As Astana had said—it only grew worse.
Florian became cherished… and as far as Asher could see, utterly spoiled.
Every moment Asher tried to carve out for his son was quietly taken away.
Leticia and the girls always seemed to sweep Florian into their arms first—playfully arguing over who would sit with him, who would walk with him, who would keep him company through the day.
Asher often found himself watching from thresholds.
From hallways.
From doorways he never crossed.
'Every day, someone else is raising my son.'
And then—
Then fate twisted the knife even deeper.
Asher became pregnant once more.
Rain.
Their true final child.
The pregnancy was delicate—painful, draining, dangerous enough that the accoucheurs demanded rest at all times.
He was confined to chambers just when Florian needed him most.
So even when Florian called for him…
Even when he reached out…
Asher couldn't answer.
'I can't even be there when he needs me.'
And something inside Asher snapped.
