The morning light crept softly across the wooden floor, catching on the scattered toy cars and picture books Bryce had left behind the night before. Somewhere in the kitchen, a kettle clicked off. The smell of toasted bread and chamomile tea drifted into the air like a lullaby.
Jade stirred, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. The blanket tucked around her had slipped slightly, revealing one bare shoulder. Her head ached, not from sleep, but from silence. The kind of silence that comes after a storm. The kind that lingers long after heartbreak, long after the shouting is done and only the ache remains.
Then—
A small weight landed beside her, followed by eager hands patting her face.
"Mama," a little voice whispered. "You wakin' up now?"
She opened her eyes to Bryce's round face hovering inches from hers, his dark curls a riotous mess, cheeks sticky with jam.
Her little boy. Three years old. Her whole world.
She pulled him into her arms without a word, burying her face into his hair.
"I'm up, sweetheart," she whispered, voice catching. "Mama's up."
Bryce beamed. "Thomas maked toast!"
"Made," came a voice from around the corner—gentle, amused. "And tea. And tiny triangles, just how you like them."
Jade looked up.
Thomas leaned in the doorway, a towel slung over his shoulder, holding two mismatched mugs and a plate balanced on one arm. He looked like he belonged there, like this wasn't the first morning he'd done this.
Because it wasn't.
"Hey," he said softly, eyes searching hers. "You feeling okay?"
She nodded slowly. "I'm... better."
He walked over and set the tray down, ruffling Bryce's hair along the way.
"Bryce already tried to eat half the butter," Thomas added with a crooked smile. "We're pretending he didn't."
"I sharred," Bryce said, sticking out his jam-covered tongue proudly.
"You shared, huh?" Thomas raised a brow. "You ate my half."
Jade laughed, the sound surprising her with its lightness. Thomas handed her a mug.
She wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic and whispered, "He loves you."
Thomas looked at her, a flicker of surprise softening into something deeper.
"I mean it," she said, voice low. "He thinks you hung the moon."
Thomas looked down, visibly moved. "He's... easy to love."
Her voice trembled. "You are too."
—
There was no formal agreement.
No promises murmured over pillow talk. No declarations.
But every morning, Thomas was there.
He showed up with groceries without being asked. Knew Bryce's favorite snacks, which blanket he wouldn't nap without, which songs soothed him when he cried. He never said the words, never demanded a label.
But he showed up.
Every time.
"Need a hand?" he'd ask, every time Jade opened the front door.
And he always meant it.
—
Tuesday morning, Bryce refused to wear pants.
Not pajamas. Not jeans. Nothing.
He tore through the living room like a miniature tornado, clutching a banana like a torch.
Jade, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a towel, looked like she was ready to scream.
"Bryce, please. We are not raising you in the jungle—"
"Freedom!" he shouted, diving onto the couch.
Thomas walked in holding coffee and fruit just in time to see Bryce's half-naked victory.
"I walked in at a weird time, didn't I?"
"You have no idea," Jade groaned.
Without missing a beat, Thomas crouched to Bryce's level. "Alright, wild man. Deal's this: pants on, and we go to the park."
Bryce paused, suspicious. "Swings?"
"Swings."
"Deal."
Jade stared. "How do you do that?"
Thomas grinned. "Toddlers are basically tiny mob bosses. Gotta know how to negotiate."
—
Later, the three of them sat on a park bench, coffee in hand, the sun warm on their shoulders. Bryce raced across the playground, chasing pigeons like a warrior prince.
"You didn't have to come today," Jade said.
"I know."
"I mean... you don't have to do any of this."
"I know that too."
She turned to him, squinting against the afternoon light. "Then why do you?"
Thomas didn't answer right away. He just watched Bryce — the boy who had, somehow, become his whole world too.
"Because I care," he said at last. "About him. About you."
Jade blinked. "We're not... anything."
"I know."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
Thomas looked at her, calm and steady. "Does it bother you?"
She hesitated. "I don't know. But this… this feels safe."
Thomas smiled. "Then maybe that's all it has to be. For now."
—
That night, Bryce curled between them on the couch, half-asleep and warm, clutching his favorite dinosaur toy. They watched a nature documentary he didn't understand, letting the quiet fill the spaces between them.
Jade leaned her head lightly against Thomas's shoulder.
And when Bryce's tiny hand found both of theirs, clutched them tight in his sleep, neither let go.
Not for the rest of the night.
Not for a long, long time.