I nod slightly, and Reeves explodes.
"Are you fucking kidding me? We're taking it back. Now."
"No!" Liam wails, clutching Oliver to his chest. "He's mine! You can't take him!"
"Reeves, please," I whisper, nodding toward Liam. "Look at him."
Reeves runs a hand through his hair, his face flushed with anger. "I don't care. I told you we can't afford a pet right now. We can't do this."
"We can't do this to him," I plead, watching tears form in Liam's eyes. "He's already named him Oliver. They're already bonding."
"I don't give a shit what he named it. I'm not accepting charity from that asshole."
I take a deep breath. "It came with a check."
Reeves freezes. "What?"
“Twenty-five thousand dollars," I say quietly. "For Oliver's care. For the next twenty years."
Something shifts in Reeves’s expression—a calculation happening behind his eyes. He stares at the kitten, then at Liam's tear-streaked face.
“Twenty-five thousand?" he repeats.
I nod.
He's quiet for a long moment, then sighs heavily. "Fine. But I want to see the check."
Relief floods through me as Liam's face breaks into a wide smile. "We're keeping him?"
"Yeah, buddy," Reeves says, his voice softer now. "We're keeping him."
As Liam squeals with delight, Reeves gives me a look that says this conversation isn't over.
But for now, at least, Oliver stays.
I'm curled up on my bed, Oliver purring against my chest as I mindlessly watch Carrie Bradshaw navigate her complicated love life on the small TV in our bedroom. The kitten's fur is impossibly soft against my fingers as I stroke him, his tiny body vibrating with contentment.
"You're just the sweetest little thing, aren't you?" Iwhisper, and he responds by stretching his tiny paws and yawning. My heart melts all over again.
It's strange how quickly this little ball of fluff has become essential to me. I never realized how much I needed this—this unconditional, uncomplicated love.
Liam is also obsessed with him, of course, but in the quiet moments when the house is still, Oliver seeks me out, curling against me like he knows exactly what I need.
The TV flickers as Carrie types away at her laptop, pondering some relationship question that suddenly seems trivial compared to my own complicated situation.
I reach for my phone, pulling up the photo of Caine's note for what must be the hundredth time. Yes, Reeves threw the card in the bin, but pocketed the check, telling me he would deposit it in our joint account. I retrieved the card quickly and took a photo—it was the only way to keep Caine's words.
I wish you all the best! You deserve it. You’re a wonderful person.
Such polite, final words. The kind you write when you're closing a chapter. I peruse the words, a heaviness settling in my chest.
Is this how he ends all his little adventures? With grand gestures and kind dismissals? I picture him writing similar notes to other women—sending exotic flowers toone, a puppy to another, maybe a diamond bracelet to someone else. All with the same polite, distant well-wishes.
Oliver stretches against me, his paws kneading my stomach. He's so perfect, so exactly what Liam needed—what we all needed. And that's the most painful part. Caine knew exactly what would make us happy. He paid attention. He cared enough to notice, to remember.
I turn off the TV and pull Oliver closer, burying my face in his soft fur. "We're going to be just fine without him," I whisper, trying to convince myself. "We have you now, and you're all we need."
I make a silent vow to myself: enjoy this gift, this perfect little creature, and stop thinking about the man who sent him. Stop wondering what might have been. Stop hoping for something that was clearly never real.
