Zane stood awkwardly in Lyra's small apartment, taking in the modest furniture, the drawings taped to the wall, and the child-sized sneakers by the door. It felt surreal.
This was his son's world.
Noah peeked from behind the couch, staring curiously at the tall man holding a bag of snacks and toys.
"You brought him gifts?" Lyra asked, raising an eyebrow.
Zane looked uncomfortable. "I didn't know what he liked. So I bought everything."
She shook her head but didn't stop him.
Zane crouched down to Noah's level. "Hi, Noah. I'm Zane."
Noah didn't move. He glanced at his mother, who gave a small nod.
"It's okay," she said softly. "He's a friend."
Noah stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on the toy truck sticking out of the bag. "Can I play with that?"
Zane smiled for the first time that day. "It's yours."
Lyra watched silently as her son took the toy and sat on the floor, completely focused. She didn't know what she expected… awkwardness, distance, maybe even rejection — but Noah was just… curious.
Zane didn't push. He sat nearby, watching Noah like he was memorizing him.
Later, when Noah had fallen asleep on the couch with his toy in his hand, Zane spoke.
"He's perfect."
Lyra folded her arms. "He's also three years of diapers, tantrums, and sleepless nights. All of which you missed."
"I know. And I can't take that back. But I want to be here now."
She sighed, the weight of everything pressing on her chest. "It's not that simple."
"It could be," he said quietly. "If you let it."