The drive back to the loft was suffocating. Mark gripped the wheel, his mind a battlefield of betrayal, guilt, and a strange, unwelcome flicker of responsibility. Sarah hadn’t just left him memories; she had left him this… this choice.
Back in the apartment, Leo stood uncertainly on the welcome mat, as if afraid to track dirt onto the polished hardwood floors.
– Is this where you live?
– Yes.
– Am I… in trouble?
– No.
Mark said, running a hand through his hair.
– You’ll stay in the guest room. For tonight. For now.
Leo’s face fell at the «for now,» but he nodded.
– Sarah said your house was big, but lonely.
Mark flinched as if struck. Lonely. It was true.
– Just… go. Go rest.
The boy vanished into the room. Mark went straight to the kitchen, bypassing the coffee, and poured a heavy measure of bourbon into a glass. He took the file and the bottle to his home office.
He sat in the dark, staring at the file. Finally, he opened it. Inside, tucked behind the legal forms, were letters. Letters from Sarah, addressed to him. His hands trembled as he unfolded the first one.
“My dearest Mark,” it began. “I know this is a shock. Please, please know I never intended to hurt you. But I found him, and… he needed me. I tried to find an opening, a moment when the work wasn’t calling, but the moment never came… I was going to tell you. I swear I was.”
Busy. Consumed. The words were daggers. How could he be a father? He didn’t know the first thing about it.
A gray, bitter morning was breaking over Willowbrook when a small sound pulled him from his bourbon-fueled stupor. Leo was standing in the doorway, barefoot on the cold floor.
– Sir?
Mark rubbed his face, his eyes gritty.
– Morning.
– It’s… it’s very quiet here.
Mark let out a humorless breath.
– It’s always quiet. Listen. You can stay here. For a few days. Until I… until I get this sorted out.
Leo’s small face tensed. He nodded, understanding the unspoken. This was temporary. He was, as always, temporary.
The day passed in a strained, awkward silence. Mark realized the boy had nothing but the thin clothes he’d been found in. He took him to Target. The bright, sterile aisles felt obscene. Kids were laughing, begging their parents for toys. Leo was a silent ghost, accepting the jeans, sneakers, and sweatshirts Mark handed him without a word. This crushing passivity, this expectation of rejection, irritated Mark more than he could admit.
That evening, as Leo was quietly watching cartoons in the guest room, Mark’s phone rang. It was his lawyer, David.
– Mark. I did some checking on the kid, Leo, like you asked. There’s a placement. A couple in Weston. The Millers. Good people, solid money. They’ve been on the list for a while. They can take him by the end of the week.
Mark felt a cold, sharp relief that he instantly hated.
– The Millers. Right. Let me… let me call you back.
He hung up, his hand shaking. He stared at the closed guest room door. This was the solution. This was what was best. So why did it feel like a betrayal?
The next morning, Mark made toast. It sat on a plate on the granite island, untouched. Leo just stared at it.
– You have to eat.
– I’m not hungry.
– Leo.
Mark said, his voice strained. The boy tensed.
– We have to talk. I… my lawyer found a family. For you. They want to meet you. They… they can give you a real home.
Leo’s expression did not change. A «mask» snapped into place, one Mark was beginning to recognize. It was the face of a child who expected nothing.
– Okay.
Mark’s frustration flared.
– Just ‘okay’? They’re good people, Leo. They live in a big house in Weston. You’ll have… everything.
– Okay.
– Don’t you have anything to say?
Leo finally looked up, his eyes dark and ancient.
– Does it matter what I say?
– This is for your own good, Leo!
– That’s what they always say.
He whispered. Mark felt like a monster. He had wanted this, this clean break, but the boy’s acceptance was worse than any tantrum. He grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door.
– I have to go out. Stay put.
He fled his own apartment, the silence inside more suffocating than the cold air outside.
He returned at dusk. The loft was dark. He found Leo not in the guest room, but sitting by the tall living room window, a small silhouette against the glittering lights of the city.
– Why are you sitting in the dark?
Leo didn’t turn.
– Are they coming tomorrow?
– Leo…
– Why don’t you want me?
The question was so direct, so quiet, it stole Mark’s breath.
– It’s not that. They can give you a better life! A real family!
– Better than what?
Leo’s voice was steady.
– Sarah… she wanted me to be here.
– Sarah isn’t here!
Mark snapped, the words harsher than he intended.
– And I… I don’t know how to do this! I’m not… I’m not a father.
Leo finally turned, and Mark could see the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks.
– I don’t care! I just don’t want to go again!
Mark felt cornered, overwhelmed by the grief and guilt of five years, all of it crashing down on him.
– They’re coming tomorrow. That’s final.
Leo stood up, his small body trembling.
– Why? Just tell me the truth.
– Because you’re not mine!
The words, venomous and cruel, shot out of him.
– You’re not my son.
The silence that followed was absolute. Leo flinched, a small, sharp movement, as if he’d been physically struck. But he didn’t cry. He just crumpled. He walked silently to the guest room and, very softly, closed the door. The click of the latch echoed in the vast, empty loft like a gunshot.
Mark stood alone, repulsed by his own cruelty.
