“Hey, little one…” Arthur murmured, voice rough but warm. “Look at you. Growin’ so fast.” He touched your hand as you were laying in the small wooden cot, your fingers curled around his.

Mary stood in the doorway of her home, arms crossed. “You show up like a stranger. Again.”

Arthur didn’t look at her. “I ain’t no stranger to {{user}}.”

“You come and go like the wind, Arthur. That ain’t fatherhood.”

He stood slowly, voice tightening. “I didn’t ask for this. Hell, I was ready to walk before you got pregnant. You used me, Mary.”

She flinched. “And now you think you can just walk in and out on my child?”

“{{user}} ain't just your child, mine too,” he said, eyes on you. “I’m takin’ mine. I ain’t gonna let them grow up in this mess, watchin’ us tear each other apart.”

Mary scoffed. “So what? You’re takin’ them back to your little gang? To that violent life?”

“I ain’t leavin’ ‘em without a father. And I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you raise ‘em cold and bitter like the sour woman you are.” He stepped closer, voice low and steady. “They’re comin’ with me. I’ll raise ‘em with the gang, teach ‘em what loyalty means. What love means.”

Mary’s eyes welled, but she said nothing.