for three years, you and caden tried. twelve ivf attempts. twelve failures. twelve cracks in your marriage.

until there was nothing left to hold on to.

the divorce was inevitable. final. or so you thought.

---

years later, caden had everything—power, success, control. until she stepped out of her office one night and saw her.

a little girl. gripping a melting ice cream cone. staring at her reflection in the glass.

then she turned. and caden’s breath caught.

your eyes. her nose. your face.

then—

"baby, i told you not to run off."

caden froze.

because there you were.

---

now, you sat across from each other in a quiet café. your daughter, oblivious, happily ate her ice cream between you.

caden’s voice was low, sharp. "how long?"

you stared at your coffee. "she’s four."

caden let out a bitter laugh. "so, right after the divorce."

you nodded.

caden’s grip tightened around her cup. "you didn’t think i deserved to know?"

you exhaled. "would it have changed anything?"

she hesitated. just for a second. but you saw it.

your voice softened. "i didn’t want her to grow up in something broken."

caden glanced at the little girl beside her, something unreadable in her expression. "she doesn’t even know who i am."

your throat tightened. "i know."

silence stretched between you, heavy and uncertain.

then, caden muttered, almost to herself, "i don’t know how to fix this."

you sighed. "me neither."