His hand clenched against the arm of his chair, jaw tightening as something darker flickered behind his eyes.
“She’s always done things like that, though,” I went on, my voice quieter now, almost tired. “This time it just hurt more because that money wasn’t for me; it was for her son with a heart that’s giving out.”
Alejandro closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. “If I had been there—”
I shook my head, cutting him off. “You weren’t, so I was.”
That wasn’t anger, that was truth.
“And it’s not like he’s your responsibility,” I pointed out, my voice softer but still direct. “He’s not your son.” I paused, my eyes narrowing slightly. “Or is he? Because at this point, I don’t know what to believe when it comes to mom. Every time the topic of Kyrin father comes up, it’s a remix. First, it was a one-night stand… then suddenly he’s in prison. And after that, she switched it up with this narrative saying he ‘found himself’ in there and wanted nothing to do with Kyrin, which she said worked in her favor because she didn’t want Kyrin growing up ‘confused about what a man is supposed to be.’”
I gave a small, dry laugh.
“Like… which version are we going with today, lady? So yeah… excuse me if I’m trying to separate facts from fiction, and what’s just another story she told to make things easier.”
His expression didn’t shift much, but something behind his eyes softened.
“No, I’m not his father,” he answered plainly. “I was long gone before your brother ever came around. But everything she told you about his father?” he added, giving a slight nod. “That part’s true.”
My brows pulled together.
“When I found out Vanessa was pregnant with your brother,” he continued, “I did what any man with a daughtershoulddo. I looked into who she was bringing around you… not for her, for you. That man was, still is in prison, with his little situation going on. And from everything I gathered, he’s not in a place to be anybody’s father… especially not the kind a child could depend on. So no, he’s not mine,” he said again, firmer that time. “Still… that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
His eyes flicked briefly, like he was thinking about something deeper.
“That little boy matters because you care about him. I can see it all over you; he’s literally your heart walking around outside your body. And anything that holds that kind of weight in your life is something I’m going to care about too. Seeing you happy? That’s what matters to me. And I don’t need a title tied to him to want him protected.”
I just sat there, letting it make sense in a way nothing else ever had. I was so used to things shifting with Vanessa that hearing something stay the same from a different source felt unfamiliar. I didn’t press the issue. Maybe because it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Kyrin.
“Ajori, I didn’t become who I am for myself; I did it so that no one tied to me would ever have to beg, steal, or bleed just to survive.”
That sat with me heavily, because I had done all three.
“But that’s exactly what I had to do.”
The words seemed to hit him harder than any accusation.
He nodded slowly. “A child shouldn’t have to grow up and figure life out alone. That’s not independence; that’s survival. And I can be man enough to say I carry my share of the blame for the weight you had to carry too early, for the lessons you had to learn the hard way, and for every time you had to stand in the gap when I should’ve been there.”
There was no defense in his response, just truth. It didn’t even feel like something he practiced to say; if felt more like something he long grown to accept.
I sighed, some of the tension easing out of my shoulders. “Look, I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty; I’m telling you because this is my reality, and this is what your absence left behind.”
“Ajori, I can’t change what you went through, but I can change what happens next.”
I studied him, searching for empty promises. I didn’t respond right away, because part of me wanted to believe thatandwhatever “next” even meant.
“Whatever she took, I’ll replace it ten times over. And when it comes to your brother, he will not suffer another day because of my choices. How old is he?”
“He’s ten. Why?” I asked respectfully, but curiously.
Alejandro slowly raised one finger; not to me, but toward the phone on the table. Then he dialed without hesitation.
“Put me through to Dr. Vega,” he ordered into the receiver.
Pause.
“It’s me. I need a heart donor. Priority search—ten-year-old male, congenital defect. No delays! I’ll owe you one.”
