different? Never. Not once. You being little isn't something I tolerate, Tanner. It's something I cherish. It's part of who you are, and I love all of you."
