16. Taran

CHAPTER 16

TARAN

I entered the living room, my steps heavy, each one sinking with a weight I hadn’t known before—guilt, fear, the ache of letting my son down. My chest felt tight, as if each breath had to be forced past the knot that had settled there. My shoulders, too, sagged under the weight of it all, the guilt pressing down until it was nearly crushing. Rory stood by the Christmas tree, his hands balled into fists, his face a storm of anger and something deeper, something I hadn’t seen in him for a long time: fear. The sight of it made my stomach twist painfully, a sharp, hollow ache that spread through me. I’d always promised him he would never have to feel this way again, yet here we were.

I wanted to reach for him, tell him it wasn’t what he thought, but the words stuck in my throat. My own guilt settled heavy and thick. I’d let my guard down in a way I shouldn’t have. Wynter and I had been outside, caught up in each other—him standing there, bundled in a thick sweater and his faded jeans, wearing that charcoal-gray beanie that framed his face just right. He’d looked so handsome in the early morning light, that little bit of Christmas snow still clinging to the ground around us. And when he’d taken my hand, it was like everything else faded out. I’d forgotten myself, forgotten Rory, for that one electrifying moment.

I cleared my throat, the sound hollow in the tense air between us. “Rory, I know this is… hard to understand. But?—”

Rory took a shaky breath, his eyes narrowing, as if daring me to finish. I swallowed, feeling that knot of helplessness tighten in my chest.

This was the same boy I’d first met in the community center years ago—a kid who sat alone with his drawings, creating worlds that promised him the family he’d never had. Back then, he was just a five-year-old, small for his age, with huge, dark-brown eyes that held more sadness than any kid should ever carry. I could still picture those little hands of his, clutching a crayon so tightly, as he sketched houses with picket fences, rooms filled with warmth, and families gathered around tables. A mom, a dad, a dog, a yard—all those things he thought he’d never have.

“Rory…” I tried again, but he was already stepping back, his gaze locked on me as if seeing something he wished he could erase.

“You lied,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it struck with the force of a slap. He shook his head, his jaw clenching, his eyes fierce. “You said I’ll always come first in whatever you do.” My boy hugged himself tightly, his voice wavering. “It just feels different now. Like… like maybe you don’t need me as much anymore. Not like you did, when it was just us. Now you have him .”

I took a breath, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, and for a second, I was back in that adoption office, promising to give him a stable home, to be there no matter what. That was all he wanted, all he needed—to be someone’s first choice, someone’s only choice.

He’d been through so much before we met. Six foster homes in two years, shuffled around like a problem no one wanted to keep. I could still remember the cautious look in his eyes that first night he stayed with us as a foster placement, the way he sat stiffly at the dinner table, barely speaking, as if afraid any wrong word might send him packing. But over time, those walls began to crack. I’ll never forget the sound of his laughter, small and shy at first but growing stronger, the first time he and Royce built a fort in the living room. And later, when we told him he’d have his own room to decorate however he wanted, the way his face lit up—hope and disbelief mingling like he didn’t quite trust it could be real. I’d held him after every nightmare, hugged him through every broken promise he’d carried. He was my son, and I would have fought the world to keep him safe.

But now, he felt I’d betrayed him too.

He moved back another step, his back nearly brushing the tree. I could feel the distance growing between us, inch by painful inch, until it felt like a chasm neither of us knew how to bridge.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to find the right words. “Rory, Wynter isn’t trying to take anything away from us. He cares about you. I care about him… but that doesn’t change what you mean to me. No one could ever?—”

Rory’s face twisted, his eyes flashing. “So he’s like… a new dad, or something? Just replacing Papa like he’s nothing?” His voice cracked on that last word, the mention of Royce like a knife to both of us.

“No,” I said, firmly, stepping closer, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. “No one could replace Royce. I don’t want to replace anyone.” I looked into his eyes, begging him to see the truth in mine. “You have to believe me on that.”

He looked away, his lips pressed tight, and I saw the wall coming up again, the same one he used to have back when we first met, when he didn’t believe in promises, didn’t believe people stayed.

“When Papa died, you said we’d always be a team. That nothing would change how much you love me. You promised it’d be just us, that we’d get through it together. But now…” He trailed off, his throat working against the sobs he refused to let out, the ache too vast to contain in words. His eyes, glassy with unshed tears, locked on mine, silently begging me to make sense of it, to somehow make it right. “Now it feels like maybe I’m not enough anymore.”

I wanted to reach out, to pull him close and tell him that he’d always be enough, that he was everything to me. But the fear in his eyes—the same fear I’d tried so hard to banish from his life—held me still.

“Rory,” I murmured, my own voice breaking, “you are enough. You’ll always be enough. I love you, more than anything.”

But he just stared at me, as if trying to find the father he thought he knew.

How was I supposed to convince him that my love for him was complete, unconditional, lasting?

“I know you’re hurting right now, but please believe me when I tell you that no one will ever take your place in my heart.”

His lip trembled, and the anger softened, but only a little. His eyes still flashed with pain as he glanced down, a shudder running through him before he spoke, voice quiet but serious. “And what about Papa?” He didn’t look up at me, but I could feel the weight of his words. “What about him? You don’t love him anymore?”

I flinched, feeling the weight of every memory, every moment I’d shared with Royce. How could I make Rory understand that loving someone doesn’t just stop, even when they’re gone? My love for Royce had woven itself into my life, into every promise we’d made, every sacrifice. But that love had changed, evolving into something softer, something I carried with me quietly now.

Inside, I was torn, wrestling with feelings I’d tried to bury. Could Rory understand that losing Royce hadn’t erased him from my heart? And that Wynter coming back hadn’t erased Royce’s place, either? A part of me still ached for Royce, but I had to be open to the life that was in front of me now—for both of us.

Taking a steadying breath, I finally spoke, my voice low but firm. “Rory, I’ll always love Papa. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean that love disappeared. But loving him doesn’t mean I can’t care about Wynter too. It’s... different now. Papa will always be a part of my heart. No one can take that away.”

I watched him closely, hoping my words would land, but I could see the confusion on his face. “I know this is difficult, but I promise, you’ll always be my top priority.. Nothing will ever change that.”

Rory’s voice trembled when he spoke, thick with emotion. “I don’t get it. How can you still love Papa and then... have someone else?” I could feel him grappling with the weight of it all. His eyes flickered up at me, full of questions. “You say I’m enough, but if you have him…” His throat tightened. “Then what does that make me? Extra?”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, stealing my breath. I staggered for a moment, my lungs straining as if the air had thickened around me. I had to force myself to take a slow, steadying breath.

I took a step toward him, my movements deliberate, even as my legs felt unsteady beneath me. I wanted to say something—anything—to make it all better, but I knew there were no easy fixes for the wound I’d unintentionally opened.

I crouched down in front of him, meeting his eyes. “Rory,” I said quietly, “you are everything to me. Always. This doesn’t change that.” My body vibrated with the need to wrap my arms around my dear, dear boy, but I didn’t want to push him away. “You’re not... extra. You’re my son. Nothing will ever take that away. Not Wynter, not anyone.”

Rory's gaze softened just a fraction, his lip trembling as he swallowed hard. But he didn’t speak. I could see his mind working, trying to sort through the chaos inside. And I realized, maybe that was all I could do for him right now—be here. Let him take his time.

“Rory…” My voice cracked. “You don’t have to understand everything right now. I just need you to know one thing, and that’s that I love you. Always.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. And maybe he couldn’t yet. But the way his eyes searched mine… it told me that he was starting to believe me. I could feel the weight in my chest lifting, just a little, as I held his gaze. Maybe this wasn’t going to be easy. But we would figure it out. Together.

"Are we still a family?"

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “We are. And we always will be.” My hand reached for his, though I didn’t force it, just waiting for him to decide if he would take it. “You and me, Rory. We’re in this together.”

He looked at my hand, but hesitated. The seconds stretched, each one filled with the silent plea in my heart. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached out. His fingers, tentative at first, slid into mine, and the warmth of his touch sent a wave of relief crashing over me.

It wasn’t just the physical contact—it was what it meant. The tiny, deliberate gesture of trust. His grip was uncertain, but it held a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed so badly. That connection, fragile yet undeniable, was the first sign of a bridge being built between us.

The ache in my chest softened, just a little, as hope flickered to life. Things weren’t fixed. They wouldn’t be overnight. But in that moment, with his hand in mine, I knew we were on our way to mending the pieces. Together. Piece by piece.