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Lars raises an eyebrow. “You think just because you have money, you can swoop in and fix everything? It doesn’t work that way, James.”
“No, it doesn’t. But you didn’t see it. You didn’t see the way he’s living. That neighborhood, those streets—there’s syringes lying in the gutter! And Leo… he’s wearing clothes that don’t even fit him. Cora can’t give him what I can. How am I supposed to just walk away from that?”
Lars sighs. “I’m not saying she’s doing everything right. But taking Leo from his mother… You’re talking about ripping him out of the only life he’s known. That’s not protecting him, James. That’s traumatizing him.”
“She kept him from us, Lars. She kept Jon’s son—mynephew—from his family. What kind of mother does that? And for what? Pride? Is that worth more than Leo’s safety?”
Lars is quiet for a moment. “I get it. You’re angry, and you have every right to be. But this isn’t about punishing Cora. You think throwing lawyers at this will make it better for Leo? You really want to turn this into a fight?”
I shake my head, my resolve hardening. “I’m speaking to my lawyer. Leo deserves better.”
Lars places a hand on my arm. “James, don’t do something you’ll regret. You’re angry with Cora, and I get that. But don’t let your anger drive you to make a decision that could hurt Leo in the long run. It’ll only end in tears and heartbreak.”
“It’s already ended in tears and heartbreak,” I confess quietly.
I look back at Leo, who’s now running toward me with a huge smile on his face.
“Time to go home, buddy.” I lift him onto my lap and his small arms wrap around my neck. “Did you have fun?”
“Yes! I love it here! Can I come back? Please, Uncle James?” His face lights up, and warmth blooms in my chest—raw and protective.
“You’ll come back.” My voice is softer than I expected. I clear my throat. “You’ll come back as often as you like, Leo. I’ll make sure of it.”
He smiles, and it’s that innocence—his trust in me—that tips the scale. As I hold him close, the decision solidifies, hardening into something unshakable.
“Uncle James?” he whispers, like he’s sharing a secret. “Can I have my own room, like Ollie and Emma?”
Those words slice through me, and I swallow hard. He’s already imagining a life with us. He doesn’t understand what he’s asking, but I do. I turn to Lars, my eyebrows raised.
How can I send him back? Back to that house, that neighborhood? Back to a life where he’s missing out on everything I can give him?
Lars catches my eye, her expression serious. I know she’s telling me not to rush this, not to act out of anger, but something’s shifted. It’s not just anger anymore. It’s responsibility. It’s love. And it’s Jonathon’s blood running through Leo’s veins.
I hug Leo tightly. “Of course you can.”
I say it with finality. It’s not a promise. It’s fact. And Cora… Cora will have to understand.
She has no choice.
Chapter thirty-seven
James
“Good morning, Portia. Howwas your weekend?”
Portia looks up, startled, as I pause by her desk on my way to my office. It’s rare for me to ask Portia about anything outside of work. Hell, it’s rare for me to ask anything remotely personal at all.
“Very good, sir,” she replies, smiling. “I spent the weekend looking after my grandkids.”
I look closer and notice she seems a bit tired; her face is paler than usual and there’s a large coffee cup on her desk. I wonder briefly what her life is like behind the scenes—children, grandkids, everything in between. For a moment, it’s hard not to think about Cora.How much has she been juggling?
“You had your hands full, I take it?” I offer a forced chuckle, trying to break the stiffness that always seems to linger between me and my employees.
Portia beams and her tired eyes sparkle. “Yes, but I don’t mind at all. They’re sweet little cherubs.”
I nod and continue walking toward my office. That was the first non-work-related conversation I’ve had with Portia since she started, what, eight years ago? How disconnected have I been? My mind flashes to Leo. Does Cora’s father describe him as a “sweet cherub”? Does he take care of Leo like Portia does her grandkids?
Settling behind my desk, I shake the thoughts away. I need to focus. My computer hums to life, and my inbox fills the screen. The email from my lawyer stands out like a beacon.