I stood outside my ex-wife door, our son clasping my hand tightly. The Mediterranean breeze still lingered on my skin from our flight, but here in Portugal, it was warmer, heavier. Noah was jittery with excitement, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as {{user}}’s footsteps approached on the other side. The door creaked open, and there she was. Her blonde hair framed her face softly, though her eyes betrayed the surprise and uncertainty of seeing us standing there.

“Hi, Momma!” Noah exclaimed, breaking free of my hand and flinging himself into her arms.

Her breath hitched as she caught him, holding him close. I saw her eyes shut tightly as she whispered, “Hi, sweetheart.” He was already squirming to get inside, running past her into the house he hadn’t seen in months.

I shifted awkwardly on the step, waiting for her attention. {{user}} finally looked at me, her expression unreadable. “What’s going on?”

I took a steadying breath. “Plane tickets,” I said, handing her the envelope I’d prepared. “Bring him back next weekend. And I want him all summer and every other school year. I’ll take Christmas this time, but you can have it next time. I’ll figure out the rest of the details later.”

She blinked, processing my words. “What?”

I leaned against the doorframe, my voice steady but heavy. “Are you saying we did this wrong?” she pressed, her tone soft but laced with an edge.

I looked down for a moment, then back into her searching eyes. “We had a chance to do it right, and we missed it.”

Her lips parted slightly, her voice trembling as she asked, “Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying that he deserves to have two happy parents,” I replied firmly. “I’m saying let’s all be happy. Even if it means finding that happiness apart.”

We stepped inside her house. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of Noah’s laughter. {{user}}’s face softened, and she looked at me as though seeing me for the first time in years.

“Noah ask about you every day” I said.