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Henry stands, and his voice is gentle, but that gentleness feels like a warning. “C’mere, D.”

Dallas doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His arms fall to his sides, fists already curling in.

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice pitches, fragile and tight.

“No, Dally, no,” I choke out, taking a step toward him, but he flinches—not from me, from the unknown behind whatever we’re about to say.

Henry kneels, eyes level with him now. “We need to talk to you about something important.”

Dallas doesn’t sit. Doesn’t budge. Just stares straight through us.

I glance at Henry, and he gives me a nod. A tired, gut-wrenched nod. “A man came forward,” I start, and the second I say it, Dallas takes a step back.

“No.”

“Dallas—”

“No!” he shouts, louder this time. “Don’t! Don’t you dare say it.”

He knows.

His chest starts to heave, and he shakes his head so hard his blonde hair whips across his face. “He’s not real. You said they couldn’t find him.”

“I know,” I say, stepping forward again, hands raised like I’m trying not to spook a wild animal. “Baby, I know. We didn’t think they ever would.”

He backs up until his shoulder hits the wall and then slides down it, knees pulled up to his chest, hands clawed into his scalp.

“No. No, no, no,” he whispers, rocking. “He’s not real. He’s not real.”

He screams—a raw, wounded sound that cracks something inside me wide open.

“He didn’t want me! Nobody did. He left me with her—he left me with her!” His voice cracks, not just from anger, but panic. Pure terror.

“No, no, no. He doesn’t get to come back now. He doesn’t get to pretend I’m his! He didn’t come when I was hungry! Or when she locked me in the closet! Or when—” His breath gives out with a sob. “Or when my brother died.”

Right then, it feels like the whole house caves in.

He curls in tighter, sobs tearing through him like they’ve been waiting years for permission.

“I didn’t ask you to love me,” Dallas suddenly spits, voice jagged and sharp, “but you did, and you made me love you back! Now you’re just going to let him take me?”

Henry moves toward him, slow. Careful. “Dallas—look at me.”

Dallas barely lifts his eyes.

“Look at me, D.” Henry’s voice is low, steady, like a lifeline.

Dallas’s gaze flickers reluctantly.

Henry kneels, closer now, reaching out but not forcing.

“We love you, you’re ours, okay?” Henry whispers. “You’re my boy. You hear me? That’s not changing. Not ever.”

Dallas’s lip trembles, and his whole body shakes like a storm breaking loose. Tears pour down his face, hot and unrelenting.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I reach out, trembling, but he shrinks away. I drop beside him and pull him into my arms, even as he thrashes, even as he screams into my chest.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper again and again, the same way Henry once did. “I’ve got you.”