Page 51 of Fractured Destiny

Lake stops outside the bedroom and opens the door. “This is your very own room when you visit me here, buddy.”

Levi stands in the doorway, quietly taking it all in. His eyes travel across the bed beneath the window, the shelves lined with books with baskets tucked neatly underneath and a little moon glowing on the dresser before settling on the wooden truck track stretched across the rug.

“Twuck.” He points with his free hand.

Lake laughs. “Yeah.”

Levi lets go of his hand and bolts straight for it, dropping onto his stomach and sending the blue truck around the first curve. A lap later he climbs to his feet again, wanders over to the bed, presses both hands into the space-themed quilt, and gives the mattress an experimental bounce.

Both Lake and I know it will be some time before he’d be comfortable staying here without me, but given what happened last night it’s possible we’ll integrate our little family earlier.

A girl can only hope.

I walk over and crouch beside him. “This will be your bed when you’re here with Dada.”

His eyes stay on mine for a second before drifting toward Lake. “Dada.”

“Yeah, bubba.” I smooth my hand over the quilt. “This is your bed.”

He pats it twice. “Levi bed.”

“Yeah.” Lake joins us.

The answer doesn’t faze him. He slides off the mattress, rescues the truck from the floor, and disappears back into his own world, making engine noises before he’s even reached the track.

Lake sits next to me and my eyes travel slowly around the room.

Every choice has a purpose.

The bookshelf sits low enough for little hands to reach without asking for help. The truck track leaves room to race around the bed without crashing into furniture. Through the door is an en suite, where a step stool waits beneath the bathroom sink beside a toothbrush already standing in its cup.

Nothing here feels temporary.

“You thought of everything.” I lean against him, almost shyly.

Lake never takes his eyes off Levi. “I tried.”

“You did amazing.”

For months I’ve watched Lake become a father in borrowed spaces. Parks. Playrooms. Conference rooms. Places where someone else decided when our time started and when it ended.

Today is monumental.

We watch Levi play with the trucks for nearly an hour. By the time the blue one has crossed the crystal mountain six different ways, and survived more spectacular crashes more than any vehicle should, his engine noises have grown softer. The spaces between them stretch longer.

Levi rubs one eye with the back of his hand, drives another slow lap around the track, then climbs onto the bed without a word, truck still gripped tightly in his fist. I pull the quilt over him while Lake turns on the baby monitor and kisses his cheek. Within minutes his breathing settles into the slow, even rhythm every parent learns to recognize.

Neither of us speaks until we’ve eased the door almost closed.

We linger in the hallway for a moment, listening. “He loves it.”

“Are you sure?” Lake glances toward the door.

“He does.” I find his hand before we start walking toward the living room. “I realize this is an abrupt subject change, but will you consider coming to counseling with me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

“I don’t want to wait until we need it.” I squeeze his fingers. “I want us to build us the same way we’ve built everything with Levi.”