Chapter 1 #2
J was nine, non-binary, and used they/them pronouns. That fact alone had shocked their school, had lit up every PTA meeting with gossip. And it had ignited war inside this house.
Their father Scott had fought Teyonah over it, night after night, shouting that J was too young to know anything about themselves, that it was a phase, that she was coddling them.
But she had stood her ground. I’d stood in the basement apartment and overheard her talking about it to her friend.
“I told Scott that we are going to respect our child’s feelings, whether we understand them or not. We can’t force J to be anything more than what J wants to be.”
That was the woman I adored, fierce, protective, and unyielding when it came to her children’s dignity.
Apparently, a few weeks later after that argument over J’s decision, she caught Scott cheating. A blonde paralegal from his firm, lipstick on his collar, coke still in his veins.
She threw him out that night.
The boys didn’t know the truth. They built their own stories out of silence. Oliver thought their dad left because their mommy worked too much. J thought it was because of them. Because they weren’t the boy Scott wanted them to be.
J had confessed it to me weeks later and it had gutted me.
Since then, I’d been careful with J. Careful with words. Careful with corrections. Careful never to let them feel like they were wrong for being exactly who they were.
And I’d sworn that no one, not even their father, would ever make them feel that kind of shame again.
I stood and stepped back. “Do you two want to hear a joke?”
They both nodded.
I held out my hands. “Why did the doctor carry a red pen?”
Oliver widened his eyes. “I don’t know.”
J shrugged.
I winked. “The doctor carried a red pen, just in case he needed to draw blood.”
Oliver threw his head back and cackled so hard his bow tie almost came undone.
J howled and shook their head. “Dom! That is so corny.”
“What?” I chuckled. “I think that was an award winning joke.”
Then, a loud sound suddenly broke the air—tires crunching on gravel.
Oliver began jumping up and down. “Mommy is coming! Mommy is coming!”
He nearly tripped over his own shoes in excitement.
“Okay.” My chest tightened. “Positions.”
I herded them to the door and crouched low so my eyes were level with theirs. “This is your moment. She’s going to open that door and see you first. Take her to the gifts. Don’t forget to say thank you for being your mom and give her big kisses.”
Oliver puffed out his chest. “I’m going to give her the biggest kiss on her cheek!”
J bit their lip and nervously nodded.
Fuck. I thought we had a little bit more time.
Heart hammering, I straightened and turned toward the kitchen. “She’s on her way, Chef Marco!”
The chef poked his head out and wiped his hands on a spotless white apron. “The appetizer is ready, Dominic.”
“Perfect.” I glanced at the silver tray on the counter.
Small porcelain spoons gleamed, each holding a perfect bite of seared ahi tuna cubes rolled in sesame, crowned with avocado mousse and a thin ribbon of cucumber.
Clean protein, light on oil, just enough citrus to wake the tongue.
It was beautiful and restrained but decadent.
Exactly what she deserved.
“I’ll finish up her first cocktail.” Chef Marco vanished back into the kitchen.
I took a breath, forcing myself to steady. The boys were lined up by the door, clutching their cards, petals glittering around their polished shoes.
The house smelled faintly of lemon polish, fresh roses, and now—the sharp bite of seared fish layered with citrus and salt.
And underneath it all, the thought clawed at me again.
Will she think this is too much coming from me? Will this scare her?
But then Oliver grinned my way, gap-toothed and bright.
J fiddled with their bow tie but stood straighter, braver than they’d felt two minutes ago.
No. This won’t scare her. She won’t think I’m weird.
Because love, real love—the kind Scott had never once given her—wasn’t loud or complicated. It was in the details. It was in the care. It was in the tuna bite waiting on the tray, in the roses lining the hall, in her children waiting to burst her heart wide open.
And tonight, every detail was mine.
I turned toward the window just as headlights swept across the living room wall.
She’s here.
I watched her get out of the car with her phone pressed to her ear. Her shoulders were tight with exhaustion.
Yet. . .even bone-tired, she moved like temptation poured into flesh. Every curve under that work dress was an anatomy lesson my hands ached to study, every line of her body etched into me like muscle memory.
Fuck. . .
One glimpse of her bare throat when she tilted her head, and my body betrayed me all over again—an involuntary reflex, as if she were the fever and I the patient gasping for a cure.
The boys are here. Hold it together.
I clenched my fists to keep from reaching for her, pressing nails into my palms like sutures holding me together. Around the boys, I had to disguise it, force the diagnosis into a smile, pretend I wasn’t trembling for the medicine of her touch.
God, if J and Oliver weren’t there, I would have pressed her against the front door and tasted every inch of her exhaustion until she melted in my hands.
Her voice carried through the open window and was laced with frustration. “Scott hired every divorce lawyer in town just so I couldn’t get one. He’s playing war games with my life, Cynthia. I don’t know what to do.”
My jaw clenched.
That fucking bastard.
Since she kicked him out, Scott had been ten steps ahead at being a piece of shit, cutting her off at the knees not out of love, but out of terror at losing control.
And here I was, aching to be the one who freed her—from his chains, from her exhaustion, from the lie that she had to carry everything alone.
Sighing, I turned back to the boys, forcing a smile over the fury boiling in my gut. “Okay. Don’t let me down.”
They grinned, eager, pure. “We won’t, Dom.”
That sound nearly undid my heart.
“Have fun.” I had to drag myself away.
The chef waved goodbye from the kitchen door, apron already untied.
I shook his hand, murmured my thanks, then slipped out the back. I couldn’t be the first thing she saw. This night was theirs with her, not mine.
Plus, I wanted to give her space to breathe, to soak in what it meant to be adored by her children who she did so much for.
It’s show time.