They contacted me, asking if Jason had provided support. I told them the truth—no calls, no visits, no financial help. A lawyer reached out offering pro bono representation.
Suddenly Jason had a custody case on his hands—one he was destined to lose.
Three days after the broadcast, he showed up at my apartment for the first time.
His eyes were hollow. His hair was messy. He looked like a man who had aged ten years in seventy-two hours.
“Ava… I made a mistake,” he whispered.
I didn’t let him inside.
The twins were sleeping behind me. I stood in the doorway like a wall.
“No,” I said. “You made a choice.”
He flinched.
“I want to be a father,” he pleaded.
“You’re not,” I replied. “You’re a biological parent. That’s not the same.”
His mother, Victoria, standing behind him in the hallway, stepped forward.
“Ava, be reasonable,” she snapped.
I closed the door on both of them.
Jason’s life was crumbling. Mine was finally rising.
But the biggest moment—the moment he truly broke—was still ahead.
A week later, the Medal of Civilian Valor ceremony arrived.
Government officials. Press. Cameras. A full auditorium.