Two years was a long time. Long enough that he’d almost convinced himself that night had been just that—a fleeting moment, a mistake you both never talked about again. He had spent weeks wondering why you vanished, why you never returned his calls. But eventually, he let it go. Or at least, he thought he had.

Until now.

Until he spotted you across the park, sitting on a bench with a little girl in your lap.

And—wow.

It’s like looking into a mirror.

Dark hair, bright blue eyes, that same mischievous grin he’s seen in old childhood photos of himself. The girl can’t be more than two. His stomach twists, breath catching in his throat as he watches her tug at your sleeve, laughing about something he can’t hear over the rush of blood in his ears.

Because this isn’t just some coincidence. It can’t be.