Oliver listened as Leo’s fear poured out in jagged whispers, the boy’s fingers twisting the worn ear of his stuffed bunny. The flash drive, the video, Nora’s trembling apology for not being ready to be a mother—each detail unraveled the fragile story Leo had built about being chosen, not abandoned. Oliver felt the echo of his own childhood ache, that old conviction that love was conditional, revocable, always one mistake from disappearing.

He answered Leo’s question with the quiet certainty he’d longed for himself: he would have stayed, no matter what. He described the weight of Leo’s tiny body in his arms that first day, the sleepless nights, the mundane rituals that had quietly stitched their lives together. As Amelia folded herself around them, the room felt smaller, safer. The secret that might have broken them instead became proof of something stronger: love that had already survived the truth.