Page 16 of Bittersweet (Dads of Stillwater #5)
JULIUS
The taxi door swings open and I step out into the May sunshine, my heart racing with the day’s significance.
Constantine follows, carefully maneuvering the congratulatory banner we spent hours crafting last night while our daughter Athena clutches her tiny bouquet of wildflowers like it’s made of spun glass with one hand and her favorite stuffy elephant with the other.
My fingers tremble slightly as I adjust my suit jacket—the nicest one I own, saved for special occasions like this.
The fabric feels foreign and familiar against my skin, much like this moment: the culmination of years of hope and hard work, yet somehow still surreal.
Kay and her girlfriend Emma emerge from the other side of the taxi, their sundresses bright spots of color against the formal blacks and grays of the gathering crowd.
The college’s main auditorium rises before us, its brick facade warm and welcoming in the late spring light. The air buzzes with conversation and anticipation—hundreds of families just like ours, all here to celebrate their graduates.
“Daddy, look!” Athena tugs at my sleeve, pointing to a butterfly that’s landed on one of her wildflowers.
Constantine shifts the banner under his arm, his free hand finding the small of my back. The touch grounds me, as it has countless times before. “Need help with that?” I ask, but he shakes his head, a knowing smile on his lips.
“I got it. Need you to keep your hands free to calm me when I have a nervous breakdown.”
I lean over and whisper in his ear, “I’m sure the calming measures I’m thinking about would not be well-accepted here.”
He laughs, and I love seeing a little bit of his tension leave him.
We move as a unit toward the entrance, our footsteps falling into an easy rhythm on the paved path. Kay walks slightly ahead, already spotting familiar faces in the crowd.
Inside, the murmur of voices grows louder, echoing off high ceilings and polished floors.
The air conditioning raises goosebumps on my arms, or maybe it’s the weight of the moment finally settling in.
All around us, families huddle in small groups, their voices a symphony of pride, nervousness, and joy.
And then I see him—Leo, making his way through the crowd in his cap and gown.
The sight hits me like a physical force, and I grab Constantine’s arm to steady myself.
Our boy, who used to carry so much pain and fear, now stands tall and proud in his academic regalia.
The gown doesn’t quite hide his slender frame, but his smile could light up the entire auditorium.
“Connie! Dad!” He reaches us in a few long strides, and I pull him into a tight embrace, mindful of his cap. Maybe it’s because I met him only a short time before Constantine and I started dating, but I’ll never not love that Leo sees me as more of a father figure than a big brother.
Constantine joins our hug, and Athena worms her way between us all, offering her wildflowers. “These are for you, Leo!” she announces proudly. He accepts them with exaggerated ceremony, tucking one behind his ear with a flourish that makes her giggle.
The overhead speakers crackle to life with an announcement about seating. Leo straightens his gown, his fingers brushing the fabric with a mix of pride and disbelief.
“I should probably go line up,” he says but lingers for a moment longer.
I watch him take in our little group. Constantine still holding the banner, Athena practically vibrating with excitement, Kay and Emma standing close together, my own undoubtedly watery smile—and I see in his eyes the recognition of what we’ve built together.
Family, in all its beautiful, unexpected configurations.
As he turns to leave, Constantine calls out, “Hey, kid.” Leo pauses, looking back. “We’re so proud of you.” The words are simple, but they carry the weight of years of late-night hospital visits and medication schedules, of triumphs and setbacks, of love that grew stronger with each challenge.
Leo’s smile wobbles just slightly, and he nods once before disappearing into the crowd of other graduates.
I stand there watching the space where he was, feeling Constantine’s steady presence beside me until Athena’s small hand slips into mine.
“Come on, Daddy,” she says. “We need to find our seats so we can see Leo get his diploma!”
She’s right, of course. I let her lead us through the crowd, Constantine following with the banner, Kay and Emma bringing up the rear.
The excitement in the air is palpable now, crackling like static electricity before a storm.
As we settle into our seats, I catch Constantine watching me with a soft expression that still makes my heart skip a beat after all these years.
The graduates file in like a river of black robes and square caps. The microphone squeals once before settling into the dean’s measured tones, but I barely register the words. Constantine’s hands are trembling, so I do what I feel like I was born to do. I hold his hands between mine and anchor him.
Athena squirms in her seat between us, her small stuffed elephant clutched tightly to her chest. Constantine gently reminds her to sit still, but I understand her restlessness—it mirrors the nervous energy coursing through my body.
The dean’s voice drones on about tradition and excellence and future prospects, but all I can think about is Leo’s journey to this moment.
My mind flashes back to that first day Leo walked into my coffee shop with Constantine.
The way his gaze was filled with weariness.
The late nights of studying while managing his medication schedule.
The gradual transformation from a frightened young man into someone who faced each day with quiet determination.
“When will it be Leo’s turn?” Athena whispers, loud enough to make Kay smile from her seat on the other side.
Her girlfriend leans over to explain alphabetical order, and I watch their heads bent together in quiet conversation.
The sight makes my heart swell—this family we’ve built, piece by precious piece.
The names continue: Anderson… Baker… Chen…
Each student walks across the stage to polite applause, but I barely see them.
My eyes drift to the section where Leo sits, watching him fidget with his cap, straighten his gown, and glance over his shoulder toward us.
Even from this distance, I can read the nervous excitement in his posture.
“Francis…” The dean’s voice continues, and I feel my heart rate accelerate. Getting closer now.
“Galanis, Leo.”
The name rings out across the lawn, and suddenly, I’m on my feet without conscious thought.
Constantine rises beside me, still holding my hand.
Athena bounces up and down, her elephant dancing in her arms. Through eyes suddenly blurry with tears, I watch Leo stand and make his way to the stage steps.
His walk is steady, measured, and full of a grace I never could have imagined during those early days when he thought the world would never accept him.
The dean extends his hand, and Leo takes it.
The handshake is firm, confident. I’m crying openly now, not even trying to hide it.
I slip my arm around Constantine’s waist, supporting him as he claps for his brother.
Through the tears, I see Leo accept his diploma, see his brilliant smile as he turns toward the audience.
“He did it,” Kay whispers to her girlfriend, but I hear the words clearly despite the applause. “He really did it.” Her voice catches on the last word, and I glance over to see tears tracking down her cheeks as well.
Athena is practically levitating with excitement, her small voice rising above the general applause. “That’s my big brother! That’s Leo! He’s a doctor, you know?”
Several people around us chuckle at her enthusiasm, but I hear the warmth in their laughter. They understand—how could they not? This moment is magical.
Leo pauses for the official photo, then makes his way down the other side of the stage. I watch him return to his seat, noting how he walks taller now, as if the achievement has physically transformed him.
The ceremony continues, more names called, more graduates cross the stage. Athena settles back into her seat, but her excitement remains palpable. She keeps whispering to her elephant, recounting Leo’s walk across the stage as if the stuffed toy might have missed it.
Kay leans forward in her seat to catch my eye, and we share a moment of wordless understanding. She’s been an important part of Leo’s support system, a friend who understood his struggles in ways we couldn’t always reach.
When the last graduate crosses the stage, there’s a moment of profound silence before the dean begins his closing remarks.
I barely hear them over the rushing in my ears—the sound of pride and joy and relief all mixed together.
Constantine’s hand finds mine again, and I lean into him, letting him feel the full weight of the moment.
Without Constantine’s unwavering strength and love for his brother, we wouldn’t be here today.
The graduates stand for the final pronouncement, and Leo’s face turns toward our section once more. Athena waves her elephant frantically, and I watch Leo’s smile grow even brighter in response.
As the ceremony concludes and the air fills with the sound of cheering families, I remain standing, my eyes fixed on our son. Constantine pulls me close, and I feel his chest hitch with barely contained emotion. “We did it,” he whispers, his voice rough. “All of us, together.”
And he’s right. This isn’t just Leo’s achievement, though he’s certainly earned every moment of celebration.
This is a victory for our whole family, for every person who believed in him, supported him, and loved him through the hard times.
As the graduates begin to file out, I watch Leo’s black-robed figure merge with the crowd, knowing that this ending is really just another beginning.
“Everyone gather round,” I call out once Leo joins us, pulling the phone from my pocket.
Years of managing crowd control at Bittersweet serve me well as I begin arranging our family for photos.
Leo stands in the center, his diploma held proudly in front of him.
Constantine moves to his right, and I can see in my husband’s eyes the same overwhelming emotion I’m feeling—pride, joy, and love all mixed together into something almost too big to contain.
Athena darts between us, still clutching her elephant.
“I want to stand next to Leo!” she insists, and Leo scoops her up with one arm, settling her on his hip.
The gesture is so natural, so brotherly, that my throat tightens.
Kay and her girlfriend position themselves on Leo’s other side, their hands clasped, faces glowing with shared happiness.
“One, two, three—smile!” I call out, but before I can press the shutter, Constantine steps forward.
“Julius, get in here. I’ll take it.” I start to protest—I’m usually the one behind the camera—but he gives me that look that brooks no argument.
A stranger might miss the tenderness in his stern expression, but I’ve learned to read every nuance of his face.
I join the group, sliding into place beside Leo.
My son—and how miraculous it still feels to say those words—leans slightly into my side.
He’s trembling, I realize, the way he used to during anxiety attacks, but this time it’s from happiness.
I wrap my arm around his waist, below where Athena perches, and feel him steady against me.
Constantine adjusts the camera settings with practiced ease. “Ready?” he asks, and I watch him count silently, his lips moving in that endearing way they do when he’s concentrating. The camera clicks once, twice, three times.
“Now, one with silly faces!” Athena demands, and Leo immediately crosses his eyes, making her shriek with laughter.
Kay sticks out her tongue, her girlfriend pretends to swoon, and I find myself pulling the most ridiculous expression I can manage.
Constantine captures it all, his own laughter making the camera shake slightly.
“Let me take one with you in it,” Kay’s girlfriend offers, and Constantine hands over the camera after a brief tutorial.
He moves to stand beside me, and just before the shutter clicks, he reaches over to adjust Leo’s cap, tilting it to a slightly better angle.
The gesture is so characteristic of him—always attending to the small details, always making sure everything is just right.
Around us, other families are taking their own photos, their joy adding to the festive atmosphere.
Balloons bob in the gentle breeze, and the college’s banner stretches proud and wide across the lawn.
I hear snippets of laughter, congratulations, and plans for the future. The air is thick with possibility.
“Look at what we’ve built right here,” Constantine says softly, his words meant only for me.
I follow his gaze across our little group—Leo, still holding Athena, his posture relaxed and confident in a way I never thought I’d see during those early days.
Athena, secure in her brother’s arms, completely at home in this family we’ve pieced together through choice and chance and endless determination.
“We did build this,” I agree, my voice rough with emotion. “All of us, together.”
Constantine’s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining with the ease of long practice. Around us, the celebration continues—handshakes and hugs, promises to keep in touch, plans for dinner and parties and future gatherings.
Constantine leans into my side, and I feel his soft exhalation against my neck.
“Ready for whatever comes next?” he murmurs, and I nod.
“Ready,” I answer, and I mean it. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together, just as we’ve faced everything else. The camera hangs forgotten in my hands as I stand with my family, surrounded by love, pride, and the endless possibilities of tomorrow.