Chapter 7
We took it slow.
Logan moved into the master bedroom, but we slept on opposite sides of the bed for weeks. Small, tentative touches. A hand on the arm. A brush of the shoulder.
Rebuilding trust wasn't something that happened overnight.
But it happened.
One morning, I woke up to find him watching me sleep.
"Sorry," he whispered, looking embarrassed. "You just looked peaceful."
I reached out, touching his face.
"It's okay."
He leaned into my hand, his eyes closing.
That night, we fell asleep in each other's arms.
Everything wasn't perfect.
We still fought. About small things, mostly. Who left the toothpaste cap off. Who forgot to buy diapers.
And sometimes about big things.
Like the night Logan came home from therapy, angry and raw, and told me he'd spent the whole session talking about how much he hated his father for leaving.
"He says he's sorry," Logan said, pacing the living room while Will slept in his crib. "He says he was young and scared. But what about me? What about the little boy who used to wonder why his real dad didn't want him?"
He stopped pacing, looking at me.
"Am I supposed to just forgive him? Because he feels bad now?"
I stood up, going to him. I put my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at me.
"You don't owe him forgiveness, Logan. Not if you're not ready. But you owe yourself peace."
He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine.
"I want to forgive him," he whispered. "I really do. But every time I think about what he did… I see myself. And I'm terrified that Will is going to feel the same way about me someday."
"He won't," I said firmly. "Because you're here, Logan. Every single day. You show up. You love him. That's the difference."
A week later, Logan came home with a envelope.
"What's that?" I asked.
He handed it to me.
Inside were papers.
Legal papers.
Acknowledgment of paternity.
Custody agreement.
Child support forms, already filled out with numbers that were more than fair.
"I talked to a lawyer," he said, his voice steady. "I wanted to make it official. I wanted you to know that I'm not going anywhere. Not ever. And if something happens… if we don't work out… you and Will are taken care of."
He paused, swallowing hard.
"I never want you to feel as alone as you did when I left."
I looked at the papers.
At his signature, already there.
At the way he was watching me, nervous and hopeful and so, so determined.
I put the papers down on the table.
And I kissed him.
Not a tentative kiss.
A real one.
Full of everything we'd been through. Everything we were building.
He kissed me back, his hands coming up to cup my face, like he was afraid I might disappear.
When we pulled apart, we were both breathless.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"For what?"
"For proving me wrong," I said. "For coming back."
That weekend, we had Dr. Wright over for dinner again.
This time, it was different.
Less awkward.
More like family.
After dinner, Logan and Dr. Wright sat on the couch, watching Will play on the floor.
"Thank you," Logan said quietly.
Dr. Wright looked at him, surprised.
"For what?"
"For not giving up on me," Logan said. "Even when I pushed you away. Even when I hated you."
He paused, taking a deep breath.
"I'm still angry sometimes. I don't know if that will ever go away completely. But… I forgive you, Dad."
The word hung in the air.
Dr. Wright's face crumpled.
He reached out, pulling Logan into a hug.
Thirty-two years of pain.
Thirty-two years of regret.
May you like
Thirty-two years of what-ifs.
And for a moment, in that small living room, with Will gurgling happily on the floor between them, it all started to heal.
