Chapter 157: Hundred and Fifty Seven

While Declan and I were closer and stronger than we ever had been, Noah was struggling with this new arrangement. Being away from Jacob, so much proximity with Declan. The fact that he somehow had two fathers.

Declan had been texting me in the middle of the workday about Noah - what time he finished homework, whether he liked the new book Declan had bought him, if he’d want to go to the park on Tuesday. It was sweet, thoughtful, but relentless.

And when he came by that evening, his arms full of groceries and a new soccer ball, Noah’s reaction was not the one Declan had been hoping for.

He showed up after work with a paper bag full of groceries in one arm and a brand-new soccer ball tucked under the other. His face was lit with quiet excitement, the kind he tried not to show too much around Noah, as if he didn’t want to overwhelm him.

“Got us dinner,” he said, smiling, holding the bag up. “And thought Noah might like this.”

Noah was on the living room rug, coloring. He looked up, blinked at the ball, and frowned.

“I already have one,” he said flatly.

Declan’s smile flickered. “I know, but this one’s nicer. It won’t deflate in two weeks.”

“I don’t want it.”

The words shook him. The flat tone, the clipped sentence. Declan looked at me, eyes wide and sad.

I glanced at Noah, trying to smooth the tension. “Sweetheart, you should say thank you. Declan was being thoughtful.”

Noah hunched over his coloring book, stubborn. “I don’t want it.”

The new ball slipped from Declan’s hand and hit the carpet with a hollow bounce. “Okay,” he said quietly. His eyes stayed on Noah a beat too long before he turned away, carrying the groceries into the kitchen.

By the time Noah was in bed, I found Declan in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms folded tight across his chest, staring at nothing.

“He doesn’t hate you,” I said gently, walking in. “He’s just… confused. He doesn’t know what to do with all this attention. This new arrangement.”

Declan’s jaw tightened. “He’s my son, Willow. I want to be part of his daily life. Not just the scraps Jacob leaves me.” His tone was hard, almost snappy. I raised my hands in surrender.

“You are part of his life,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “But you have to let him breathe. He’s five, Declan. His world is small. Too much, too soon, and he’ll push back.”

His eyes snapped to mine, sharp. “Push back? I bought my kid a ball, Willow. That’s not pushing.”

“It’s not about the ball.” My voice rose despite myself. “It’s about you trying to cram five years into five days. You can’t do that.”

Something in his face hardened. “So what do you want me to do? Sit on the sidelines? Watch Jacob be the one Noah runs to? Pretend I don’t exist while my son calls someone else Dad?”

The bitterness in his tone stung, sharp and unfair. My own frustration cracked open. “You think I don’t know what you lost? You think I don’t live with it every single day? Every time he smiles, every time he asks where his eyes came from, I know. And it kills me. But Declan, you can’t just storm in and demand to be the center of his world. He doesn’t know you yet.”

Declan shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing the narrow kitchen. “I’ve already lost five years. Five years I’ll never get back. Do you understand what that feels like?”

I flinched, because I did. “Do you think I don’t? I was the one who carried him alone. I was the one who kept him safe while you were free to build your career, date other women, live your life.” My voice shook. “I’ve carried the weight of what I stole from you every single day. But don’t you dare tell me you’re the only one who lost something.”

He stopped pacing, eyes blazing. “At least you had him. At least you got those moments, those first words, those birthdays. I got nothing. And what the fuck are you talking about? Other women? You let him think another man is his father, Willow! And now I have to live with that the rest of my fucking life. Share him with fucking Jacob of all people.”

I sucked in a breath, stung, furious. “And whose fault do you think that was? You think I wanted to run? You think I wanted to raise him like this? I did it for you!”

Declan’s face twisted. “You should’ve trusted me. You should’ve told me. We could’ve figured it out, together. Instead, you decided for both of us.”

My throat burned. “I was scared! Mara was blackmailing me, your career was gonna explode, and I didn’t know if you’d choose me or if you’d resent me forever. I made the choice I thought would protect you, and him. And now, yes, I live with it. Every single day.”

The silence after was sharp, ragged. Declan looked at me like he was seeing all the years we’d lost laid bare between us. His chest rose and fell, his knuckles white against the counter.

When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “So what do I do, Willow? Tell me. How do I fix this? How do I stop feeling like a stranger in my own son’s life?”

The vulnerability in his voice cracked my anger. I softened, though tears blurred my vision. “You don’t fix it. You build it. Slowly. Patiently. With him, not at him. You don’t earn Noah’s love with gifts or grand gestures, you earn it by showing up, quietly, over and over, until he knows you’re safe.”

His throat bobbed, his eyes shining. For a moment, he looked less like the man who filled boardrooms and seminar rooms. He was just vulnerable. A father trying his best.

“I don’t know if I can be that patient,” he admitted, voice low. “I feel like every second I don’t get with him is another second lost forever.”

I stepped closer, pressing a hand against his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart. “Then let me remind you. Every time you want to push, I’ll remind you to wait. Every time you feel like you’re losing, I’ll remind you what you’ve already gained. We’ll do this together. But you have to trust me when I tell you what Noah needs.”

His hand closed over mine, gripping it hard. “You think I’ll ever be enough for him?”

I swallowed, “You already are. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Declan exhaled, shaky, his hands intertwining with him. For a moment, the fight dissolved, leaving just the two of us, raw and aching and desperate to find our way through.

But even as he kissed me, slow and broken, I knew this wouldn’t be the last time we clashed over this. I just hoped he would have the patience to wait. I wanted to be a family as much as he did, if not more.