Chapter 8
I did not announce Julian to the family.
Not immediately.
Amabel expected me to.
Arthur feared it.
Celestine assumed it.
I asked myself why.
To prove something?
To humiliate them?
To claim my son?
Julian did not need an announcement.
He needed sleep.
Milk.
His mother.
So that came first.
Amabel moved temporarily into the east guest wing because her staff apartment felt exposed.
Her choice.
She stopped working.
Paid leave.
Also her choice.
I hired a night nurse selected by her.
Not by Celestine.
Small decisions mattered now.
I learned how to hold Julian properly.
Badly at first.
He spat milk on a suit worth more than a car.
Rafe laughed.
I considered firing him.
Didn’t.
Amabel watched me.
Sometimes wary.
That was fair.
We were not a couple.
Important.
One night years of unspoken emotion had made a child.
That did not automatically create romance.
We needed boundaries too.
She asked:
“What happens when people know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will he be heir?”
“He’s six weeks old.”
She smiled faintly.
Good.
I had seen too many families write futures onto children.
Julian would not inherit a role before he could hold his own head upright.
Then Amabel asked:
“And Celestine?”
Harder.
“I don’t know.”
Her expression tightened.
“You still love her.”
“Yes.”
Truth.
She looked away.
Then I added:
“That does not mean I marry her.”
Different.
Love does not erase action.
Parenthood does not create romance.
May you like
Blood does not create office.
I was learning too many distinctions at once.
