Alysa POV:
The doorbell rang, a startling chime in the silent apartment. My heart leaped. Julian. I dragged myself to the edge of the bed, my muscles screaming in protest. Through the security screen, I saw his kind, concerned face.
A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost brought fresh tears. My body, however, had other plans. As I swung my legs over the side, a searing pain shot through my abdomen. My c-section incision felt like it was tearing open. I cried out, doubling over, my face contorting in agony. I collapsed back onto the bed, a helpless heap, tears blurring my vision. My attempt to move had been a foolish, painful mistake.
The door clicked open, then closed softly. Julian was inside. He walked into the bedroom, carrying a large grocery bag. He saw my crumpled form on the bed. His expression softened, lines of genuine concern etched around his eyes. He set the bag down gently.
"Alysa, are you okay?" His voice was low, reassuring. He moved to my side, his hand hovering, unsure where to touch. He helped me adjust my pillows, carefully positioning them to support my back.
"Be careful," he murmured, his touch light as he eased me back against the headboard. His hand brushed mine, warm and strong. A stark contrast to the cold indifference I had grown accustomed to from Kevin. A strange sense of safety settled over me, a feeling I hadn't realized I was missing until it arrived. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and then he quickly withdrew his hand, a faint flush creeping up his neck.
"I'll go make the formula," he said, turning abruptly, his voice a little rougher now. He bustled into the kitchen, a quiet efficiency about him.
I lay there, watching his broad back, a sense of unreality washing over me. This unsolicited, unwavering kindness. He moved around the kitchen, preparing the bottle, his movements fluid and practiced. He then approached the bassinet, gently lifted Leo, and began to coo softly, rocking him. Leo, still whimpering, slowly latched onto the bottle Julian offered. Julian held him with such tenderness, such natural ease. He moved with a quiet, paternal confidence. He was like a father, a real one, the kind I never had, the kind Leo deserved. He was everything Kevin was not. My eyes welled up, a single tear tracing a path down my temple.
A familiar voice, sharp and accusatory, sliced through the quiet. It was Kevin, echoing a conversation from months ago. "You can't be mad at Cassidy, Alysa. She's been through so much. Her trauma is real. You don't understand her pain." He had said those words after Cassidy' s self-harm incident, when I had been furious. He painted Cassidy as a fragile victim, me as the cold, unfeeling one. He told me I couldn't resent her, couldn't hurry him home, couldn't ask him to prioritize his own family. If I did, I was "cold-hearted," "selfish," "unempathetic." His words had worn me down, forcing me into silence, into isolating myself.
But lying here, watching Julian with my son, something shifted within me. I finally understood what I truly needed: genuine care, unwavering support, and a partner who would put his family first. And it seemed, with Julian, I already had a glimpse of it.
The front door burst open. Kevin stood framed in the doorway, his eyes narrowed, taking in the scene: Julian, holding Leo, feeding him, and me, watching them, a soft, almost hopeful expression on my face.
