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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

In the first few seconds, when I see a man with long hair holding a baby on my floor, I think he’s made a mistake.

The penthouse I own is the only unit on this floor.

And then, almost in slow motion, the baby he’s carrying—a boy—turns toward us, and I stop breathing.

It’s not the fact that he called Alexis “Mama” that freezes me. It’s his eyes—the same eyes that all the Seymours inherit, unmistakable: blue with green flecks—that make me certain he’s mine.

I take a step forward and feel her tension, but right now, I don’t care about Alexis. I feel overwhelmed by emotions, like everything I’ve suppressed my whole life is crashing down on me at once, ripping control away from the world I built and maintained strictly on my own terms.

I get the distinct feeling that if a pin dropped, it would echo through the silence. I’m vaguely aware that all eyes are on me, but all I can see is the child standing before me.

My son.

When I move toward him, completely forgetting about the wheelchair, Alexis, and Marla, the child—who had been clapping his hands—goes still too.

I’ve been around kids before. Athanasios and William are both fathers, and strangely enough, children seem to like me. But now, despite my almost insane urge to hold him, I stay put, waiting, somehow needing him to choose me.

Alexis

I watch them like a spectator at a movie.

For countless nights, I imagined this moment.

I thought about LJ’s reaction, about how I’d be ready to rip his head off if even one cell of his body showed any sign of rejecting our son.

I thought about Sedric too. What it would be like for him, raised only by me—though he’s had Badger’s company too—to one day start calling a man he’s never met "dad. "

I tried to rationalize it, to create scenarios in my head where we could coexist peacefully for Sedric’s sake, hiding the anger I feel toward LJ.

But in all my mental rehearsals, I never once considered how I would feel seeing them together.

The reality of it—the sheer weight of what they’ve missed—hits me like a punch to the face. And it only gets worse when LJ suddenly turns to look at me.

I don’t see hatred in his features at first—though I know it’s probably coming. I see loss and pain.

In silence, he asks me, How could you hide him from me?

And in that moment, I have no answer to give.

And then, before my eyes, a miracle happens. Sedric doesn’t warm up to strangers easily. He doesn’t interact much when unfamiliar people approach. Usually, he buries his face against our necks.

Many times, when he did that during trips around the city, I thought about how much he resembled his father.

I’m not chatty, but I fake sociability. LJ doesn’t. He sizes people up and decides whether they’re worth his time. Our son is just like him.

But as if recognizing his father—stunning both Mom and me—Sedric throws himself into LJ’s arms and wraps his little arms around his neck.

What happens next feels like slow motion. Without a word, Lazarus carries our son into the apartment.

"I’m so sorry," Badger says as soon as LJ walks away. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It’s not your fault, honey," Mom says. "I believe it was fate’s hand at work. How are you feeling?" she asks, touching my shoulder.

"I don’t know, Mom."

"My God! It’s too much, too soon. We shouldn’t have come to this apartment. It’s my fault."

"I don’t feel anything physically. I’m okay. It’s my mind that’s a mess."

"You should rest."

"No. I’ve put off this conversation for far too long. It’s time for LJ and me to finally set things straight. Could you guys give us some space? I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I think we need to be alone."

"What about Sedric?" Badger asks.

"You saw LJ’s face. I don’t think he’s going to let us take him away right now. Go on. I’ll be fine."

"Alright, but keep your phone on. We’ll be downstairs."

Lazarus

I feel her enter the room, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I focus on him. My son. The child whose name I don’t even know.

While he plays with my chin and nose, babbling random sounds, I try to calm myself down.

I force myself to remember that Alexis just had surgery a month ago.

"I’m sorry," she says, and I finally turn to face her.

"I don’t believe a word you say," I repeat almost exactly what she said to me the day I promised to bring her back to life. "I don’t want to talk right now. Let me have a moment with my son. By my count, I have a year to catch up on—and that’s not even counting the pregnancy. What’s his name?"

"Sedric."

As soon as he hears his mother call his name, he beams, his face lighting up with pure love for her. He starts bouncing excitedly in my lap, stretching his little arms toward Alexis.

"You can’t hold him yet," I warn, and when I look at her, I see a tear slide down her cheek. "Let’s go to the bedroom. I’ll help you sit on the bed, and then I’ll lay him down next to you."

Her crying intensifies, but it’s silent.

"Alexis, maybe I should leave," I offer, because despite the anger and the pain clawing at me, I don’t want to push her into another hospitalization.

"No. Stay. It’s time we talked, LJ. It’s long past time."