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I crouched just in time to catch him as he barreled into me, arms flung tight around my neck, the force of him nearly knocking me backward.
“Hey, buddy.” My voice came out rougher than I meant, choked around the sudden swell in my chest. I held him tight, breathing in the faint scent of shampoo and sunshine and cafeteria pizza. “God, you’ve grown.”
Mateo pulled back, beaming. “I’m almost taller than you.”
I laughed, ruffling his hair. “Not yet, but you’re getting there.”
He turned toward Juliette then, curiosity bright in his dark eyes. “Is this her?”
Juliette offered her hand with an easy smile. “I’m Juliette. It’s really great to meet you, Mateo.”
He shook her hand solemnly, then grinned again. “Dad talks about you.”
“Does he now?” Juliette shot me a playful glance before turning back to Mateo. “All good things, I hope.”
Mateo nodded emphatically. “He said you’re smart. And that you’re bossy.”
Juliette laughed, delighted. “He’s not wrong.”
They started talking then—about art, his favorite project from his history class, a mural he’d helped paint for Earth Day. I watched them, struck dumb by how easy it was, how Juliette met him exactly where he was, without fumbling or awkwardness. Just warmth, curiosity, and that quiet confidence she carried like armor.
For a moment, I didn’t say a word. I stood there, hands braced on my knees, watching the two volley back and forth like they’d known each other longer than the five minutes it had been.
And something inside me shifted.
I’d always worried this part of my life—the complicated part, the part wrapped in secrets and contracts and unexpected fatherhood—wouldn’t have room for anyone else. That no woman would willingly step into it, let alone belong there.
Yet while watching Juliette beside my son, listening to them trade questions, stories, and dreams… It didn’t feel like I was forcing two worlds together. It felt like she’d been meant to stand here all along.
Mateo grabbed Juliette’s hand, tugging her toward the playground. “Come see the mural! I painted a dragon!”
Juliette shot me a look over her shoulder, a sparkle in her eye. “Don’t worry, we’ll be right back.”
I stood still, my heart still hammering, the echo ofDadstill vibrating in my bones.
And as I watched Juliette and Mateo walk ahead—her laughing at something he said, him practically bouncing at her side—I realized:
This wasn’t the life I’d inherited.
This was the life I’d chosen.
Soon, we were sitting outside on the terrace of a casual café built into the cliff’s edge, the kind of place with weathered wood tables, string lights overhead, and a view that made conversation feel secondary. The ocean crashed gently below, steady and blue, like the rhythm of a life I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.
Mateo slurped down his second root beer and leaned across the table with a sly grin. “So… did you kiss at the wedding?”
Juliette laughed, nearly choking on her water. “We did.”
“Was it gross?”
“It was very dignified,” I said dryly.
“Romantic,” Juliette corrected with a smirk. “Turns out your dad is a closet romantic.”
Mateo raised his brows, stunned. “Seriously?”
“She’s exaggerating,” I muttered.
“Am I?”