Shifting Foundations

Esmeralda

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The monitors hummed softly, a rhythmic reminder of how fragile this moment was. Luca sat perched on the edge of Alex's hospital bed, his little dragon clutched in one hand while the other gestured animatedly.

"And then the knight climbed the tallest tower to save the princess," Luca announced proudly, looking up at Alex with wide, hopeful eyes.

Alex leaned forward slightly, his expression softer than I'd seen in years. "Did he have a plan, or was he just brave?"

"He was both!" Luca declared, tilting his head like he always did when explaining something important. "Mama says knights have to think before they act. Right, Mama?"

The question startled me. I hadn't realised how quiet I'd been, standing by the window and pretending not to eavesdrop on their exchange. "That's right, sweetheart," I managed, forcing a smile. "Thinking and bravery go hand in hand."

Luca grinned, clearly pleased. "See? Mama knows everything about knights."

Alex's gaze flicked to me, and there was something in his expression that made my stomach tighten. It wasn't just admiration or curiosity, it was the weight of unspoken words, of a history neither of us had fully unpacked.

"Your mama tells the best stories," Alex said, his voice quieter now. "I think that's where you get your talent for them."

Luca beamed, but I saw the flicker of something deeper in Alex's eyes, regret, perhaps, or longing. It was enough to make me turn away, busying myself with adjusting the blanket on my bed.

"Luca," I said after a moment, glancing back toward them.

"How about we give Mr. Vale some time to rest? He needs to get better before he can help you with your knight story."

"But I didn't finish!" Luca protested, looking between Alex and me.

"You can finish later," Alex said gently, resting a hand on Luca's shoulder. "I promise I'll be ready to hear all about the knight's adventures."

Luca hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Okay... but don't forget, okay?"

"I won't," Alex assured him.

Penny appeared in the doorway, her timing impeccable as always. "Luca, come help me find the cafeteria. I hear they have pudding cups."

Luca's eyes lit up. "Can I bring one back for Mama and the knight?"

"Absolutely," Penny said, holding out her hand.

As they disappeared into the hallway, the room grew oppressively quiet. I turned back toward Alex, my arms crossed over my chest. His expression had shifted, softer, yet somehow more intense.

"You're good with him," I said, breaking the silence.

"He's my son," Alex replied simply, as though that explained everything. "How could I not be?"

The weight of his words settled over me, and I forced myself to meet his gaze. "We need to talk about what happens next."

"Agreed."

"Boundaries," I said firmly. "Rules."

Alex tilted his head slightly, a gesture that mirrored Luca's. "I assumed as much."

"Separate living arrangements," I began, keeping my tone as firm as I could muster. "I'll stay in my apartment in Crystal Cove. You can visit Luca there, scheduled visits, no unannounced surprises."

Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment, frustration, maybe even hurt, but he nodded with measured restraint. "Understood."

I swallowed hard, bracing myself for the next part. "And our marriage?"

Alex's expression didn't change, but the room seemed to grow heavier. "It stays private," I said, forcing the words out. "This year is about Luca, not us. We keep things professional in public. No one needs to know about… whatever this is."

His jaw tightened slightly, but his storm-grey eyes stayed locked on mine. "So, business acquaintances raising a child together?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a challenge, perhaps.

"Exactly," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

"And what happens when people start asking questions?" he countered. "About why a billionaire is spending so much time with a single mother? About why our son has my eyes and half my mannerisms?"

The knot in my chest tightened, but I refused to waver. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything left unsaid. It wasn't the kind of silence that brought peace; it was the kind that teetered on the edge of breaking, filled with words neither of us was ready to say.

"I'm not going to push you," Alex said finally, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. There was no edge, no demand, just quiet conviction. "I know I have to earn back your trust, yours and Luca's. But I need you to know that I'm all in, Esmeralda. No half-measures. No disappearing acts. I'm here, for him and for you."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. The sincerity in his voice, the way his storm-grey eyes searched mine, threatened to unravel the defences I'd spent years perfecting. I couldn't let that happen. Not now. Not yet.

I turned away, my arms tightening across my chest. "This isn't about us, Alex," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "It's about Luca."

"Maybe," he said quietly, his tone laced with something I couldn't quite name. "But I think we both know it's never been just about him."

I turned back to face him, anger and vulnerability warring inside me. "Don't do that," I snapped. "Don't make this about feelings we, about something that's in the past."

"Is it?" His question was soft, almost tender, and it hit like a blow. "Because I don't think it ever was for me. And I don't think it was for you either."

I opened my mouth to argue, to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I looked away, staring at the bland hospital curtain as if it held the answers. "You kept me in the dark, Alex," I said finally, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "You made me feel like I was second, like I wasn't enough."

His sharp intake of breath made me glance at him, and the anguish on his face was almost too much to bear. "I thought I was protecting you," he said, his voice raw. "From my world, from the chaos, from the people who would have used you to get to me. I thought keeping you safe meant keeping you hidden. I was wrong."

I shook my head, my heart aching with the weight of his words. "You can't undo the past, Alex. You can't just say you were wrong and expect everything to be okay."

"I'm not asking for that." His voice cracked slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair, the movement so familiar it hurt. "I'm asking for a chance. A chance to make things right, even if it's one step at a time. For Luca, yes, but also for us. Because whether you want to admit it or not, there is still an 'us.'"

I stared at him, his storm-grey eyes holding mine, full of determination and vulnerability. He was right, and that terrified me. There was still an 'us,' buried under years of pain and misunderstanding, but it wasn't something I could let myself acknowledge.

Before I could respond, the door swung open, and Luca bounded back in, a pudding cup in each hand. "Mama!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with a smile. "I got chocolate for you and vanilla for the knight!"

The moment shattered, tension replaced by the pure, unfiltered joy on my son's face. Alex straightened in his bed, his eyes softening as they followed Luca's every move.

"Thank you, Luca," Alex said, his voice warmer than I'd heard it all day. He took the pudding cup with a small smile. "Vanilla is my favourite."

Luca beamed, climbing up onto my bed with a chocolate-smeared grin. "Mama, you like chocolate best, right?"

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as I accepted the pudding cup. "I do, sweetheart. Thank you."

Alex's gaze lingered on us, his expression a mix of longing and something that looked dangerously like hope. I looked away, focusing on Luca, but the weight of Alex's eyes didn't fade.

Luca began regaling Alex with another knight story, his small hands gesturing wildly as he described dragons and swords. Alex listened intently, laughing softly at Luca's antics, but his gaze would flick to me every so often, as if he was trying to say all the things he couldn't with words.

For the first time in three years, I felt something shift—not in him, but in me. It wasn't trust, not yet, but maybe... just maybe, it was the beginning of something close.

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