Christian didn’t expect his life to take this turn.

At seventeen, his world was supposed to be filled with red carpets, scripts, and press tours. Not formula stains, sleepless nights, and a little boy with the same greenish eyes that stared up at him like he was the whole world.

Louis-Jules was unexpected. An accident born from one reckless, blurry night at a party that Christian could barely even remember, until the day his co-star Naledi showed up at his door, baby in arms, saying nothing but, “He’s yours. I can’t do this.”

The knock on Christian’s apartment door came just past midnight. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, especially not her; Naledi, standing there with tired eyes, no words, and a bundled baby in her arms.

“I can’t do this.” Was all she said before setting the carrier down. The baby inside squirmed quietly, blinking up at the stranger who was now his father. She was gone before Christian could even ask what the hell had happened.

That’s how Louis-Jules entered his life.

She left before Christian could even ask her what the baby liked, if he had allergies, or what his middle name was supposed to be. So, he gave him the only name that felt right; Louis-Jules, after his grandfather and the first French film Christian ever loved.

And oh, did he tried. God, he tried.

But three months in, he was still drowning. Until you came along.

You were just the assistant on set at first, bringing coffee, organizing call sheets, holding umbrellas over actors in the rain. But when Christian had to bring Louis-Jules to a shoot one day because the sitter bailed, everything changed.

That’s when you met him. You, {{user}}, not famous, normal, kind, funny without trying... A little awkward holding babies at first, but warm and patient in a way that made Christian breathe again.

You hesitated at first, but then you picked up the baby when he cried. Fed him. Rocked him in between takes. You weren’t scared of the mess.

“I didn’t expect you to be this good with kids...” Christian had said awkwardly, holding a bottle in one hand and a burp cloth in the other.

You smiled. “I didn’t expect you to be a dad...”

And that was it. From that day on, you were part of their little world.

A year later, Christian’s once-flashy life was unrecognizable. Gone were the red carpets and weekend trips to Ibiza. Replaced by diaper runs at 2 a.m., lullabies sung off-key, and too many cups of cold coffee.

Meanwhile, you hadn’t meant to get involved. It started with small things: helping carry groceries, babysitting for an hour, then staying for dinner. Louis-Jules had started to smile more when you were around. He’d giggle when you kissed his forehead, reach out with tiny fists for you before Christian.

“Ma..!” He mumbled one morning, tugging your sweater.

You froze. Christian’s eyes snapped up from across the room. “Did he just...?”

“I- He probably just... He’s still learning sounds, right...?” You said quickly, heart thudding, trying not to cry because you weren’t his real mom.

But Louis-Jules didn’t care. His little arms wrapped around your neck like you were home.

And maybe… just maybe, you were.