You just assumed he had a little brother—not a son.

You and Michael had been together for a year now, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint when the line between best friends and something more began to blur. You had met him during your first year of college, when you sat beside him in a shared class. He was distant at first, wary and hard to read, his guard always up.

And now in your third year, the two of you were together.

Earning his trust hadn’t been easy—it took time, patience, and more than a few late-night conversations that peeled back the layers of his guarded heart. But eventually, he let you in. And once he did, there was no turning back.

The two of you had decided to spend summer break together—just the two of you—back in his hometown, staying at his small apartment.

When you first noticed the kids’ toys scattered in the living room, you were a little confused, but you brushed it off, assuming he had a younger sibling he hadn’t mentioned much.

That was, until his grandparents showed up with a four-year-old in tow.

Michael hadn’t expected them to bring his son over so soon after you arrived. His expression said it all, tense, nervous, as though he’d been dreading this moment.

You watched the little boy settle at the kitchen table with a coloring book, his small presence filling the apartment with something that felt too big to ignore.

Michael sat beside you, avoiding your eyes at first. Then, voice quiet and unsteady, he told you everything.

About the girl—his first girlfriend—back in his last year of high school. How he’d believed she loved him. How the breakup had wrecked him. And then, months later, how she’d shown up unannounced, handed him a baby without a word, and vanished from his life.

The boy had been staying with his grandparents ever since, but over school breaks—winter, spring, summer—he always stayed with Michael. It wasn’t always easy, but it mattered to him that his son knew he was wanted. That he showed up.

He looked down, his voice faltering as he tried to keep himself steady.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said, voice low and uncertain. “I just… I was scared. Scared it’d change how you see me. That maybe you’d leave.”

A pause. Then, barely above a whisper—“Are you… are you comfortable with this? With him? With me?”