Kian leaned back, arms resting against the couch, gaze settling on Carter—not with calculation, not with interrogation, but with something softer.
Something curious.
"So—your mom works a lot?"
Carter nodded, adjusting his sleeves.
"All the time."
There was no hesitation in his voice, no frustration—just fact, just truth.
"She stays up late, sometimes forgets to eat. I remind her."
Kian's jaw tightened slightly.
Carter continued, completely unaware of the weight his words carried.
"She's always making something—on the computer, on paper, talking to people. Even when she's tired, she keeps going. It's like she doesn't stop."
Kian inhaled, slow.
Chloe had always been ambitious.
Always demanding more from herself, pushing harder, reaching further.
But hearing it—this way, from Carter, from someone who knew her life so intimately now—was different.
And then—another moment, another truth.
"But sometimes—when she thinks I'm asleep—she cries."
Kian barely moved.
But the weight of those words sank deep, unshaken, undeniable.
Carter blinked at him, waiting.
And Kian?
He exhaled lightly, tilting his head.
"Your mom's strong."
Carter's lips curled slightly—not a wide smile, just something small, something knowing.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then—soft, quiet, edged with something deeper.
"But strong people can be sad, too."
Kian didn't respond right away.
He just—let the moment settle, let the truth linger.
Because Carter had already told him everything.
-
Kian barely moved, fingers flexing slightly against his knee, mind sorting through Carter's words.
She cried when she thought he was asleep.
She worked tirelessly.
She excelled—but at what cost?
Chloe never let anyone see that side of her.
She was always composed, always sharp, always stepping forward with relentless precision.
And yet—her son saw it. Knew it. Lived with it.
Kian inhaled slowly, eyes flickering toward the boy beside him—small, perceptive, unknowingly holding truths that Chloe had never spoken aloud.
Then—as if sensing the weight in the air, Carter shifted the conversation.
"Mom loves coffee, but she always forgets to drink it."
Kian blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden change.
Carter continued, completely unaware of how seamlessly he was drawing Kian in.
"She gets all focused on her work, then realizes later it's cold. Sometimes I have to remind her, 'Mom, your coffee is sad now.'"
Kian chuckled softly, shaking his head.
That sounded exactly like her.
And the ease of Carter's words—the way they painted a life Chloe had built, a rhythm she followed—it felt like stepping into her world without permission.
And whether Kian liked it or not—he was already there.