Adrien's POV
The address was burned into his memory, even though he'd only seen it once—on that envelope.
He didn't tell his mother he was going. Not yet. He wasn't sure she'd let him, and he wasn't ready for her to look at him with fear, like he might be walking into the same kind of hurt she'd barely crawled out of.
But this wasn't about closure.
It wasn't about hate either.
It was about answers.
The apartment complex was average. Quiet. Almost forgettable. A place someone went to disappear, not to be found.
He knocked once. Twice.
And then again, harder.
The door creaked open.
Alex stood there, older than Adrien remembered. Not in age—he looked younger than most dads. But in weight. In silence. Like the years had folded into his spine and pressed him inward.
His mouth opened, but Adrien lifted a hand.
"No. You don't get to speak first."
Alex closed his mouth.
Adrien stepped in uninvited. Looked around. Bare walls. A couch. A table. No photos. No signs of a life, really. Like the man had built himself a prison and called it home.
"I read your letter," Adrien said. "I saw what it did to my mom."
Alex stayed silent.
"She cried," Adrien added. "But not for you. For herself. For everything you took."
"I know," Alex finally said, barely above a whisper.
Adrien glared. "Don't say you know. You don't. And don't pretend writing that letter fixed anything."
"I'm not pretending."
"Good." Adrien's voice sharpened. "Because I don't care if you've changed. I don't care if you're sorry. I'm not here for you."
Alex swallowed. "Then why are you here?"
Adrien took a breath. The kind you take when you're about to break a generational curse, not just a cycle of pain.
"I needed to look you in the eye. To see the man who made my mother cry herself to sleep for years. Who wasn't there when she gave birth. Who hit her. Cheated on her. Left her alone with a baby and no help."
Alex flinched.
"I needed to say this out loud—so that you hear it, not just she carries it."
Adrien took a step closer.
"You don't get a second chance unless the person you hurt gives it to you. And maybe one day she will. I don't know. But if that day ever comes? You better be a man worth her grace."
Alex's voice cracked. "I'm trying."
Adrien nodded, sharp and cold. "Then keep trying. In silence. In therapy. In every moment you think about showing up."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"And if you ever hurt her again… you'll deal with me."
The door slammed behind him.
And for the first time in years, Alex realized—he hadn't just lost a lover.
He'd lost the right to call himself a father.