But instead, she just exhaled slowly. “You’re not wrong.” “I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m trying to be honest.” “I know.” She rubbed her temples. “And you’re right. I don’t know if I can handle another loss. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.” “Then maybe we shouldn’t do this.” “Maybe.” She looked at him and her expression was raw. “But I have to try.
I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering what if.” Adrian understood that. He’d spent the last 3 years living in what ifs, trapped between the life he’d had and the life he was supposed to build. And he was tired of it. “All right,” he said slowly. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. No halfway.
No backing out when it gets hard.” “Agreed.” “And we need ground rules, clear ones.” “Like what?” Adrian thought for a moment. “First, Eli comes first, always. If this starts affecting him negatively, we stop.” “Understood.” “Second, we’re honest with each other. No secrets, no games. If something’s not working, we talk about it.
” “Okay. Third,” he paused, trying to find the right words. “If we do this, I’m not just a sperm donor. I’m a father. That means I’m involved in everything. Decisions, doctor’s appointments, everything.” “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” “And if it works if we actually have a child, we figure out custody and co-parenting and all of that before the baby’s even born.
I’m not going to spend the next 18 years fighting over my own kid.” Vivian nodded. “We’ll put it in writing if we have to.” “We will.” Adrian leaned forward. “And one more thing, we take this slow. We don’t rush into anything. We make sure we’re both ready.” “How slow?” “As slow as it takes.” Vivian smiled faintly.
“You drive a hard bargain, Adrian Cole.” “I’m protecting my kid and yours.” “I know. That’s why I chose you.” They shook hands across the table and Adrian felt the weight of the decision settle over him like a coat he wasn’t sure he was ready to wear. But he was in. For better or worse, he was in. The weeks that followed were strange and surreal.
Adrian and Vivian started spending more time together, dinners, walks, long conversations that stretched late into the night. They talked about what kind of parents they wanted to be, what values they wanted to pass on, what mistakes they were afraid of making. Vivian admitted she was terrified of being too controlling, of trying to shape her child into something they weren’t.
Adrian admitted he was terrified of not being enough, of failing the way he sometimes felt he was failing Eli. “You’re not failing him,” Vivian said one night. “He’s happy. He’s healthy. He loves you. That’s not failure.” “It doesn’t always feel like enough.” “It is, though. Trust me. Emma didn’t need me to be perfect.
She just needed me to be there.” Adrian looked at her and he saw the ache in her eyes, the wound that hadn’t healed. “You miss her.” “Every day.” Vivian’s voice was barely a whisper. “I see her in everything. Every little girl I pass on the street, every laugh I hear, every butterfly.” “Does it get easier?” “No, but you get better at carrying it.
” Adrian nodded. He knew that weight. He carried it, too. One Saturday afternoon, Vivian came to Adrian’s house for the first time. She stood on his front porch in jeans and a sweater, looking almost nervous, and Adrian had to suppress a smile. “Welcome to the other side of the street,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.
She walked through the small living room, taking in the mismatched furniture, the peeling paint, the toys scattered across the floor. If she was judging, she didn’t show it. “It’s cozy,” she said. “It’s a mess.” “It’s lived in. That’s different.” Eli came barreling down the hallway, skidding to a stop when he saw Vivian.
“Hi. Are you staying for lunch?” “If your dad doesn’t mind.” Adrian shrugged. “We’re having grilled cheese, nothing fancy.” “Perfect.” They ate together at the kitchen table, Eli chattering nonstop about a science project he was working on, something involving volcanoes and too much baking soda. Vivian listened with genuine interest, asking questions, laughing at his enthusiasm.
And Adrian watched them, this unlikely pair, and felt something he hadn’t felt in years. Hope. After lunch, Eli dragged Vivian outside to show her the tree house Adrian had built in the backyard, a rickety structure held together with nails, hope, and sheer stubbornness. Vivian climbed up the ladder carefully, and when she reached the top, she looked out over the neighborhood and smiled.
“You built this?” she asked. “Yeah, it’s not much, but Eli loves it.” “It’s perfect.” They sat up there for a while, legs dangling over the edge, while Eli ran around below pretending to be a dinosaur. The afternoon sun was warm and the world felt smaller, quieter, like it had shrunk down to just the three of them.
“I could get used to this,” Vivian said softly. “Used to what?” “This.” “Being part of something.” Adrian looked at her and he saw the loneliness she’d been carrying, the emptiness she was trying to fill. And he realized, with a jolt of clarity, that he was lonely, too. He’d been so focused on being strong for Eli, on holding everything together, that he’d forgotten what it felt like to let someone else in.
