Page 37

Chapter thirty-six

I’ll wear that title with pride

Charlie

I knew this Christmas would be special, but nothing prepared me for Meadow’s innocent slip of the tongue. Dada. The word echoes in my head, stirring emotions I haven’t fully unpacked yet.

It’s been a short time since Jake entered our lives, yet he’s woven into our fabric in a way that feels like he’s always been here. The kids adore him. And I love him.

I love him.

The memory of telling him last night ripples through me. I meant it with every cell in my body, even though they trembled while I said it. But hearing Meadow call him Dada ? That’s different. It’s as if she’s voiced a future I barely dared to imagine—a future I haven’t let myself fully dream about until now.

I glance at Jake, sitting across from me on the opposite sofa. He’s relaxed but weighted, still processing everything. I’ve seen all the emotions flicker on his face today. Surprise, pride, and something deeper, a quiet resolution that fills my heart in the best way.

Meanwhile, the kids are oblivious, sprawled by the fire and surrounded by wrapping paper and toys. I want to freeze this moment—just us, tucked in this winter wonderland, safe and happy. But I can’t avoid the inevitable any longer.

I glance at the clock, and that familiar knot tightens in my stomach.

It’s time to call Alex.

“Alright, guys,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “Time to call Dad. ”

Noah groans, resting his head on the fluffy rug where he’s building a spaceship. “Do we have to?”

Meadow, on the other hand, bounces around with her doll. “We call Dada?”

“Yeah, honey bee,” I say, reaching for my phone. “Just for a few minutes, okay?”

I glance at Jake, who’s moved to an armchair out of camera view, his expression carefully neutral. But I know the signs: the tight jaw, restless fingers drumming his leg.

He hates this. And I hate it, too. I hate how it shifts the mood, how Alex still claims part of this day. But I also know Alex—possessive, controlling, always needing the upper hand. The last thing I want is unnecessary drama, especially on Christmas.

So Jake holds it in for me. For the kids. And I have to make the effort too, for their sake.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, meant only for Jake’s ears. “This won’t take long.”

He nods, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “It’s fine. Do what you need to do.”

Giving an apologetic smile, I turn back to the kids, open the video app and hit dial. The call connects, and Alex’s face fills the screen, smile wide and overly enthusiastic.

I know that smile. The practiced kind, the one he uses for business calls when he’s not really paying attention.

“Merry Christmas, Dada!” Meadow chirps, waving excitedly.

Alex’s face lights up, but there’s a hollowness only I can see. “Merry Christmas, Princess,” he says smoothly. “And hey there, Noah.”

“Hey, Dad,” Noah replies, a little less enthusiastic than his sister, but still polite.

"Did Santa bring you everything you wanted?” Alex asks, using that overly cheerful tone—the one he uses when he’s just going through the motions. The one that says, ‘I’m checking the box.’

“Yeah!” Meadow holds up her doll. “Look! A dolly!” Her excitement is so innocent, so pure.

“Very nice,” Alex says, but his eyes are already distant, checking out of the c onversation. He glances at me briefly, his smile fading. “Where are you guys? That’s not your place.”

I stiffen slightly, forcing a smile. “We’re at Jake’s cabin.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I see his eyes narrow just a touch, though his smile stays plastered on. “Jake’s cabin , huh? Must be nice.”

There it is—the condescension. It’s always there, bubbling beneath the surface. He hates it when I’m happy.

I catch Jake’s expression flicker with annoyance, but I keep my voice neutral. “Yeah, it’s been really nice. The kids are loving the snow.”

Before he can respond, Meadow jumps up. “Oh, my shirt!” She runs off, little feet pattering. Noah barely looks up from his LEGOs. I nudge him gently, but he shrugs, not in the mood to talk to his dad.

Noah’s quiet detachment from these calls has become a pattern. The further Alex drifts, the more Noah shuts down.

Alex’s eyes linger on Noah before shifting back to me, as if he’s about to comment further on our location. But Meadow returns, clutching the Storm jersey Jake got her.

“Look! Jake got me this!”

I glance at Jake, who’s watching silently from the armchair, a small smile tugging at his lips. Meadow’s holding up the jersey with Jake’s name and number on the back.

Alex’s eyes narrow, and I see the irritation he’s trying to hide. “A hockey jersey, huh? Cool, Meadow. I hope you said thank you.”

“Yeah, Dada!” Meadow says, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “It’s just like his one!”

I brace myself for it—the moment he’ll deflate her, like he always does.

There’s a pause, and I see Alex’s eyes flash. “Meadow, you’re not a baby anymore. It’s Dad, not Dada. Okay?”

Meadow frowns, little brows knitting together. She doesn’t understand. She’s three, and she loves him—the version of him she gets, when she gets it.

My eyes flick to Jake, who’s gone deathly still, knuckles white as he grips the armrests. His body is c oiled, as if ready to jump up and shield her from every sharp word. I know what he’s thinking—that he’d never correct Meadow like that, never take the joy out of her words.

Heart sinking, I bite my tongue and force a smile, trying to keep things calm. “It’s okay, honey bee,” I say softly to Meadow. “Daddy just means you’re a big girl now.”

Noah glances between Meadow, the phone, and Jake. He doesn’t say anything, but the tension feels palpable.

The conversation drags on for a few more minutes, with Alex making small talk. Each question feels like meaningless static, filling the space but meaning nothing.

“Alright, guys,” I say finally. “Let’s say goodbye to Daddy, okay? Time to wind down.”

Noah gives a noncommittal wave, still barely looking up. “Bye.”

“Bye, Dad,” Meadow chirps, her earlier excitement now slightly dulled.

“Bye, kids,” Alex says, eyes already drifting away from the screen. “And Merry Christmas, Lottie ,” he adds with a smug smirk.

I end the call before I have to respond, letting out a long, slow breath.

Jake’s already standing, fists clenched, jaw tight, muscles straining.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” he mutters, walking away before I can say anything.

The tension radiating from his body is undeniable. The kids are blissfully unaware, already back to playing with their toys, so I push myself off the sofa and follow him. My feet feel heavy, weighed down by what’s coming.

I find him by the counter, hands gripping the edge of the sink, staring out into the snowy landscape. His shoulders are tense, whole body taut with barely contained anger.

“Jake…”

“I hate that guy.”

His words are sharp, too controlled.

I step up behind him, resting a hand on his back. “You okay?”

He lets out a slow breath, shoulders still rigid. “He told her not to call him Dada,” Jake says. “W hat kind of asshole says that to his own kid?”

“I know,” I whisper, rubbing his back. “It’s awful.”

Jake shakes his head, turning to face me, his eyes clouded with frustration and something deeper: pain. “No, Charlie. She called me Dada today. And then he... he brushes her off like it’s nothing. Like he doesn’t even want it.”

I can see the unresolved emotions of his own childhood swirling beneath the surface. He’s holding it together, but this moment has pushed him over the edge.

“Jake…” I pause again. I don’t know how to make this better for him.

He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “I love those kids, Charlie. And hearing him dismiss her like that, like he doesn’t even care...” His voice is raw and vulnerable in a way he doesn’t often show.

“I know. I hate how he talks to them too, like it’s a chore.”

Jake’s eyes flash with anger, tempered by determination. “He doesn’t deserve them if that’s how he treats them. He never deserved you, either.”

“I know,” I whisper, feeling the weight of his words. “But he’s still their father, and they love him, even if he doesn’t always deserve it.”

He looks at me, expression softening as he takes my hand, grounding himself in our connection. “You know I’d never—”

“I know,” I cut in, squeezing his hand. “You love them, Jake. They know that. And Meadow calling you Dada is because you’ve been there for her. She trusts you.”

He studies me, then brushes his lips to my forehead. “But what if it confuses her? What if she thinks—”

“Jake,” I say gently. “Meadow is three. She’s figuring it all out in her own way. And you’re becoming a constant. What Alex said doesn’t change that.”

His breath comes out shaky, like he’s releasing some of the tension. “I just... I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You won’t. You’re not him, Jake. You’re everything he isn’t.”

His fingertips trace my cheekbones, searching my face for reassurance. For a moment, he just looks at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of quiet fear and unshakable resolve.

“I’ll never correct her,” he says firmly. “If she wants to call me Dada for the rest of her life, I’ll wear that title with pride.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I nod, blinking back tears. “Thank you,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He kisses me back, lips lingering on mine, and when we pull away, a new determination fills his eyes. “You’ve got me, Charlie. Them, too. Always.”

I let the truth of his words seep into me. This is what I’ve wanted. A partner who will stand by me, who will love my kids as his own, who will fight for us even when things get tough.

He studies my face like he’s reading every single thought running through my head, then pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly. Like he needs to anchor himself to something solid just as much as I do.

And I let him. Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Jake is nothing like Alex.