16. Cassian #2
"One story. That's it. Then bedtime routine starts and he waits in the living room so we can talk."
June squeals, grabs my hand again. "Come on! I'll show you my room and you can pick which book!"
She drags me down the hallway before Amara can change her mind.
Her room is small, painted a soft lavender, walls covered in more drawings and a poster of the ocean with various sea creatures labeled.
A twin bed sits against one wall, covered in a comforter with cartoon fish.
Books overflow from a small shelf in the corner.
"These are my favorites." She points to a stack on her nightstand. "You can pick any one."
I crouch down, study the titles. Dr. Seuss, Eric Carle, some ocean wildlife encyclopedia that looks too advanced for her age but she's probably reading it anyway. I select one about a girl who befriends a whale—simple, sweet, with illustrations that June probably adores.
"Good choice." She climbs into bed, settles against her pillows, pulls the comforter up to her chin.
I sit on the edge of the bed, open to the first page. Her eyes track the illustrations while I read, occasionally interrupting with questions or observations about whale behavior. Halfway through, she yawns, rubbing her eyes with small fists.
By the final page, she's fighting to keep them open. I close the book gently, set it on the nightstand.
"That was a good story," she mumbles.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Thanks for reading it."
"Anytime, June."
"Will you come back? To read more stories?"
The question freezes me. Her eyes are half-closed, exhaustion winning the battle, completely unaware that she just asked the exact thing I've been hoping for since I discovered her existence.
"I'd like that. If your mom says it's okay."
"She will." Complete certainty. "She likes you. I can tell."
Before I can respond to that wildly inaccurate assessment, she rolls onto her side, already drifting toward sleep. I stand slowly, careful not to disturb the bed too much, and move toward the door.
Amara's waiting in the hallway, arms crossed. She doesn't say anything, just nods toward the living room. I follow, leaving June's door cracked behind us.
The living room is as cramped as the rest of the apartment but filled with evidence of their life.
Photos on every surface—June as a newborn, a toddler, various stages in between.
Amara's always in them, smiling or laughing or looking exhausted but happy.
Sometimes other people appear, probably friends from Barcelona or London.
But it's mostly just the two of them, building a world that didn't include me.
One photo catches my attention. June can't be more than a few days old, swaddled in a hospital blanket, tiny face scrunched against Amara's chest. Amara looks wrecked—dark circles, hair pulled back, shoulders hunched with exhaustion.
But she's smiling down at the baby in her arms with an expression of such pure, overwhelming love that it steals the air from my lungs.
I missed that. Missed June's birth, those first precious days, watching Amara become a mother. Missed everything because of a misunderstanding neither of us bothered to clear up.
"She fell asleep," I say quietly.
"I know. She always does during stories." Amara moves to the couch, sits but doesn't invite me to join her. "You need to leave now."
I don't sit. Don't move closer. Just stand there near the photos, hands shoved in my pockets.
"She asked if I'd come back. To read more stories."
"I heard."
"What did you tell her about me? Before tonight?"
"Nothing. Just that you were someone I used to know."
"That's it?"
"What else was I supposed to say, Cassian? 'Oh, by the way, that tall man who keeps showing up is your father, but I never told him you existed until he showed up unannounced and saw you?' Give me a break. I'm not doing that to her."
She's right to be angry. I know that. But her anger doesn't erase mine, doesn't balance the scales of five years of absence.
"She deserves to know the truth, you know."
"I'll tell her when I'm ready."
"When will that be?"
"I don't know!" Her voice rises before she catches herself, remembers June sleeping down the hall. Then, it drops down to a whisper. "I don't know, okay? This is messy and I'm trying to figure out how to explain it in a way that doesn't traumatize her."
"Or maybe you're stalling because telling her makes it real. Makes me real, makes this situation something you can't control anymore."
She stands abruptly. "You don't get to psychoanalyze me. You don't know what the last five years have been like."
"Because you didn't tell me. You made a unilateral decision that I didn't deserve to know about my own child?—"
"You were with Raylin!"
"I wasn't. I was never with her. You saw what you wanted to see, assumed the worst, and ran before giving me a chance to explain."
"She was all over you!"
"And I never reciprocated! Not once! But you were so convinced you didn't belong in my world that you looked for evidence to confirm it. Found Raylin hanging around and decided that was proof enough."
Amara's jaw clenches. "This isn't about Raylin. It's about you showing up here, disrupting our life, demanding access to June like you have some inherent right?—"
"I'm her father."
"You're a stranger who shares her DNA. Being a father requires more than biology, Cassian. It requires showing up, being present, proving you're someone worth trusting."
"Then let me prove it. I'm proving it right fucking now, Amara." I take a step closer, not crowding but closing the distance. "Give me a chance to show June and you that I'm serious. That I'm not going anywhere, that I want to be part of her life in whatever way you'll allow."
She looks away, focuses on the photos scattered across the shelf. "Cassian…" She wets her lips. "I don't want to hurt her or confuse her. It would break my heart to see her hurting over our decisions."
"She'll never have to hurt again if you let me back into your life," I say. Against better judgment, I reach out and grab Amara by the wrist. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she melts into me.
We stand toe-to toe, staring into each other's eyes. My hand raises up to cup her cheek, tracing patterns into her smooth skin with my thumb. Her eyes flutter closed.
"I won't disappoint you," I whisper, my lips grazing hers. "I promise."
Amara doesn't reply. She just closes the distance between our lips, kissing me. And it's like a dream come true, getting to feel and taste and love her again.