Tyson The text came through at 11:47 PM, five days after Sofia was born. Five days of hell, of being shut out, of watching my family exist without me through the tiny cracks Brook allowed. Tomorrow. 2 PM. Hospital cafeteria. That was it. No explanation. No warmth. Just a time and place. I stared at the message for a full minute, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might crack a rib. She was going to see me. Actually see me, face to face, not through a lawyer or a cold text message. Thank you. I'll be there. I didn't sle ep. Couldn't. I lay in our bed—my bed now, I guess— staring at the ceiling, rehearsing what I'd say. How I'd apologize. How I'd make her understand that I knew, I knew how badly I'd fucked up, and I'd spend the rest of my life making it right if she'd just give me the chance. By 1:45 PM the next day, I was already at the hospital, pacing outside the cafeteria like a caged animal. I'd showered twice, changed shirts three times, and I still felt like I looked like shit. I probably did. I hadn't been sle eping, barely eating. The weight was falling off me. At exactly 2:00 PM, I saw her. Brook walked into the cafeteria, and my breath caught. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing yoga pants and one of her oversized sweatshirts. But she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. She spotted me immediately and walked over, her face carefully blank. Neutral. Like she was meeting a stranger. "Hi," I said, my voice coming out rough. "Thank you for—" "Sit down, Tyson." I sat. She sat across from me, putting her purse on the table between us like a barrier. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I wanted to reach for her hand, but I didn't dare. I'd lost that right. "How's Sofia?" I asked quietly. "She's doing well. Gaining weight. The doctors think she might be able to come off the breathing support in another week or so." Her voice was clinical. Detached. Like she was giving a medical r eport
to a stranger. "That's good. That's really good." I swallowed hard. "And you? Are you—" "I'm fine." She wasn't fine. I could see it in the lightness around her eyes, the way her hands were clenched in her lap. But I didn't push. Brook reached into her purse and pulled out a manila envelope. My stomach dropped. "I need you to sign these," she said, sliding the envelope across the table. I didn't need to open it to know what it was. The divorce papers Patricia had mentioned. The end of us, made official . "Brook—" "Just look at them. Please." My hands were shaking as I opened the envelope and pulled out the papers. The words blurred together. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. Irreconcilable differences. Joint custody . Joint custody. She wasn't trying to take Preston away from me completely. That was something. That was more than I deserved. "I'll sign whatever you want," I said, my voice breaking. "Anything. I'll give you the house, I'll—whatever you need, Brook. Whatever makes this easier for you." "It's not about the house or the money, Tyson." Her voice was tight, controlled. "It's about the fact that I can't trust you anymore." The words hit like a physical blow. I set the papers down, my vision blurring with tears I was trying desperately to hold back. "I know," I whispered. "I know I broke your trust. I know I fucked up worse than—Brook, I am so goddamn sorry. I'm sorry I believed her. I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I'm sorry I wasn't there when Sofia was born, I'm sorry for all of it, and I know sorry isn't enough, but I swear to God, I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you if you just—" "How?" She leaned forward, and for the first time, I saw the cracks in her armor. Pain bleeding through. "How do you make this up to me, Tyson? How do you fix the fact that when it mattered most, you chose to believe I cheated on you? That I lied to you for five years? That our son wasn't yours?" "I don't know," I said honestly, tears spilling over now. I didn't care who saw. "I don't know how to fix it. But I want to try. Please, Brook. Let me try. I just know I really love you and I cannot live without you or our babies. We can—we can talk to someone. A counselor, a therapist, whatever you want. I'll do whatever it takes." She stared at me for a long moment, her jaw tight, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "You really hurt me," she whispered. "I know." "You broke my heart." "I know." My voice cracked. "I know, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry—" "Don't call me that." She snapped, voice sharp, and I flinched. "You don't get to call me that, not after what you did." "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I wiped at my face with the back of my hand. "Just tell me what to do. Tell me how to start fixing this." Brook was quiet for a long time, staring down at her hands. When she finally looked up, her expression was hard. "First st ep," she said. "I don't want your parents around either of our children right now." I nodded immediately. "Done. I haven't talked to them since—” "And I never want Celeste around Preston or Sofia again. Ever." "Absolutely. Never. She's dead to me, Brook. I swear to God, she will never—" "I mean it, Tyson." Her voice was shaking now. "If I ever see her near my children, if she ever tries to contact them, if your parents try to bring her around—" "They won't. I won't let them. Brook, I promise you, Celeste will never be anywhere near our kids again. And my parents—they're cut off until they can prove they understand how badly they fucked up. If they ever can." She studied my face,
searching for something. Sincerity, maybe. Proof that I meant it. "I don't know if I can ever forgive you," she said quietly. The words shattered something inside me, but I forced myself to nod. "I understand." "I don't know if I even want to try." "I understand that too." "But..." She took a shaky breath. "But I also don't want our kids growing up in a broken home if there's any chance we can fix this. So I'm willing to try counseling. That's all I'm promising right now. Just... trying." Hope flared in my chest, painful and desperate. "That's all I'm asking for. A chance. That's all I need." "Don't make me regret this, Tyson." Her voice broke, and a tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily. "Don't you dare make me regret this." "I won't. I swear to God, Brook, I won't." She stood up abruptly, grabbing her purse. "I need to get back to Sofia." I stood too, my heart racing. "Can I—can I come with you? Just to see her for a minute?" Brook hesitated, and I could see the war playing out on her face. Finally, she nodded. "Five minutes. That's it. I want to spend time with my daughter and I don’t want you in there when I am." "I understand. Thank you." The words came out choked. "Thank you so much." We walked to the elevator in silence. I wanted to reach for her hand, to touch her, to pull her into my arms and never let go. But I k ept my hands to myself, following a st ep behind her like I didn't belong at her side anymore. Because I didn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever again. But she was giving me a chance. A tiny, fragile chance to prove I could be the man she deserved. The husband she needed. The father our children needed. And I wasn't going to waste it. The elevator doors opened, and we st epped inside. Brook pressed the button for the NICU floor, and we rode up in silence. I could feel the tension radiating off her, the way she held herself stiff and s eparate from me. "I meant what I said," I said quietly as the elevator climbed. "About counseling. About doing whatever it takes. I'll find someone, I'll make the appointments, I'll—" "I already called someone," Brook said, not looking at me. "Patricia recommended a therapist who specializes in... this kind of thing. I have an appointment next week. You can come if you want." "I want to. I absolutely want to." The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Brook st epped out, and I followed, my heart in my throat. She led me to the NICU, through the security doors, to Sofia's isolette. Our daughter was sle eping, her tiny chest rising and falling with the help of the breathing tube. She looked so small. So fragile. "Hey, baby girl," I whispered, pressing my hand against the isolette. "Daddy's here. I'm so sorry I haven't been able to hold you yet. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. I promise." Brook stood beside me, her arms wrapped around herself. I could feel her watching me, could feel the weight of her gaze. "She looks like you," I said softly. "She has your nose." "She has your chin," Brook r eplied, her voice barely audible. We stood there together, watching our daughter sle ep, and for just a moment, it felt like maybe—maybe—we could find our way back to each other. But then Brook st epped back, breaking the spell. "Five minutes are up," she said. I nodded, pulling my hand away from the isolette. "Thank you for letting me see her with you." "I'm not doing this for you, Tyson. I'm doing it for them. Preston and Sofia deserve to have their father in their lives, even if..." She trailed off, shaking
her head. "Just don't make me regret it." "I won't," I promised. "I swear, Brook. I won't." She turned and walked away toward the nurses, leaving me standing there alone with Sofia. I watched Brook go, my heart breaking all over again, knowing I'd done this. I'd destroyed us. I'd taken the most beautiful thing in my life and shattered it because I'd been too weak, too stupid, too willing to believe the worst. But she was giving me a chance. And I was going to fight like hell to deserve it. I looked down at Sofia one more time, at her tiny perfect face, and made a silent vow. I would fix this. Whatever it took, however long it took, I would prove to Brook that I could be trusted again. That I could be the man she married. The father our children needed. I would earn my family back. Or I would die trying.