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“We’ve got everything ready for you—just head on back, and Mr. Reyes in accounting will help you take care of Mateo’s financial needs.”
“Thanks,” I said, glancing back at Juliette as we followed the hallway deeper into the building.
She paused at a display case filled with student artwork, tracing a finger along the glass. “These are incredible,” she murmured, her voice laced with admiration.
I watched her for a second—how naturally she gravitated toward beauty, how easily she found something to appreciate wherever she went. “I’ll be quick,” I promised.
“Take your time,” she said, her smile soft, supportive.
Inside the accounts office, I handled the logistics—final tuition payment, a quiet bump to Mateo’s expense account for end-of-year needs, nodding politely through small talk with Mr. Reyes while my mind stayed half-anchored in the hallway where Juliette waited.
When I emerged, she was sitting on a bench beneath a large oil painting of the school’s original founders, her phone in hand, thumbs scrolling idly. She looked up as I approached, sliding her phone away.
“All set?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I hesitated, the weight of what was ahead pressing against my ribcage. “Want to sit for a minute?”
She patted the spot beside her. “Talk to me.”
I dropped down beside her, elbows braced on my knees, staring at the tile floor for a long moment before I found the words.
“I was nineteen,” I said quietly. “Freshman year at Miami University. My roommate convinced me to go with him to the fertility clinic to donate. He needed the money. I went for moral support.”
Juliette’s brows lifted, but she stayed silent, waiting.
“They offered me a payment too. I figured—why not? I wasn’t thinking long-term. Hell, I wasn’t thinking at all.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Didn’t know if they evenusedit.”
Her hand brushed against my arm, anchoring.
“Six years later, Valencia was handling some of my real estate deals—he’d been my business attorney for a while, long beforehe ever became a judge. One afternoon, after closing a deal, he pulled me aside. Told me about Mateo’s mother. How she’d passed unexpectedly. How he’d been helping sort out the estate and custody. And that while reviewing some sealed clinic records, my name had come up.”
Juliette’s fingers slid down to thread with mine.
“I wasn’t prepared,” I admitted. “Didn’t know how to be a father. I’d barely survived being a son.” A bitter laugh escaped. “I spent years just… funding him. Tuition, nannies, summer camps. Every time I tried to get closer, something in me froze.”
“You’re here now,” she said softly.
“Come on,” I said, standing and offering her my hand. “Let’s go meet him.”
She rose, sliding her fingers into mine.
The courtyard stretched wide before us, framed by tall palms and neat rows of brick pathways leading toward the playground at the far end. A breeze carried the faint tang of the ocean, ruffling the edges of Juliette’s hair as she stood beside me, shading her eyes with her hand.
“Where is he?” she asked softly, scanning the crowd.
I swallowed, my gaze sweeping across the lawn. There were groups of kids everywhere—playing soccer, sprawled under trees with books, two boys tossing a frisbee back and forth. But I’d recognize that quick, determined stride anywhere.
“There.”
A flash of movement between the benches. A backpack bouncing. Sneakers pounding over the pavement.
Mateo.
His grin widened the second he spotted me. “Dad!”
The word hit like a lightning bolt.
For a second, I froze—half stunned, half overwhelmed. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it… but it was the first time he’d shouted it like it wasn’t a secret. Like it wasn’t something to be tucked quietly between paperwork and polite titles.