Chapter 39: A Father's Warmth

The moonlight cast a soft glow over the enormous master bedroom, where the protagonist lay snug between Mama (Emma) and his father. His tiny body was wrapped in the warmth of silk sheets, but his small hands twitched in his sleep, his breath uneven. A nightmare was creeping into his dreams.

Mama (Emma) had noticed the way his forehead scrunched up, the way his fingers curled as if reaching for something—or someone. Her heart ached at the sight, and she instinctively moved closer, ready to pull him into her embrace. But before she could, a small, trembling hand stretched out—toward his father.

His father, who had been watching their son sleep with a heart full of longing, froze in disbelief. Was his son really reaching for him? His mind screamed at him to move, but he feared that even the slightest hesitation might make his little boy withdraw. Carefully, he extended his hand, letting his son's fingers curl around his own.

A rush of emotions surged through him. His son, the little boy he had abandoned to his cruel brother's house, the boy who had suffered so much because of his mistakes, was now clinging to him in his sleep. His grip was weak, hesitant—almost as if he himself wasn't sure whether he should be doing this. But he wasn't pulling away.

Mama (Emma), lying right beside them, felt an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. She had worked so hard to win her baby's love. And he had held him through his fears, wiped his tears, and spent every waking moment ensuring he felt safe and adored. And now, before her eyes, he was leaning toward his father. A part of her felt robbed.

But at the same time, she couldn't ignore the happiness blooming in her heart. This was what she had wanted—to see her son finally find peace in his father's presence. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she reached out to stroke her little boy's hair, her touch feather-light. "My baby is growing up," she murmured, her voice filled with pride and affection.

Her husband heard the trace of jealousy in her tone and chuckled softly, his free hand reaching over to hold hers. "You'll always be his Mama, Emma. No one can take that away." His voice was warm, grateful.

She pouted, pretending to be annoyed. "I know, but still… It's unfair," she whispered.

Their son stirred at the sound of their voices, his eyelashes fluttering before his sleepy eyes opened. He blinked slowly, looking at his mother, and then at his father. A moment of confusion flashed across his innocent face, but instead of pulling away, he snuggled deeper into his father's warmth.

His father swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten. "Do you want to sleep like this, son? With me holding you?" he asked cautiously, afraid to hear rejection.

The little boy hesitated but then gave a small nod before closing his eyes again. His tiny hand clutched his father's shirt tightly, as if afraid he might disappear.

Mama (Emma) watched the scene with soft eyes, her jealousy melting into pure joy. She had witnessed her son take another step forward—toward healing, toward accepting the love of the father who had once left him behind.

His father pressed a gentle kiss on the boy's forehead, his own eyes misty. "I love you, son," he whispered. "I will never leave you again."

And for the first time, the little boy didn't flinch at those words. He simply let himself rest in the warmth of his father's embrace, with Mama (Emma) right beside them, her heart full of love for them both.