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.
Kian leaned back, watching Carter shift comfortably on the couch, feet tucked beneath him, hands absently playing with the hem of his sleeve.
The boy was easy to talk to. Unfiltered. Honest in ways Chloe never allowed herself to be.
"She forgets a lot," Carter continued, voice casual, unaffected.
Kian tilted his head slightly. "Forgets?"
"Yeah. Like her phone, her coffee, locking the front door sometimes—but I always check. And keys. Mom loses her keys all the time."
Kian exhaled lightly, the edge of a smirk flickering across his lips.
That sounded exactly like her.
"She's always in a rush,"
Carter added, shrugging slightly. "Always moving, always working. But sometimes—"
A pause.
Then—effortless, innocent, unaware of the weight his words carried.
"Sometimes she looks really tired, and I think—if you were here, you'd remind her to sleep."
Kian stilled.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Not obvious. Not dramatic.
Just a quiet, sudden realization.
Because once upon a time—he had.
He had reminded her. He had kept her grounded. He had seen her exhaustion before she even acknowledged it herself.
And now?
Carter did it.
Carter noticed.
Kian inhaled slowly, adjusting his posture, controlling his expression.
But the truth was already there.
Already sinking in.
And whether he wanted to admit it or not—he felt it.