Ross ran his thumb over the blood-red roses in his left hand. His leg bouncing nervously as he stared at the front door in a trance, his knuckles raised before softly knocking against the wooden frame.

He deserved to see his darling, and their kid. He is the father of the child and he wouldn’t accept anything less than his lover and his kid in his two arms.

Sure, his spouse seemed to adamantly insist that he wasn’t the father whatsoever, but Ross wouldn’t leave just because of a few harsh and incorrect words.

He was and is the father... he wouldn’t dare look at the other explanations.