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He’s almost four now, and the soft, round baby cheeks are starting to fade. I can already see the lines of Simon’s jaw starting to show underneath.

And I’m proud, of course I’m proud. But part of me aches too—because every time I look at Theo, I see Simon.

And that’s never been easy for me.

I hate how easy it is for Simon.

How easy it is for him to move on and find someone new—even just for a night.

It’s been almost four years since I packed up my things, my pride, and the last scraps of hope that he’d ever really choose me. And still, the idea of being with someone else makes my stomach twist.

Not because I want him back. That ship has long since sunk, burned, and been scavenged for parts.

Simon laughs softly, nose brushing Theo’s hair, and for a moment I remember exactly why I fell in love with him in the first place.

Then my eyes drift back to his neck.

Nope. Still mad.

​​"How was he last night?" Simon asks, adjusting Theo on his hip. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I was out with a friend.”

A friend.

I sigh. “He was good. He—”

“You didn’t call me!” Theo cuts in, brows drawn together, arms crossed across his little chest.

Simon winces, immediately pulling him closer. “I know, I’m sorry, buddy. It won’t happen again.”

He looks at me over Theo’s head, guilt all over his face.

Good. He should feel guilty.

Theo was disappointed last night. He kept asking every ten minutes if Daddy was still going to call. It took me hours to get him to actually go to sleep.

We split custody right down the middle, but we’ve always been 100% for Theo. That’s what all those exhausting family therapy sessions were for.

Even when he’s not with us, we call every night at bedtime. If Theo wants extra time, we give it. If he needs one of us for something, we show up.

That was the promise.

I don’t care if Simon is dating someone. I care that someone is making him forget that promise.

“Come on, Theo,” I say gently, brushing the top of his head. “Time to start practice.”

Simon sets him down. “Blaire, I’m—”

“Not here.” My tone leaves no room for argument. I hand Theo his mitt, offer him a bright smile, and walk him toward the field before Simon can say anything else.

I can feel his eyes on me the whole way, but I don’t turn around.

“Hey Theo! Come on out, little dude!” Coach has already started wrangling the small chaos crew of three-year-olds onto the field.

I crouch and press a kiss to Theo’s cheek before nudging him forward. “Okay, buddy. You follow directions and have fun, alright?”

“Okay, Mama!” he calls, already sprinting toward his team.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Simon speaks. “Blaire—”