28 The drive to my father's estate passed in silence, Lucas following my car at a careful distance. In the rearview mirror, I could see his Audi, the same one he'd driven during our marriage, and wondered if he'd chosen to keep it as a connection to that time or simply out of practicality. Little Lucas had fallen asleep in his car seat, the excitement of the mall and the unexpected meeting with his father having worn him out. I envied his peaceful oblivion, the way children could surrender to sleep even as the adult world churned with complications around them. The estate was quiet when we arrived, my father away on business in Chicago for the day. I led Lucas throug the side entrance to the east wing, which had been transformed into a comfortable living space for me and our son. "Your father's done a good job with this," Lucas commented, looking around at the child-proofed furniture and colorful play area in the corner of the living room. "It looks like a real home." "He's been supportive," I said, carefully transferring our sleeping son to his portable crib. "More than I expected, honestly." Once little Lucas was settled, I turned to face his father, suddenly unsure what to do next. Should I offer him coffee? Act as a hostess would? Or dive straight into the difficult conversation we needed to have? Lucas solved the dilemma by speaking first. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice low to avoid waking our son. "A year, Autumn. A whole year of his life that I've missed. That I can never get back." I sank onto the sofa, motioning for him to take the armchair across from me. "I was going to. I even started t write you so many times, but..." "But what?" Lucas leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What possible reason could justify keeping my son secret from me?" "I was afraid," I admitted, the truth finally spilling out after months of evasion. "Afraid of what would happen when you found out. Afraid that you'd insist on getting back together 'for the baby's sake, or that you'd use your family's influence to take him from me. Afraid that you'd resent me for complicating your life just when you'd finally gotten your freedom." Lucas stared at me, incredulity written across his features. "Is that what you really think of me? That I'd try to take our child from you? That I'd resent him for existing?" "I didn't know what to think," I said defensively. "We spent two years in a marriage where you loved someone else, Lucas. Then suddenly, the night before our divorce, you tell me you love me. And a few weeks later, I fin out I'm pregnant. What was I supposed to believe?" "You were supposed to talk to me," he said, frustration evident in his tone. "To give me a chance to prove that what I said that night was real. That my feelings for you had changed." "Had they? Really?" I challenged. "Or was it just easier to convince yourself you had feelings for me than to g through with the divorce?" Lucas was quiet for a moment, his expression shifting from anger to something more complex. "I deserved that," he said finally. "After everything, I can understand why you'd doubt me. But Autumn, you have to know- that night, what I told you, it was the truth. The most honest I'd ever been with you, or with myself." I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to. But a year of separation and silence had done nothing to resolve the fundamental doubt that had driven me to Paris in the first place. "Even if that's true," I said carefully, "you have to understand why I needed space. Why I couldn't just take your word for it after two years of watching you love someone else." "I understand needing space," Lucas countered. "What I don't understand is cutting off all contact. Not telling me about my child. Depriving me of the chance to be a father from the beginning." Guilt twisted in my stomach. Put that way, my actions seemed cruel, selfish in a way I hadn't allowed myself to acknowledge. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "Truly. I told myself I was protecting my baby, but maybe I was just protecting myself." Lucas's expression softened slightly at my admission. "From what?" "From having my heart broken again," I whispered, the truth finally emerging. "From believing you, letting myself hope, only to find out it wasn't real." Something shifted in Lucas's gaze-understanding, perhaps, or a deeper realization about the damage our complicated history had wrought. "I never meant to hurt you," he said quietly. "Either time." "I know." And I did know. Whatever his failings, Lucas Bailey had never been deliberately cruel. Just oblivious, in ways that had cut deeper than intentional hurt ever could. A soft sound from the portable crib indicated our son was waking. I moved to retrieve him, lifting his warm, sleep-heavy body against my chest, breathing in the sweet scent of his hair. When I turned back, I found Lucas watching us with such naked longing that it took my breath away. "He looks so much like you," I said, crossing the room to stand before him. "Everyone says so." Lucas stood, his eyes never leaving the child in my arms. "May I hold him again?" I nodded, carefully transferring our son to his father's arms. Little Lucas blinked sleepily, studying this unfamiliar face with the intense concentration he brought to all new experiences. Then, to my surprise, he reached out and patted Lucas's cheek, a gesture of acceptance that brought a tremulous smile to his father's face. "Hello, little guy," Lucas murmured. "I'm your... I'm your dad." The simple declaration, spoken with such reverence, brought unexpected tears to my eyes. Whatever Chapter 70 Uved the in complications existed between Lucas and me, the connection between father and son was immediate and undeniable-a bond that transcended the mistakes we'd made. "I want to be part of his life, Autumn," Lucas said, looking up from our son to meet my gaze. "I've missed so much already. I don't want to miss any more." "I know," I said. "That's why I came back. I always knew I couldn't keep him from you forever. I just needed to be sure I was strong enough to handle... this. Us. Whatever that means now." Lucas nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I won't push you for more than you're ready to give. But I need to b in his life. To be his father in more than just biology." "Of course," I agreed. "We can work out a schedule. Visitation, co-parenting arrangements. Whatever makes sense for him." "Thank you." The relief in Lucas's voice was palpable. "And Autumn? There's something else I need to say. Something I should have said a year ago, before you left." I tensed, uncertain what was coming. "What is it?" "That night, before our divorce. When I told you I loved you." He paused, shifting our son to a more comfortable position against his chest. "I meant it. Every word. It wasn't confusion or obligation or convenience. It was the truth-a truth I'd been too blind to see until I was about to lose you." The sincerity in his voice made my heart stutter. "Lucas-" 'Please, let me finish," he interrupted gently. "This past year without you, without knowing where you were or you were okay-it's been hell. But it's also given me time to think, to understand why you left, to face some hard truths about myself and the way I treated you." He took a step closer, our son cradled between us. "I was an idiot, Autumn. For not seeing what was right in front of me all those years ago at Westlake. For forgetting you when we met again. For spending our marriag blinded by a fantasy instead of appreciating the reality of who you are and what we could have been together." The words I'd longed to hear for so long, now spoken when I least expected them, in circumstances I could never have imagined. "I don't know what to say," I admitted. 'You don't have to say anything right now," Lucas assured me. "I know we have a lot to figure out, a lot of trus to rebuild. I'm not asking for promises or commitments. All I'm asking for is a chance-a chance to be a father to our son, and maybe, someday, a chance to show you that I've changed. That I can be the man you deserve." Little Lucas chose that moment to make his needs known, squirming in his father's arms and making the distinctive sounds that indicated hunger was imminent. The interruption felt like both a relief and a disappointment-a reprieve from the intensity of the moment, but also a reminder of the reality we now shared as parents, regardless of what became of us as a couple. 'I should feed him," I said, taking our son back into my arms. "He gets cranky when he's hungry." 'Like his father," Lucas said with a small smile. "Another trait he inherited from me, I'm afraid." The light moment eased some of the tension between us. As I prepared a snack for our son, Lucas watched with undisguised fascination, absorbing every detail of this routine he'd missed for over a year. He likes bananas but hates applesauce," I explained, cutting fruit into tiny pieces. "And he'll only drink water 'rom the blue cup, never the red one, though they're identical except for color." He's opinionated," Lucas observed. "Gets that from both of us, I suppose." smiled despite myself. "It makes for some interesting standoffs at bedtime." The domesticity of the moment-discussing our son's preferences, sharing the simple task of feeding him- elt both strange and oddly right, as if we were finding our way to a new kind of partnership, one built not on arrangement or obligation but on the shared love for this small person we'd created. As little Lucas ate, making a predictable mess of his high chair tray, Lucas asked questions about everything -his first word, his first steps, his favorite toys, his sleep schedule. I answered as fully as I could, pulling out my phone to show him photos and videos from the past year, evidence of all the milestones he'd missed. I have more on my laptop," I said, noting the hunger with which he absorbed each image. "I kept a pretty detailed record. For him, but also... for you, I think. Even when I wasn't ready to contact you, part of me alway