153
That single moment, a simple flicker of his gaze, was enough to bring my world to a standstill. His hands stilled mid-fidget. The biscuit he was holding had been nibbled unevenly, little crumbs clinging to his fingers, to his shirt. And for a second, maybe less, he just stared at me. His face didn’t hold fear, not exactly. But uncertainty was there, raw and quiet and layered beneath the surface. Like he’d just remembered something he didn’t know how to feel. His shoulders rounded slightly, pulling inward, like a turtle half retreating into its shell. And his mouth parted just a bit, just enough to suggest he wanted to say something, ask something, but didn’t quite know what.
God.
My heart.
It flipped over like a coin.
He looked so impossibly small in that chair. That old shirt hung on him like a tent, the neckline wide and drooping, the sleeves so long they swallowed his wrists, almost his hands. It slipped off his shoulder again, slow and lazy, exposing the pale ridge of his collarbone. And he didn’t even seem to notice. He just sat there chewing, tugging at the hem of the fabric awkwardly, like it grounded him. It was ridiculous and charming all at once. My lips curved before I could stop them, an involuntary smile at the sight of him trying to keep nibbling while the shirt refused to cooperate, slipping, bunching, falling off again. I could have stared forever. I wanted to. My heart, which had been racing minutes ago, frantic from searching, from worrying, from panicking, now began to slow, each beat stretching longer, softer, warmer.
It was like watching light slowly fill a dark room.
But then I realized I was just standing there, awkward and unmoving, and I needed to say something. Do something. I didn’t want him to feel nervous. So I took a small, cautious step into the room, my arms still wrapped tight around myself like some ridiculous shield. The air felt different as I moved in, thicker somehow, heavier with anticipation, and I cleared my throat lightly, voice scraping out dry and uncertain.
“Hey,” I said, and my voice cracked slightly at the edge. I winced and tried again, softer. “I hope you’re okay… That shirt’s a little big, huh?”
He didn’t answer. He barely moved. But his eyes flicked toward me again, wide and watching. Still so cautious. His lips pursed. He shifted in the chair a little, bunching the hem of the shirt around his knees like it might make him invisible. I took another step forward, then hesitated, unsure whether I was welcome in this moment or not. My arms stayed crossed, knuckles white. I was trying so hard not to look desperate. Not to beg with my body for something he didn’t know he owed me.
I glanced at Isabella. She was across the room, standing at the counter, her hands moving around some container, pointlessly stirring through the food. Her back was turned, but I could see it in her shoulders, tight and braced and listening. She was pretending not to watch, but she was always watching. Always tuned in. And when she finally glanced back over her shoulder at me, the look in her eyes had changed. Her earlier smile was gone, replaced by something tender and sad, and it hit me instantly: she was worried. Not about Adam. Not exactly. But about me.
I looked away. I didn’t want her to see how much I was shaking inside.
“I’m sorry,” I said, more to Adam than to her. My eyes returned to his face: so still, so hard to read, and I swallowed thickly before continuing. “For… everything. For having to take you so fast. From school. I know it probably didn’t make sense. I just… I didn’t have time to explain. But I promise, I…we weren’t trying to scare you.”
He blinked. Once. And then his head tilted slightly, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t remember ever seeing.
“I was trying to protect you,” I said, voice trembling a little now. “There are some really bad people looking for you. I couldn’t let them get close. I had to get you out.”
There was a long pause. A beat of silence so thick I could hear the hum of the refrigerator. And then, finally, his voice came.
Soft. Small. Almost afraid to exist.
“I want to see my mommy.”
And just like that, my world cracked.
I felt it right under my ribs, where the breath caught too hard. Where something sharp and unseen dug deep. I kept my face still. I didn’t flinch. I just nodded a little, like I understood. Because I did. Of course I did.
But God…
I’m your mommy.
I gave birth to you.
I wanted to scream it. I wanted to fall to my knees and say it over and over until it made sense to him, until he looked at me and knew. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give in to that ache. Not yet.
From behind, Isabella shifted slightly. I could feel her eyes on me again, and when I turned, she met my gaze and nodded once, subtle and sure. “I saw the news,” she mouthed silently, before turning back around, as if nothing had passed between us.
Adam shifted again in his seat, tugging the fabric tighter around himself. He opened his mouth. “I want to see my mommy,” he said again.
It came out firmer this time. And again, my chest split in two.
I moved closer, crouching slowly so that I was eye level with him. My knees touched the edge of the island table, and I rested my hands on them, keeping everything steady, calm. He didn’t move away. But he didn’t lean in, either.
My voice softened to a whisper, trying not to tremble. “You will,” I said. “Very soon. I promise. Don’t worry about that, okay? Everything’s going to be alright now. You’re safe. That’s the most important thing.”
He didn’t nod. He didn’t say anything. But his gaze held mine just a second longer than before. And that second… that tiny second… It was enough.
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