PART 2
My father did not shout when he arrived at the hospital. That was what made him terrifying.
Corbin Hughes simply removed his black overcoat, folded it over one arm, and looked through the glass at Leo’s still little body. For the first time in my life, I saw the billionaire who feared nothing completely break.
“My boy,” he whispered, pressing his hand to the glass.
Those two words finally shattered me. I fell into his arms, and he held me without telling me to be strong, without offering empty comfort. He only said,
“I’m here.”
Bryce stood a few feet away, pale and useless.
“Mr. Hughes,” he began, but my father cut him off with one cold look.
“Do not speak to me yet.” Bryce closed his mouth like a man who already knew judgment had arrived.
Three days later, we buried Leo beneath a gray sky. Everyone came—neighbors, teachers, nurses, doctors, and my father’s powerful business friends.
Bryce stood beside me in a dark suit, crying at exactly the right moments. I hated him for looking like a grieving father when he had spent our son’s final hours with another woman.
Jessica did not come to the funeral. But she sent white lilies. No card, no name, just flowers that made Bryce stare too long before quickly looking away. That was how I knew they were from her.
After the service, we returned to the house where Leo’s red rain boot still sat by the door. His plastic dinosaur was under the couch. On the refrigerator hung a drawing that said, “Daddy is my hero.” The words felt like a knife pressed slowly into my chest.
Bryce saw me staring at it.
“Cynthia,” he said quietly, “we need to talk.”
He claimed he had made a terrible mistake. He said it had nothing to do with Leo, and that he had loved our son.
