LORENZO'S POV:
It's been almost a month.
Almost a month of trailing behind a woman who once trusted me with her heart.
A month of silently watching her move through the world like i never existed in it.
Paris was colder this time of year.
But it wasn't the weather that chilled me.
It was her silence.
The kind that doesn't come with screaming or accusations—just an empty void where there used to be love.
She didn't know i was here.
Not when she left her building early in the morning wrapped in that scurff. Not when she picked up groceries at the marché. Not when she sat alone at a café, her hand resting on the slight curve of her belly.
Yes.
Her belly.
That's how i knew.
That curve told me everything.
I followed her to the hospital that day—not to invade, not to manipulate. Just to see. Just to be sure.
She walked into the OB-GYN's wing, and i felt something in me fracture.
I knew it.
My instincts had screamed it ever since i first saw her again in Paris, walking with a careful grace.
That wasn't the way Atasha walked before. That was the way mothers walk.
God.
Another child.
Another chance i never deserved.
I stood behind the pillar near the nurse's station.
Heart in my throat.
Hands trembling.
She didn't see me.
But i saw her.
And i saw the way she placed her hand gently over her stomach as she left the clinic. Protective. Tender. Maternal.
I had missed everything the first time.
The first words.
The first birthday.
The first time our daughter called someone else "her world."
But not this time.
I couldn't lose them again.
-
The next morning, I stood in front of her apartment door.
Two knocks away from the woman i ruined and ruined me in a different way.
My hands refused to stay still.
My heart kept pounding like a drum in my ears and for a second, I almost turned away.
But the door opened.
And there she was.
Atasha.
She froze.
Just like i did.
A second passed.
Then another.
Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, strands falling over her cheeks. She wasn't wearing makeup. And yet—God—she looked like home.
"What… what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I couldn't speak.
I just stood there, choking on everything i wanted to say for the last year.
But then—
"Mommy?"
A soft voice echoed from inside.
And then she appeared.
A little girl, maybe two, clutching a stuffed toy, her curls bouncing as she came into view.
Our daughter.
My daughter.
She looked up at me with the same eyes i saw in the mirror every morning.
Same gaze.
Same brows.
Same shadow of grief in her stare that had no place on a child.
Atasha, almost instinctively, stepped in front of her—like she was shielding her from me.
I raised both hands slowly.
"I'm not here to hurt you," I said. "Any of you."
No one moved.
Then i crouched down.
And i smiled—shaky, nervous, terrified.
"Hi, baby," I whispered, voice cracking. "I'm your dad."
She blinked.
Tilted her head.
Then looked up at her mother.
Atasha didn't answer.
Her lips parted like she wanted to scream or maybe cry but nothing came out.
The older woman behind them, likely Atasha's nanny or companion, stepped forward slightly, unsure if she should interfere.
But my daughter...
My daughter took one step closer.
Then another.
"Daddy?" she asked.
My knees gave out.
I sat right there on the hallway floor, covering my face as the tears came uninvited.
She reached for me.
Touched my shoulder.
And that was it.
I broke.
I wrapped my arms around her gently, holding her like the world might end if i let go.
Atasha didn't stop me.
She just watched.
Watched with eyes full of pain and disbelief.
Eyes that used to smile when i walked into a room.
"I didn't know," I whispered to my daughter, voice muffled in her hair. "I didn't know about you, baby. But now that i do—I'm never leaving again."
And when i looked up—
Atasha was crying.
She let me in.
The apartment smelled faintly of lavender and warm bread.
The walls were soft beige, with sketches of flowers, Parisian windows, and crayon drawings on the fridge.
I sat on the couch, holding my daughter in my lap, still stunned that this was real.
Atasha sat across from me.
Her fingers trembling as she held a mug she never sipped from.
"How did you know?" she finally asked, barely above a breath.
I looked at her.
"The day you left me in the hotel in US, the day you ran away and left me like a fool and Your walk. The way you held your stomach. The hospital yesterday."
She blinked.
"You followed me?"
"I've been following you for weeks," I admitted. "I'm sorry. I know it's wrong. I just… I didn't know how to talk to you. I thought you'd never even let me near you again."
"You hurt me."
"I know."
"You abandoned me."
"I know that too and you abandoned me too."
Tears started to pool again in her eyes, but she fought them.
"I raised our daughter alone, Lorenzo. I gave birth in a foreign country. I named her without you. I taught her how to walk. How to say sorry. How to laugh when everything felt like it was crumbling."
"I wasn't there," I said. "But i want to be now."
"And what about before?" Her voice cracked. "What about when i begged you to choose me?"
I stood up.
Slowly.
Still holding my daughter's hand.
"I was a coward. I tried to find you and choose you, but you already left."
"And look what happened," she snapped. "You left, i left and we still shattered."
Silence.
Only the ticking of the clock echoed.
I walked toward her.
Kneeling down by her knees.
"You don't have to forgive me. You don't even have to let me stay. But please, Atasha… I missed her whole life. I don't want to miss this one too."
I placed my palm on her belly gently, carefully, reverently.
And to my surprise—
She didn't move away.
"I don't know how to trust you again and i'm scared that what if after this you will gone again" she whispered.
"Then let me earn it, and let me show it to you how much i love you, how much i shattered the whole universe just to be with you" I replied.
We stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime.
Her lips trembled.
Then she asked, "Do you want to know her name?"
I nodded.
"Celestine Andrea."
The most beautiful name i'd ever heard.
I looked at our daughter, now playing with her bunny on the rug.
And for the first time in what felt like eternity, I smiled.
"I want to know everything about her. I want to be there when this baby comes into the world. I want to carry the bags. Cut the cord. Wake up at 3 a.m. to change diapers. All of it. No more running, Atasha."
She exhaled.
A long, slow breath full of years of pain.
Then, unexpectedly she stood up.
Walked toward me.
And without a word, she hugged me.
Tight. Shaky. Real.
The kind of hug you give when your heart remembers what it used to beat for.
"I still hate you," she whispered into my chest.
"I still love you," I whispered back.
She laughed.
A sad laugh.
A broken one.
"I don't know if this will work again."
"I'm not asking for everything. Just… start with letting me stay."
She pulled back slightly and looked into my eyes.
"We'll start small."
-
That night, I stayed on the couch.
Celestine fell asleep in my arms after dinner.
And Atasha?
She sat across from me in the dim light, her head against the wall, watching me like she was studying a dream.
A dream she wasn't sure she wanted to believe in again.
But i would prove it.
Every day.
Every hour.
Every second.
Because this time—this time—I wouldn't let go.