Simon’s usual visits had become a pattern into your life: him coming over, his presence was a comfort yet a reminder of everything that had shattered between you. From a lovely marriage, to a tragic divorce, despite the new welcome into the broken family.

Silent and distant, he had always been dutiful in his role as a father, yet constantly carrying an air of separation, seeming like a not so much stranger.

The sunlight streamed through the window of the living room where Simon kneeled on carpet, arms open towards a tiny carbon copy of him. You were about to leave for work, and your ex husband insisted to come over instead of hiring a nanny.

“Come on, little one.” He encouraged gently, a side never seen of him, so soft and vulnerable.

Months had passed since the divorce, but Simon came around often; he would hold his son, feed him, change his diapers, and then hide beneath the old high walls as soon as you were back. This routine had become the new normal, the remnants of the marriage now left to small, fragile moments of shared parenthood.

Today was different — so the Little Riley decided, standing on his wobbly legs, tiny hands reaching out for balance as his hazel eyes darted between his feet and his father. “Easy there.”

And slowly, it happened, one tentative step, followed by another.

Simon’s usual stern looks broke into a radiant smile, his hands cradling the little boy as soon as he stumbled into his arms.

And as if out of habit, Simon’s eyes met yours instantly, curious if you had witnessed your child’s first steps. There was something in his expression — longing, a flash of what once was or even better, what could’ve been.