“So this is about your guilt.”
“Partially. Yes.” He didn’t look away. “But it’s also about them. They didn’t ask to be born. They didn’t deserve poverty because I was a coward.”
Nora was quiet for a long moment.
“I’ll sign it,” she said finally. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You keep showing up. Not just now, while it’s new. But when it’s hard. When they’re sick. When they’re bratty. When I’m difficult. You stay.”
Adrian nodded. “I will.”
“And if you don’t, I’ll take you to court for full custody and drain every penny you’ve got.”
He met her eyes. “Fair.”
They signed the papers that day.
Six months later, things shifted again.
Adrian was reading to Lily when Noah toddle over and climbed into his lap without hesitation.
“Dada,” Noah said clearly.
Adrian froze. He looked at Nora, unsure.
She smiled—small, guarded, but real.
“He’s been practicing,” she said softly.
Emma joined them a moment later, giggling as Adrian tickled her.
And for the first time since that day in the park, Adrian felt something uncomplicated.
Not redemption. Not relief.
Just presence.
A year after the park, Margaret hosted Thanksgiving dinner.