Chapter Ten: Don't Take Him Away

CASSIUS

The soft thud of little feet against the carpet echoed through the room, followed by the faint giggle that I had come to like. Aaron.

He was everywhere tonight — bouncing on his new bed, opening drawers, poking at the glowing nightlight shaped like a rocket. The decorators had just left, and the room still smelled of fresh paint and new furniture. Everything was perfect like something out of a catalog.

“Dad! Look!” Aaron’s voice was bright, his small finger pointing toward the shelf. “They put my toy cars there!”

I looked up from the chair near his bed and smiled, just a little. “That’s right. You’ve got more than you can drive.”

He grinned and grabbed one of them, making engine noises as he zoomed it across the sheets. The laughter that followed hit something deep in my chest — something I didn’t want to name.

It had been a good day. We’d played, eaten dinner together.

Now, he was yawning between his giggles.

“Alright, champ,” I said, rolling my chair closer. “Time for bed.”

“Nooo,” he whined, clutching the toy car like it could save him.

“Yes,” I countered gently, tugging the blanket up to his chin. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“What day?”

“A big day. You need to go to school.”

He gasped — wide-eyed, amazed. “School!”

I chuckled under my breath. “Yeah”

He wriggled, trying to stay awake. “Can you read me a story?”

I froze. My hands, resting on the wheels of my chair, suddenly felt heavy. “A story?”

“Yeah! The fox one.” He reached toward the small stack of books on his bedside table. “Mommy always reads it!”

My throat tightened. I forced a small smile and took the book. “Alright. The fox it is.”

The pages felt rough beneath my fingertips. I cleared my throat and began.

“Once upon a time, there was a fox who lived—”

Aaron frowned, tilting his head. “You sound weird.”

I blinked. “Weird?”

“Your voice is funny.”

I couldn’t help it — I laughed. “That’s because I don’t do the voices like your mommy does.”

He nodded seriously. “Mommy’s better. She makes the fox talk. Wanna hear?” He puffed up his chest, pitched his voice high. “‘I’m the bravest fox in the forest!’”

His impression was so full of energy that it pulled another laugh out of me. “That’s actually pretty good.”

He beamed, proud of himself. “See? You have to talk like that.”

“I’ll practice.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He lay back, snuggling deeper into the blanket. For a moment, I thought he might finally fall asleep. Then, softly, almost in a whisper—

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Where is Mommy?”

The question hit like a dart — quiet, sharp, perfectly aimed.

I hesitated. “She’s… busy right now.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed. “But I didn’t see her all day apart from breakfast”

“She had some things to do.”

He shifted, restless. “It rained today too.”

“I know.”

“When it rains, she stays with me.” His voice cracked. “She says thunder can’t find me if she’s close.”

My chest tightened. I couldn’t look at him. “She’ll see you soon, Aaron.”

“When?”

I hesitated, then said. “Tomorrow.”

He sighed softly, eyes blinking slower now. “Can you call her?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Call her,” he repeated, stubborn even in his sleepiness. “I can’t sleep without saying goodnight.”

“Buddy, it’s late.”

He shook his head. “Daddy, please. Just call. I want to hear her voice.”

I looked down at him — small, hopeful, clutching his blanket like it could fix everything that was broken between us.

My jaw clenched. “Alright. I’ll call her.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Satisfied, he smiled, closing his eyes. “Tell her I love her,” he murmured, his words fading into a whisper. “And tell her the fox wins.”

I waited until his breathing softened — steady, peaceful. Then I reached out and brushed a hand through his hair.

As I rolled into the hallway, the silence pressed around me. I reached for my phone, hesitating when the screen lit up.

Who was I supposed to call?

Her number wasn’t there. I could summon a board of directors with a single call, move entire companies overnight — but I didn’t even have her number.

I was about to shut the phone off when movement by the window caught my eye. I frowned, pushing my chair toward the large window that faced the gate and then I saw her.

Calista.

My heart stumbled in my chest. My frown deeped. Why does my heart react this way?

For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was seeing right. She looked… different. In less than a week — four days, maybe — she seemed to have lost the light she carried. Her eyes looked sunken with eye bags, her movements slower, like every step cost her strength. Her clothes clung to her frame, too thin against the cold night air.

Something inside me twisted.

When she reached the porch, I was already waiting in the living room, the lights dim, the air heavy with that quiet tension that comes before a storm.

The front door opened softly and she stepped inside, closing it behind her. Her hand lingered on the doorknob for a minute. I kept my voice even. “Mrs. Dario.”

She froze.

Then, to my utter surprise, she dropped to her knees.

“Mrs..m” I started, frowning, but she raised a trembling hand interrupting me.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Just… hear me out.”

I didn’t move. My hands rested on the wheels of the chair, every instinct telling me to tell her to stand up — but I didn’t. Something about the desperation in her tone stopped me cold.

Her eyes met mine — red-rimmed, glossy with exhaustion.

“I don’t know anything about this… scandal you talked about,” she said, her voice trembling but steady enough to hold my attention. “I swear I don’t.”

She took a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress. “Six years ago, I was just… I was just a stupid eighteen-year-old. Lost. Drunk. Alone.”

Her words wavered.

“You found me,” she continued softly. “Or maybe I found you — I don’t even remember. All I know is… I woke up in your bed.”

My chest tightened, but I didn’t speak.

She looked away for a second, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t even know your name. And I thought there was no need to worry about that. After all you said you couldn't have an heir. But by the time I realized what had happened… I already had Aaron.”

Her voice cracked on his name.

“If I had known…” She laughed weakly — a sound that broke halfway through. “If I had known who you were, maybe I would’ve come to you. Maybe I would’ve asked you for help. For him. For me.”

Her eyes lifted, wet and bright with pain. Her voice faltered as tears finally spilled down her cheeks. She brushed them away quickly, frustrated at herself. “I didn’t want your money. I didn’t even want your name. I just wanted Aaron safe and happy.”

She looked up again, her chin trembling, the defiance in her eyes dimmed but not gone. “He’s all I have. For six years, he was my world. I built everything I could around him.”

Her hands tightened around the hem of her dress. “Please…” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “Don’t take him away from me.”

And then — before I could react — she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against my knees, sobbing softly. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my trousers, her whole body shaking as she whispered, “I’m begging you.”