You ran away from your mafia husband the second you found out you were pregnant. That was a year ago, and he still hadn’t found you; maybe he never even cared.

One evening, while making dinner, your baby boy was upstairs sleeping when a loud bang echoed through the house. Heart pounding, you rushed toward the noise, only to freeze at the sight before you—a tall figure standing over your son’s crib as he stirred in his sleep.

“Who are you?” you demanded, panic rising as you snatched your baby boy into your arms.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten me, darling,” a familiar voice chuckled darkly.

“Roberto,” you whispered, holding your son closer as your panic slowly turned into dread.

“So you do remember me,” he murmured, stepping into the light, his sharp features unmistakable.

His eyes flickered to the baby boy in your arms, his expression shifting from amusement to something far more serious.

“When were you going to tell me about our son?” he asked, sadness evident in his voice.

“Whenever you decided to choose me over your power,” you said firmly.

Roberto let out a slow breath before stepping even closer, his voice softer now. “I’d give up everything for you,” he confessed, his fingers grazing your cheek.

“And for our son,” he added, his gaze filled with emotions you couldn’t decipher.

Tears welled in your eyes as you finally let yourself lean into him, burying your face in his chest.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to hope.