Page 7 of Yearn

But did that give me the right to dip into my trust fund and orchestrate this entire Mother’s Day as if I were her husband, as if I had the right to love her like this?

Was it wrong to spend so much on her when I wasn’t supposed to mean anything?

It felt filthy, pretending at a role that wasn’t mine, but the filth was part of the hunger. I wanted her in ways that shamed me, and yet the shame only made me want her more.

The world would call it erotic obsession.

Maybe it was.

But the truth was simpler, darker: I couldn’t stop.

Not when she bought me sweaters and told me to eat breakfast. Not when she hugged me after I told her about losing my parents three years ago. Not when she laughed at my stupid nerdy medical jokes and the sound alone repaired everything broken inside me.

How could I not want to give her a night where she felt adored?

Even if she never knew it came from me.

I wiped my palms on my slacks and watched the boys fidget. They were buzzing like firecrackers, waiting for her car.

I pointed at them. “Remember what we practiced.”

“Yep.” Oliver nodded fiercely, curls bouncing.

I turned to J. “Okay. What do you say when she comes in?”

J adjusted their red bow tie and smiled. “Mommy, tonight is your night of pampers.”

I chuckled.

Oliver widened his eyes.

J shook their head and giggled.

“Pampered, J.” I chuckled some more. “Mommy, tonight is your night to bepampered.”

J’s face fell. Their lips pressed tight, shoulders shrinking in on themselves as though one small mistake meant they’d ruined everything.

Shit.

I crouched down fast, until my knees brushed the carpet and my eyes were level with theirs. “Hey. Look at me, J.”

They kept staring at the floor, fighting tears.

“Please, look at me.” I gave them a warm smile. “You didn’t mess anything up. You’re perfect. You hear me? You’re going to say it just fine. Your mom is going to love it because it comes from you. And you,” I touched the red bow tie gently, “are awesome. Got it?”

A tear slipped down their cheek. They nodded, sniffling.

“Pampered,” I grinned. “We practiced. You’ll get it.”

“Pampered,” they repeated.

“Exactly. And even if you said pampers again?” I winked. “She would laugh, and then she would hug you until you couldn’t breathe. Because she loves you no matter what.”

Oliver nodded. “And mommy loves pampers too.”

I chuckled. “Good point.”

J exhaled like I’d just handed them oxygen. They smiled again, fragile but real.