Chris was in his office when chaos exploded through the door.
His PA stumbled in, followed by Vanilla, eyes flashing with triumph.
"I tried to stop her..." the PA began, but Chris's glare cut him short.
"This had better be life or death," Chris bit out.
Vanilla lifted her chin. "Susan called me. Months ago. She had a baby. Your baby."
The world stilled.
Chris's vision tunnelled, her words echoing in his head, colliding, refusing to make sense. A baby. His baby.
"She left," he snapped, emotions spiralling into guilt and fear. For a heartbeat, he wondered if Susan had moved on, met someone else. But no it was too soon. He did the math. It was definitely his.
"She gave birth to a beautiful girl. Leah." Vanilla's voice softened. "I tried to reach you, but you're always...."
Chris pointed a shaking finger at her, cutting her off. "Not a word of this to anyone."
When she left, the silence roared. The paper she'd dropped on his desk an address, a contact stared back at him like fate.
Michael came as soon as Chris called.
"So…?" Michael asked cautiously.
Chris raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know. It's been months. And I just… I keep failing. At everything that matters."
Michael snorted. "For fuck's sake, Chris. You're already halfway there. Go first, think later. You're a father." His voice cracked with disbelief. "I still can't believe it."
Susan's days had settled into a rhythm simple, fragile. Leah was her whole world now, the little girl who had turned pain into something she could hold, something she could love. Between the small bookstore café and Mrs. Henry's watchful kindness, Susan told herself she had found peace.
But the memory of Chris haunted her. The way he pulled away. The way he let her go. The way he never looked for her.
Vanilla's call had given her hope once. When Chris didn't show, the hope shattered. In her heart, it felt like rejection not just of her, but of Leah.
Four months passed. She told herself it was enough to forget.
Until the bell over the shop door chimed.
Susan looked up, ready to greet a customer and froze.
Chris stood in the doorway. Immaculate suit. Controlled posture. Eyes storm-dark. For one heartbeat, she thought she had imagined him. But Leah, strapped against her chest, squirmed.
Chris's gaze fell from Susan's face to the baby girl…and the world shifted.
"I…" His voice cracked.
"What are you doing here?" Susan snapped. Her chest burned. Leah was almost a year old. And now he showed up?
Chris hadn't expected a warm welcome, but her coldness still cut deep. "I couldn't…."
"You should leave," she said sharply, turning away.
He caught her hand, then released it at her glare. "I'm sorry. I don't have excuses. Just… talk to me. If not for anything, for her."
Susan laughed bitterly; a sound that made him flinch.
"Do you think showing up makes it right? Letting me go was one thing. But rejecting her…."
"I didn't reject her," he cut in, sharp as glass.
"Don't you dare cut me off!" Her voice broke, and Leah began to cry. Tears slid down Susan's face, and Chris felt his heart split open. He reached for her, but the doorbell chimed again.
Susan wiped her cheeks. "We're fine on our own, Chris. I'm getting used to this." She turned away to serve the customer.
Chris didn't leave. He sat in a booth, watching.
He had failed before. He wouldn't fail now. He would chase her, even if it killed him. Because it wasn't just her anymore a little life was involved. And he would die before letting his child pay for his mistakes.
For three days he kept showing up. He helped clean the café despite her protests, wore the same clothes, and lingered outside her home at night. She hated that she noticed. Hated that part of her still wanted him near.
One evening, he blocked her exit, desperation plain in his eyes.
Chris took a step closer, then another, approaching her like a man afraid of breaking a miracle. His gaze landed on Leah, and his breath caught.
"She looks…" His voice faltered. He swallowed hard. "She looks just like you."
The café was too quiet, too still. Susan's chest ached at the sight of him controlled yet undone, his walls cracking in the most human way. She wanted to push him out, and pull him in.
"May I?" he asked softly, nodding toward Leah.
Her instinct screamed no. But Leah let out a soft babble, reaching her tiny hands toward him. Susan's lips trembled.
Carefully, she unstrapped Leah and placed her in his arms.
Chris cradled her like something holy, jaw tightening as Leah blinked up at him and God help them both smiled.
"Hi," he whispered, a shaky smile tugging at his lips. "I'm your dad."
Susan's throat closed. Watching him with Leah was like staring at a wound and a promise all at once.
She turned away, busying herself with donuts and coffee. "Here," she said softly, sliding a plate and drink toward him. "Eat. We need to talk."
He looked up at her, gratitude and torment written across his face. "Thank you."
Silence stretched, heavy but not empty. Finally, his voice broke through low, honest, raw.
"I'm sorry. For everything. For letting pride poison us. For pushing you away. For making you walk out." His voice cracked; jaw clenched. "I should have stopped you. I should have fought harder. For you. For us."
Susan's breath hitched. She hadn't expected it not from Chris, not from the man who built his life on control and denial.
But her eyes hardened.
"I don't want an apology," she said coldly. "I want to talk about Leah's custody."