As soon as Charles left the cabin, Sara looked up at Kairo's face. The very picture of betrayal and disbelief. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed in that offended pout that made him look both ridiculously adorable and dramatically tragic.
Their eyes met, and she immediately pressed her lips together to stop the laughter threatening to spill out. He narrowed his eyes at her, unimpressed. That only made it worse. A soft giggle escaped her, and before she could stop herself, she hid her face against his chest, still holding him close, laughing silently.
Kairo looked down at her, unimpressed."Your husband is heartbroken here, and you're laughing?" he said flatly, voice full of wounded pride.
Sara finally looked up, still chuckling. "Baby, your heartbroken face looks more like a dramatic teenager."
He glared harder. "You just gave our son to that man. The same man who—"
Before he could spiral, she cupped his cheeks, leaning closer. "—who also happens to be Zayn's grandfather. And who looked happier than ever."
"That's not the point," he argued. "What if he trips? What if he fails to protect Zayn? What if—"
"Kairo," Sara interrupted softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "Zayn is safe, baby. Dad would never let anything happen to him."
He exhaled heavily. "I still don't like it," he muttered, then gave her another glare. "And you… Don't talk to me. Because of you, Dad took Zayn. Otherwise, he'd still be here with us."
Sara looked at his dramatic complaint, biting back a smile. She cupped his cheeks, trying to melt his sulkiness, but he pulled away. That only made her laugh harder.
"Look at me, baby," she said, still giggling.
But he turned his face away like a grumpy kid. She held him back, laughing, and gently pushed him onto his chair before climbing onto his lap, trapping him. He sat there, grumpy face, still mad.
Sara smiled, tilting his chin toward her. His green eyes glared at her stubbornly.
"Stop glaring, baby boy," she whispered teasingly. "It gives me the wrong kind of thoughts."
His heart tripped the moment she called him baby boy. He was far too weak for nicknames like that. He hated how weak it made him, yet he loved it coming from her.
He tried to look away again, but she didn't let him. They ended up wrestling playfully like stubborn kids, until he broke into quiet laughter.
She laughed too...
"I hate you," he muttered.
"Thank you, baby boy, but I love you," she teased, making him break into another quiet laugh despite himself.
He looked at her with an uneasy expression. "I miss Zayn already... I'm worried for him," he admitted genuinely, sounding like a child while missing his own child.
Her eyes softened. "Don't stress, Kairo. He's safe. It's your dad, baby; he loves Zayn, and he loves you too. Why would he ever hurt his own grandson?" she said gently.
He exhaled, still uneasy but slowly trying to calm down. She leaned forward, kissed his forehead, and brushed her fingers through his hair. He finally gave in and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in her warmth. Her scent, her touch, it always steadied him. Her hand moved softly over his back, grounding him in that quiet moment.
"Zayn will be safe, right?" he mumbled against her neck.
She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Yes, baby," she whispered.
He breathed out again, finally letting go of the tension, just holding her closer, the dramatic, possessive father finding peace in her embrace.
Meanwhile, Charles carried Zayn in his arms as they strolled down the quiet park path. The air was cool, the late morning sunlight filtering through the trees. Zayn's little hands were clutching the front of Charles's coat, his big, curious eyes darting around.
Charles watched him, that little face, those curious green eyes, the same shade as Kairo's. His heart tightened, the ache of years pressing behind his calm smile.
"Grandpa?" Zayn's soft voice pulled him back.
"Yes, champ?"
"Where are we going?"
Charles smiled faintly. "Somewhere fun. You like ice cream?"
Zayn's eyes lit up instantly. "Yes!"
They stopped by a small ice cream shop near the park. Not the rich, fancy kind Charles used to build for others, just a simple one with laughter, grass, and old benches. He bought Zayn a vanilla cone and sat beside him, watching the little boy lick the ice cream with full concentration.
"Is it good?" he asked.
Zayn nodded, lips already covered in cream. "Yummy!"
Charles chuckled softly. "Your dad used to love this flavor too."
Zayn looked up at him, blinking. "Dada?"
"Mhm." Charles smiled faintly, eyes softening. "He was about your age when I took him for ice cream. He dropped the whole cone and cried so hard that I had to buy three more."
Zayn laughed, that same open laugh that used to come from Kairo long before life hardened him.
Something cracked gently inside Charles. He reached out and wiped the edge of Zayn's mouth with a tissue, his voice low. "You look a lot like him."
Zayn tilted his head. "Like Dada?"
"Yes," Charles whispered, the guilt quietly sitting in his chest. "Exactly like him."
The boy leaned against him, his little arms hugging his arm. "You're nice, Grandpa."
Charles froze, his heart twisted in the simplest way possible. He smiled, ruffling Zayn's hair. "You think so?"
"Mhm," Zayn said with that honest confidence only children have. "Dada says you're an angry man. But I think you're good man."
Charles blinked, and for a second, even his breath faltered. The innocence of it disarmed him completely.
He reached out and brushed the soft hair from the boy's forehead. "I wasn't a good father to him, you know. But maybe… maybe I can try to be a good grandfather to you."
Zayn responded by raising his hand, holding his ice cream, and showing it to Charles. "Ice cream, grandpa."
Charles chuckled, heart heavy yet warm. "Thank you, my boy."
They sat on the bench, sharing ice cream, the old man and the little child, one making peace with his past, the other unknowingly healing it.
After wandering through countless shops and buying little things for Zayn, both grandfather and grandson finally sat on an old bench beneath the fading glow of the evening sun.
Zayn was busy drawing circles in the dirt with a small stick, mumbling softly to himself, lost in his own tiny world. Charles sat beside him in silence, simply watching, his eyes filled with quiet fondness, his mind lost somewhere between nostalgia and peace.
How many moments like these had he missed with Kairo? How many times had he chosen business over bedtime stories, power over peace?
Even after Liana left them, Kairo was still just a child, quietly craving love and attention. Those desperate eyes of his, the way they had looked at Charles each night when he came home tired… eyes that sought warmth, understanding, and affection. But Charles, too consumed by his own anger, failed to see it. He chose pride over tenderness, distance over care. And now, remembering those eyes, his heart broke all over again.
His gaze fell on the little boy again, his son's reflection, untouched by pride or pain, and a soft regret filled his heart.
He whispered, almost to himself, "I should've done better. I failed as a father, miserably."
Zayn looked up. "What, Grandpa?"
Charles smiled, brushing it off quickly. "Nothing, champ. Let's go home before your daddy starts a rescue mission."
Zayn giggled, hopping down from the bench. "Dada gets worried quick."
Charles chuckled as they walked back. "Yes, he does. Just like his mother."
Just then, Charles's phone buzzed. Seeing Kairo's name flash across the screen, he chuckled softly before answering.
"Your son is safe," Charles said calmly.
"Bring him home, immediately. You're taking advantage of my wife's generosity," Kairo's voice came sharp and possessive through the line.
Before Charles could reply, Sara's voice replaced his. "Don't mind his words, Dad. Please bring Zayn straight home. We're about to leave," she said gently.
Charles smiled, hearing her soft tone. "Sure, darling. We'll be there soon."
As she hung up, Kairo glared at her.
"You really have to act like an over-possessive brat all the time?" Sara asked, picking up her bag.
"Baby, you don't understand what I feel," he complained, following her like a sulking child. "Zayn is my son. Everyone's after him. Why can't they just leave him to me?"
Sara sighed at yet another one of his dramatic monologues. She turned around, arms folded. "And who exactly is stealing your son now?"
"Everyone who lays eyes on him!" he burst out. "That day, it was Selena, now Dad. And Dad's really getting on my nerves lately!"
Sara gave him a long, tired look, the kind that said she'd reached her limit. "Come," she muttered, grabbing his hand and dragging him along despite his protests.
He followed behind, still whining softly, "Baby, you too… You are not understanding how much I'm worried."
"Then stop worrying too much," she said, dragging him along, "and everything will seem just fine."
Kairo sighed dramatically again, but this time, he didn't resist her pull.
"I hate everyone," he muttered under his breath, still sulking.
Sara smiled, shaking her head. He kept bickering all the way home, complaining, whining, throwing little dramatic lines, while she just laughed silently, letting him vent like the overgrown child he was.