A Legacy of Pain and a Web of Deceit

ROMAN

I stood in the doorway of Fabian's new room, watching my son's chest rise and fall with each peaceful breath. The glow-in-the-dark stars cast a soft green light across his sleeping form, creating shadows that danced like moonlight through forest canopies.

My son. The words still felt foreign on my tongue. Six years I'd missed. Six years of first words, first steps, first transformations. Six years I could never get back.

I approached the bed quietly, careful not to wake him. His face in sleep was so innocent, unmarked by the burdens he carried while awake. The resemblance to Vanessa was striking—those delicate features, the slight curl to his hair—but I could see myself there too. The set of his jaw. The furrow between his brows even in sleep.