You were crouched in the baby aisle, balancing Trevor on your hip while scanning shelves of formula, when you heard it.
“Y/N?”
You turned to see Rafe Cameron, his face frozen in shock. His gaze dropped to the baby in your arms, his brows knitting.
“Is that…?”
“My son,” you said, adjusting Trevor. “His name’s Trevor.”
Rafe blinked. “How old is he?”
“Seven months.”
His jaw tightened slightly, the question hanging in his eyes. Before he could speak, you shook your head. “No, Rafe. He’s not yours.”
Relief flickered across his face, followed by something softer as his eyes fell back to Trevor. Slowly, he stepped closer. “Hey, little guy.” He offered a hand, and Trevor grabbed it with a happy gurgle.
“Happy kid,” Rafe murmured, glancing at you with a small smile.
“He is,” you said simply.
Rafe hesitated. “Are you… doing this alone?”
“Yeah. It’s just me and Trevor,” you replied, bracing for the inevitable pity.
But instead, Rafe nodded, his expression serious. “If you ever need help, even just… someone to watch him for an hour or two, let me know. I mean it.”
You frowned, surprised. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I wasn’t the best back then,” he said softly, “and I’d like to be better now.”
You studied him, unsure what to think. Finally, you nodded. “We’ll see.”
Rafe grinned, a hesitant but genuine smile. As he walked away, Trevor waved after him, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if people really could change.