Chapter 14
When Theo was fourteen months old, he said his first clear word in my house.
Not Dad.
Not Mom.
“Ball.”
There was no ball.
He was pointing at my signet ring.
Anwen laughed until she cried.
I blamed her genetics.
She reminded me mine were half the problem.
Fair.
Our relationship remained complicated.
People around us assumed romance would return.
It did not.
Not immediately.
Maybe not at all.
I refused to let Theo become an argument for it.
One evening Anwen asked:
“Do you regret that week?”
I knew which one.
The coast.
Before Felice.
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“Even after all this?”
“This happened because people lied afterward.”
I paused.
“Not because Theo exists.”
Her eyes filled.
Good truth.
Then she admitted she had almost never told me.
Not because she disliked me.
Because she had seen how my world worked.
Men at doors.
Schedules.
Rules.
Power.
She feared once I knew, I might take over.
Not take Theo physically.
Take decisions.
Name.
Home.
School.
Everything.
Felice exploited that fear perfectly.
I told her:
“If I start doing that, say so.”
She smiled.
“You’ll hate it.”
“Probably.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
Boundaries are easy to praise before they oppose what you want.
The test comes later.
Theo waddled between us holding a spoon.
He gave it to me.
Then took it back.
Then gave it to Anwen.
Apparently even cutlery had shared custody.
We laughed.
May you like
No one won.
That was the point.
