The word hangs in the air.
Luca goes very still. Alexei has never called him that before. Never called him anything except Luca or, in the beginning, “the man.”
“Goodnight,” Luca says again. Quieter this time. He stands and turns off the lamp. Adjusts the nightlight. Leaves the door open exactly four inches.
When he turns, he sees me in the hallway. We don’t speak. Just stand there looking at each other while our son sleeps six feet away.
Then Luca walks past me toward the stairs.
I follow.
In the hallway downstairs, he stops. Turns to face me. “He called me Papa.”
“I heard.”
“He’s never done that before.”
“No.”
“Does it bother you?”
I think about that. Three weeks ago, it would have.
Now?
“No,” I say. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“You’re sure?”
“You’re his father. He should be able to call you that.”
Luca looks at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m lying. “Something changed.”
“What?”
“You. Us. This.” He gestures vaguely between us. “Three weeks ago, you would have fought me on this.”
“Three weeks ago, I hadn’t watched you build train sets and pick flowers and read bedtime stories. I hadn’t seen you be patient with them when they’re difficult. I hadn’t watched you be their father instead of just claiming to be their father.”
“And that changed your mind?”
“It made me realize I was wrong. About some things.”
“What things?”
“I thought you’d hurt them. I thought being near you would damage them. I thought the only way to keep them safe was to keep them away from you.”
“And now?”
“Now I see them happy. Alexei called you Papa. Mila picks you flowers. They’re not scared anymore. And that’s because you showed up. You put in the work. You earned their trust.”
“What about yours?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Did I earn your trust?”
I don’t answer immediately. Can’t answer immediately.
