The word echoed in Isabella's head long after Juan said it.
Daddy.
Her breath left her lungs in a sharp, silent rush as she tightened her arms around her son. She could feel his small body pressed against hers, warm and solid and real everything she had built, everything she had protected.
And now Nolan Sinclair was standing right outside her café, threatening to tear it all apart just by existing.
Isabella forced herself to breathe.
"One moment, sweetheart," she murmured, brushing her lips against Juan's hair. "Go sit with Mrs. Carter, okay?"
Juan hesitated, his gaze still fixed on the man outside the window. He nodded slowly, obedient but curious, and padded back toward the table where the elderly woman waited with a knowing smile.
Isabella rose to her feet on unsteady legs.
Her hands were shaking.
She hadn't imagined this moment would come so soon. Not like this. Not in the middle of her safe little world, with flour on her hands and sunlight streaming through the windows.
She had rehearsed what she would say if Nolan ever found her.
Anger. Accusations. Boundaries.
But standing here now, seeing him again after four years, all those carefully built defenses cracked.
He looked the same.
Still tall, still impeccably dressed even in casual clothes, still carrying that quiet authority that bent rooms around him. But there was something different too something raw in his expression, something unguarded.
His eyes weren't cold.
They were shaken.
Isabella swallowed hard and wiped her hands on her apron. The café had gone quiet. A few customers glanced between her and the man outside, sensing the tension even if they didn't understand it.
She had a choice.
Hide.
Or face him.
She untied her apron with trembling fingers and hung it behind the counter. Her heart hammered painfully as she crossed the café and pushed open the door.
The bell above it chimed softly.
Nolan turned fully toward her.
Up close, the years fell away with brutal clarity.
His gaze swept over her face, her hair, the faint curve of her body that motherhood had softened, and then slowly, reverently it dropped to where Juan sat inside.
His jaw tightened.
"Isabella," he said.
Her name sounded different on his lips now. Lower. Rougher.
She crossed her arms, anchoring herself. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," he replied quietly. "But I'm not leaving."
The words sent a chill through her.
She glanced back inside instinctively, making sure Juan was distracted. He was Mrs. Carter had already leaned close, whispering something that made him giggle.
Good.
She stepped closer to Nolan, lowering her voice. "You don't get to just show up," she said, her tone controlled but trembling beneath the surface. "You don't get to stand outside my café and stare at my child."
"Our child."
The correction hit her like a slap.
Her chest burned. "No," she said sharply. "Don't say that."
Nolan didn't flinch. "Why?"
"Because you didn't earn that right," she shot back. "You weren't there. You didn't" Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for it. She steadied it with effort. "You don't get to rewrite the past because it's inconvenient now."
His eyes darkened. "I didn't know."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "You didn't ask."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and loaded with years of unsaid words.
Nolan took a slow breath. "I saw him," he said. "I saw Juan."
Her throat tightened at the way he said her son's name.
"And?" she demanded softly.
"And I know he's mine."
The certainty in his voice made her knees weak.
She shook her head. "You don't know anything about him."
"I know he has my eyes," Nolan replied. His voice lowered. "And I know you protected him from me."
She looked away then, toward the ocean glinting in the distance. "I protected him from pain."
"From me?"
"Yes." She met his gaze again, defiant now. "From waiting for someone who never comes home. From growing up in a house full of silence."
Nolan's expression fractured.
"That wasn't" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair. "I know I failed you."
The admission stunned her.
"I failed you," he repeated, more firmly. "But I won't fail him."
Her heart lurched traitorously.
"You don't get to promise things," she said. "Not to him."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Nolan said quietly. "I'm asking for a chance."
She scoffed. "You always were good at asking for everything."
"And you were good at carrying everything alone," he countered softly.
The truth of it hurt more than any accusation.
Inside the café, Juan slipped off his chair.
Isabella saw it too late.
"Mommy?" he called, trotting toward the door with unrestrained curiosity. "Is that the man?"
Her blood ran cold.
"Juan, stop" she started, but he was already there, standing just inside the doorway, looking up at Nolan with open wonder.
Nolan froze.
Time slowed.
Juan tilted his head, studying him carefully. The resemblance was devastating now same eyes, same bone structure, the same intense curiosity.
Nolan lowered himself slowly, carefully, until he was eye level with the boy.
"Hi," he said, his voice rougher than Isabella had ever heard it.
Juan blinked. "Hi."
Nolan swallowed. "What's your name?"
"Juan," the boy replied proudly. "I'm four."
"I know," Nolan said before he could stop himself.
Isabella stiffened.
Juan frowned slightly. "Do you know me?"
Nolan glanced up at Isabella, silently asking permission he didn't deserve but desperately wanted.
She hesitated.
Then, barely perceptibly, she nodded.
Nolan looked back at Juan. "I know your mom," he said carefully.
Juan considered that. Then his gaze dropped to Nolan's eyes.
"You look like me," Juan said matter-of-factly.
Nolan's chest tightened violently. "Yeah," he whispered. "I do."
The boy's brow furrowed. "Are you my daddy?"
The word landed between them like a fragile thing made of glass.
Isabella's breath caught painfully.
Nolan didn't answer right away.
He reached out instead—slowly, giving Juan time to pull back—but the boy didn't move.
Nolan rested his hand gently over Juan's small one.
"I want to be," he said softly.
Juan looked up at his mother, searching her face.
Isabella's heart shattered.
She crouched beside them, her hand finding Juan's shoulder. "Sweetheart," she said gently, "this is… someone from Mommy's past."
Juan looked between them again. "But he looks like me."
Tears burned behind Isabella's eyes.
"Yes," she whispered. "He does."
Nolan lifted his gaze to her then, his eyes filled with something she had never seen before.
Hope.
"I'm not here to take him from you," he said quietly. "I'm here to know him."
Her defenses wavered dangerously.
She stood abruptly, pulling Juan gently back against her chest. "This isn't happening today."
Nolan rose as well. "Then when?"
"I don't know," she snapped. "But not here. Not like this."
He nodded once. "Tell me where to go. I'll wait."
She hesitated.
Then, against her better judgment, she said, "The park. Tomorrow. One hour."
Nolan's breath left him slowly. "I'll be there."
She turned away before he could say anything else, ushering Juan back inside.
As the café door closed behind her, Isabella pressed her forehead briefly against the glass.
Outside, Nolan Sinclair stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the door that separated him from his son.
And for the first time in his life, power meant nothing.
All he wanted was to be chosen.