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The days that followed Marcus’s furious departure were a tense, fragile limbo for Eleanor and Leo. The silence in the small apartment felt different now, no longer a peaceful haven, but a space haunted by the echo of harsh words and slamming doors. Eleanor tried her best to maintain a semblance of normalcy for Leo’s sake, but the effort felt akin to trying to hold back a flood with a sieve.
Leo, a bright and perceptive child, was acutely aware of the shift in his mother’s demeanor. The forced smiles, the occasional tear that she quickly wiped away when she thought he wasn’t looking, the hushed phone calls with Lea – he absorbed it all with an unnerving quietude.
He started asking questions, his innocent inquiries like gentle probes into the raw wound of Eleanor’s heart. “Mommy,” he’d ask, his brow furrowed in concern as he played with his cars on the living room floor, “who was that man who came to our house? The one with the same color eyes as mine?”
Eleanor would kneel down, pulling him into a tight hug, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to find the right words. “That was… that was someone Mommy used to know a long time ago, sweetie. He was just visiting.”
But Leo, with the unwavering persistence of a curious child, would press further. “He looked sad, Mommy. Why was he so sad? Did he not like our house?”
Each question was like a twist of a knife. How could she explain to her innocent four-year-old the complicated web of secrets and emotions that had just exploded into their quiet lives? How could she convey the anger and hurt of a man who had just discovered the existence of his son after five long years?
“He was just a little tired, honey,” Eleanor would say, stroking his hair. “But don’t worry about it. He won’t be coming back for a while.” The lie felt heavy on her tongue, but she didn’t know what else to say. The fear of Marcus returning, of a potential custody battle, of the carefully constructed life she had built for Leo being torn apart, was a constant, gnawing anxiety.
Inside, Eleanor was crumbling. The façade of strength she tried to maintain for Leo required every ounce of her energy. Sleep offered little respite, her nights filled with fitful dreams and the lingering echo of Marcus’s furious accusations. She felt isolated, trapped between the desperate need to protect her son and the overwhelming pain of Marcus’s rejection.
Thank goodness for Lea. True to her word, she arrived and for a few days after Marcus’s visit, her presence was a much-needed anchor in the swirling storm of Eleanor’s emotions. Lea didn’t pry, didn’t offer platitudes. She simply held Eleanor tight, her silent support speaking volumes.
Lea became a buffer, a warm presence that filled the tense silence in the apartment. She played with Leo, her infectious laughter brightening his worried little face. She cooked meals, ensuring Eleanor was eating something amidst her anxiety-induced nausea. She listened, really listened, as Eleanor recounted the devastating confrontation with Marcus, offering words of comfort and unwavering support.
“He’s an idiot, El,” Lea would say fiercely, her green eyes flashing with anger on Eleanor’s behalf. “A blind, arrogant idiot if he can’t see what a wonderful mother you are, what an incredible little boy Leo is.”
Lea helped Eleanor navigate the immediate aftermath, offering practical advice and a much-needed dose of reality. She reminded Eleanor that Marcus’s initial anger, though frightening, was likely fueled by shock and a sense of loss. She cautioned Eleanor against making any rash decisions, urging her to focus on Leo and her own well-being.
In the quiet evenings, after Leo was asleep, Eleanor and Lea would sit together, the silence comfortable and supportive. Lea’s presence was a lifeline, a tangible reminder that Eleanor wasn’t facing this terrifying uncertainty alone. While the future remained hazy and fraught with potential heartache, in those moments, with Lea by her side, Eleanor found a fragile sense of hope, a quiet strength to face whatever came next, for Leo’s sake.
Marcus
Marcus hadn’t returned to his penthouse since that night. Instead, he buried himself in his office, sleeping in the sleek black leather chair when exhaustion won out over fury. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t know what home meant anymore.
The drawing was still in his briefcase.
He’d looked at it more times than he’d admit. The crooked crayon smiles. The small label in a child’s hand: “The Man in Mommy’s Eyes.” He didn’t need a DNA test. Not really. The resemblance had hit him like a freight train the second the boy looked up at him.
Leo.
The name pulsed in his head, over and over, like a bruise he couldn’t stop pressing.
He’d ordered the test anyway. Through his lawyers. Cold. Clinical. Not because he doubted what Eleanor said—but because he needed the certainty. Because if he didn’t anchor himself to something objective, he’d drown in this twisted sea of emotion.
And, truthfully… he wanted to punish her.
He hated that about himself.
She had lied. Hidden his child. Seduced him, he told himself, all while knowing. The narrative came easy in anger. But now, in the silence of his office, with the city moving outside his window like nothing had changed, that version unraveled too quickly.
He leaned forward on the edge of his desk and raked a hand through his hair.
She had been afraid.
He saw it clearly now, in the way she had trembled, not with guilt, but with shame. With fear—not of consequences, but of him. That cut deeper than anything.
He closed his eyes—and all he saw was her.
The way she had looked in Chicago, mouth parted in pleasure, nails clawing into his back. The softness in her voice when she’d said his name for the first time in five years. The way she had clutched Leo protectively, like the world might rip him from her arms.
And that realization stabbed him in the gut.
She had built a life without him.
Not because she wanted to.
But because she’d had to.
Marcus stood and crossed the office, the windows casting fractured reflections of himself across the dark glass. He looked at his own eyes and suddenly saw Leo’s.
He wasn’t angry anymore.
He was scared.
What if she never forgave him for this?
What if she thought he’d take Leo away out of spite? Would she disappear again? Would he deserve it?
He clenched his fists and leaned his forehead against the cool pane of glass.
“Fuck,” he whispered to the skyline. “I’ve already lost five years. I can’t lose more.”
