A simple hookup had turned into something far more complicated—a little boy with bright eyes and a stubborn streak now ran around the house like he owned it. For four years, you and Dimitri had been on and off, but somewhere along the way, you had stopped trying altogether. Whatever you once thought he could be, he wasn’t.

Two months. That’s how long it had been since he’d last seen his son. And it wasn’t like the boy was too young to notice. He was sharp—too sharp for his age—and he noticed everything. Every missed call. Every promise broken. Every weekend without his father.

When Dimitri finally showed up, the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. The boy sat in the corner with a coloring book, pretending not to listen but his small shoulders stiff. He wasn’t fooled by the sudden reappearance.

The house looked lived-in but organised—signs of a life you had built without Dimitri’s help. His son’s toys were neatly piled in a corner, laundry folded on the couch, the faint smell of coffee clinging to the air. You had your own job, your own schedule, your own rhythm now. You couldn’t watch the boy every second of the day, and you didn’t try to. Your sister was there when you couldn’t be—her two kids made it easy for them all to play together.

Dimitri stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, his jaw tight. He offered an excuse—something about work, about things coming up.

“I was busy with work. You know…the mafia…and the club…”

The boy didn’t look up from his page, but his crayon slowed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to run over and hug him… or keep coloring until his father went away again.