2025-12-28 20:43:28
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FIRST HOLIDAY (THANKSGIVING)
The night before Thanksgiving, Ethan couldn’t sleep.He lay on his back in the master bedroom—still the master bedroom, even though Isabelle now slept in the guest suite most nights—staring at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles in the dark. The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of old wood settling and the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs. No baby monitor. No soft rustling from the nursery. Thomas had gone down at 7:30 after his usual bath-bottle-story routine, oblivious to the fact that tomorrow would be the first major holiday he wouldn’t spend entirely with the people who’d raised him from birth.Ethan rolled onto his side, checked the monitor app anyway. Thomas slept curled on his stomach, one leg kicked free of the sleep sack, pacifier fallen beside his cheek. Perfectly peaceful.Ethan still felt like he was suffocating.The custody order sat on his phone like a landmine. He’d read paragraph 17(c) so many times he could recite it verbatim.*Holidays shall
Derek’s Girlfriend
Sarah Martinez had entered Derek’s life during the darkest period of the custody battle, a colleague’s friend who’d been seated next to him at a foundation fundraiser he’d attended out of professional obligation rather than any genuine desire to socialize. She’d asked polite questions about his work, and somehow—exhausted and emotionally raw from another failed supervised visit earlier that day—he’d ended up telling her everything. The whole sordid story of Thomas and Ethan and the biological paternity that meant everything and nothing simultaneously.Most women would have run. Hell, most friends would have backed away slowly from that level of complicated. But Sarah had listened with genuine interest and then said something that had stuck with him for months afterward: “Sounds like you’re fighting for something worth fighting for. That takes courage.”They’d started dating a week later, cautiously at first because Derek was drowning in legal proceedings and supervised visits and the
Ethan and Isabelle’s Stalemate
Eight months. Two hundred forty-three days since Thomas had been born into a world already fractured by lies and betrayal. Isabelle tracked the time obsessively, marking each day that passed with Ethan still living in the guest wing, still maintaining the careful distance between them that felt more permanent with each passing week.The custody battle was settled. Derek had his court-ordered time—weekends now, unsupervised after months of progress. The legal machinery had ground to its conclusion, papers signed and filed, permanent arrangements established. But the personal battle, the one that raged silently through the halls of the Harrington estate, remained unresolved and festering.Isabelle watched Ethan move through their shared space with the practiced ease of someone who had mastered the art of coexistence without connection. He was an excellent father—that had never been in question. She’d watch him with Thomas and feel her heart break and swell simultaneously. The gentle way
Seven Months Old
At seven months, Thomas changed almost overnight.It felt like Ethan blinked and suddenly the baby he’d once cradled carefully in one arm no longer wanted to lie still. Thomas wanted movement. He wanted the world. He wanted everything at once.He could sit up on his own now, spine wobbly but determined, palms slapping the floor as if testing its existence. When he tipped over, he didn’t cry. He simply stared at the ceiling in mild offense, then rolled onto his stomach and tried again.Crawling had begun too — not the graceful kind they showed in parenting books. Thomas dragged himself forward with his arms while his legs lagged behind, an awkward little army crawl that somehow still carried him across entire rooms.Ethan watched him do it every morning.“Where are you even going?” he murmured one day, sitting cross-legged on the rug.Thomas answered with babbling. Long strings of sound poured out of him, confident and dramatic, as if he were delivering a speech only he understood.“Ba
Finding Rhythm
By the second Wednesday, Derek arrived at the estate ten minutes early.He sat in his car with the engine off, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring at the front doors like they might suddenly reject him. The first visit had gone better than he expected, but that did not mean this one would. Babies did not remember effort. They remembered comfort. And comfort, for Thomas, still lived in Ethan’s arms.When the door finally opened, Derek straightened automatically.Ethan stepped out first, Thomas balanced easily against his shoulder. The baby was dressed in a soft grey onesie, one foot sticking out slightly, sock halfway off. His diaper bag hung from Ethan’s shoulder like it had always belonged there.“Bottle’s in the front pocket,” Ethan said, not unkindly, but without warmth either. “He eats at five again.”“I know,” Derek replied quickly. “Five sharp.”Ethan nodded once. No argument. No warning this time. Just routine.That alone felt like progress.When Ethan handed Thomas ov
First Unsupervised Visit
The silence inside Derek’s car felt heavier than traffic.Thomas was strapped into the backseat, his small legs kicking lightly against the padded carrier. He made soft, confused sounds, the kind that were not quite cries but not calm either. Derek kept glancing at the rearview mirror every few seconds, his chest tight.Three hours.No Linda.No clipboard.No watchful eyes noting every movement.Just him.The estate gates came into view, tall and familiar in a way that still made Derek feel like a visitor rather than someone who belonged. He parked near the curb and cut the engine, exhaling slowly.He checked his watch.4:02 PM.He stepped out.The front door opened before he could knock.Ethan stood there with Thomas already in his arms.The moment hit Derek harder than he expected. Thomas looked bigger than the last supervised visit. His cheeks were fuller, his hair thicker, his eyes alert and searching.Those eyes slid past Derek almost immediately.Looking for someone else.Ethan
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