er 405 love you, dad
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Chapter 405 I love you, dad
Mia’s POV
A real smile.
Then the scene shifts again, dissolving like watercolors bleeding into each other.
Blueprints. Design drawings. My hands moved across the paper with practiced confidence, the pencil an extension of my thoughts. Lines appeared–clean, precise, purposeful. Measurements materialized in neat annotations along the margins. The shape of a room took form beneath my fingertips, walls rising from the flat page into three–dimensional space in my mind’s
eye.
The living room flows into the kitchen with an open archway, no barriers to interrupt the sight lines. The kitchen opens to the garden through floor–to–ceiling glass doors that fold back completely in summer. In the garden there’s–
The dream fractured.
I woke slowly, consciousness returning in layers. First came awareness of my body–heavy limbs, the slight crick in my neck from sleeping at an odd angle. Then sound–the distant hum of traffic, someone’s muffled television through the walls. Then light–or the lack of it.
The room was dark.
I blinked, my eyes struggling to adjust.
Dark? But it had been afternoon when I lay down.
How long had I slept?
I fumbled blindly across my nightstand, my fingers knocking against the lamp base before finding my phone. The screen lit up, impossibly bright in the darkness, making me squint.
7:15 PM.
I stared at them. Then I sat up too fast. The room tilted sideways, my vision swimming with black spots that danced across my field of vision. I pressed my palm against my forehead, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
Gas lifted her head from where she’d been sleeping at the foot of my bed. Her ears perked forward, dark eyes reflecting the phone’s glow. She looked rumpled and sleepy.
“I slept-” I calculated quickly, counting backward from the time I’d collapsed onto the bed. “I slept for nearly six hours?”
Gas yawned, her pink tongue curling, teeth gleaming white in the dimness. She stretched.
I swung my legs out of bed. They were heavy, numb with that pins–and–needles sensation that came from sleeping too long in one position. I stood carefully, testing my balance, then walked to the door on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.
I eased the door open slowly, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges.
The living room was quiet.
Then I saw him.
Kyle was lying on the sofa, his long body curled awkwardly to fit the space that was at least six inches too short for him. His knees were drawn up slightly, one arm tucked beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, the other draped across his stomach. My old gray blanket was draped over him, the frayed edge trailing onto the floor.
He was asleep.
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And the kids. Alexander was on the floor beside the couch, his small body pressed against the cushions as if seeking warmth. His head rested on one of the decorative pillows, his mouth slightly open, one hand curled into a loose fist near his face. His Superman shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of pale belly.
Ethan lay beside him, curled into himself like a question mark. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his breathing came in the deep, even rhythm of true sleep. His hand rested on Alexander’s shoulder.
Madison occupied the space at Kyle’s feet, her small body rolled into a tiny ball. She’d wedged herself into the narrow gap between Kyle’s legs and the armrest.
They were all asleep.
All of them, arranged around Kyle like planets orbiting a dying star.
Streetlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting everything in shades of amber and shadow. The orange glow painted stripes across their faces, highlighting the curve of a check here, the slope of a shoulder there.
I stood frozen in the doorway, my hand still on the doorknob, unable to move or look away.
This scene.
I moved closer, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
“You’re awake.”
My mother’s voice was barely above a whisper. I turned to find her emerging from the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. She’d changed into her comfortable clothes–soft pajama pants and one of my old sweatshirts that was too big for
her.
“I slept “I started, my voice rough.
“Six hours.” She smiled gently, crossing the room to stand beside me. “I know. I checked on you a few times. But you were sleeping so deeply, so peacefully, that I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. You needed it.”
“The kids-“I gestured helplessly at the sleeping forms.
“They’re fine.” She took a sip of her tea, her eyes moving over the scene with a softness I recognized. The look she used to give me when I was little and had fallen asleep reading. “They played with Kyle all afternoon. He was wonderful with them, Mia. Really wonderful.”
My throat tightened. “What did they do?”
“He told them stories. Helped Ethan with some kind of science experiment involving water density and floating eggs. Alexander made him play some elaborate pretend game where Kyle had to be an alien ambassador.” She paused. “Madison showed him every single drawing she’s made since moving in with us.
I closed my eyes.
“About an hour ago,” my mother continued, her voice dropping even lower, “he couldn’t hold on anymore. He was sitting up, trying to stay awake, but I could see him fading. Finally, he just laid back on the couch and was asleep within seconds. The kids noticed right away.”
“They didn’t want to leave him.” It wasn’t a question.
“No. They climbed down from where they’d been playing and arranged themselves around him like you see now. Madison asked if Kyle was okay, if he was too tired. I told her he just needed rest. She nodded very seriously and said they should all be quiet so he could sleep properly.”
A sound escaped my throat.
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“Come,” my mother said, touching my elbow gently. “Let them rest. You need something warm to drink.”
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1 I let her guide me to the kitchen, though I couldn’t stop glancing back over my shoulder at the sleeping, tableau in the living
room.
The kitchen was warm, the overhead light dimmed to a soft glow. A teapot sat on the table beside two cups, steam curling from the spout in delicate spirals.
My mother poured tea into both cups, the amber liquid splashing gently against the ceramic. She slid one across to me, and I wrapped my hands around it, grateful for the warmth seeping into my palms.
“Did the kids eat dinner?” I asked.
“Kyle ordered takeout. Pizza and chicken nuggets. Exactly what the kids wanted, of course.”
I sighed, “He shouldn’t let them eat whatever they want. They’ll think-”
“Mia.”
I looked up at her.
“Let him spoil them.” Her voice was gentle but firm, “They’ll remember this, you know. They’ll remember that their father made them happy.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. She was right. Of course, she was right.
But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
We sat in companionable silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts, the tea warming us from the inside out.
Then Kyle’s phone rang.
Not in the living room where he slept, but here in the kitchen. On the counter where he’d left it.
It vibrated violently against the granite, the screen lighting up with a harsh blue glow. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the quiet apartment.
“Should I wake him?” I asked my mother, already half–rising from my chair.
“Let it ring,” she said, waving me back down. “He needs his rest more than he needs whatever crisis Morton is calling about.”
But the phone kept ringing. Vibrate, vibrate, vibrate. The sound grated against my nerves, each pulse of vibration feeling like an
intrusion.
Then it stopped.
The silence that followed felt almost louder.
Three seconds later, it started again.
“Someone really wants him,” my mother observed dryly, raising her eyebrows over the rim of her cup.
I stood up, my chair scraping softly against the floor. I couldn’t let it keep ringing, couldn’t let it wake the children.
I walked to the living room, my footsteps light, and knelt beside the couch. Kyle was stirring already, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. His brow furrowed, his mouth tightening into a line.
Then his eyes opened.
He blinked slowly, confused. His gaze swept the room–taking in the darkened space, the sleeping children, my face close to his -as if trying to piece together where he was and how he’d gotten there.
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“Your phone’s ringing,” I whispered, gesturing toward the kitchen.
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Recognition dawned slowly across his features. He sat up carefully, moving with the deliberate slowness of someone whose body hurt. The blanket slipped from his shoulders, pooling in his lap. He looked at the kids, his expression softening in a way that made my chest ache, then back at me.
“I fell asleep,” he said. Not a question. A statement of fact laced with something that might have been apology.
“Yes.”
“The kids-” He glanced down at them again, and I watched him swallow hard.
“They’re asleep too. Apparently, you wore them out.”
He stood slowly, bracing himself against the arm of the couch. For a moment, I thought he might fall, but he steadied himself.
He picked up his phone.
His voice was rough from sleep, but it sharpened quickly.
I watched him from the doorway, studying the way his free hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“No, I didn’t–I fell asleep.”
His jaw tightened. “What? Slow down. I can’t understand you when you talk that fast.”
“What are the numbers?” he asked.
“Okay. Fine. Tell them to proceed with the secondary offering, but cap it at fifteen percent. No more.”
“Calm down. This is fine. It’s within normal range. We projected this kind of fluctuation back in Q2.”
“Finalize the merger,” he said into the phone, his tone brooking no argument. “By Friday. No, listen to me–by Friday. They’re stalling because they think they can get better terms. Don’t let them stall.”
My mother appeared beside me, her tea cup empty in her hands. She followed my gaze to Kyle, her expression unreadable.
“He’s doing business,” I said, unable to keep the incredulity from my voice. “He’s literally dying, and he’s still negotiating mergers.”
“That’s just who he is,” she said quietly.
“This is insane.”
“Maybe.” She turned to look at me, her eyes sad. “But it’s also very human. We all cope differently with mortality. ”
Kyle turned away from us, his shoulders hunching slightly as he lowered his voice. “Equity distribution stays unchanged. We discussed this at length. Forty–five to fifty–five split. No, that’s not negotiating room. That’s the final offer. If they balk, walk
away.”
His tone left no room for discussion.
“I have to go.” His voice softened marginally. “Give me the final numbers by end of day Thursday.”
He hung up and placed the phone on the counter with deliberate care, as if afraid he might drop it. For a long moment, he just stood there, his hand still resting on the phone, his head bowed.
When he turned around, his eyes found mine immediately.
“Sorry,” he said, the word coming out tired. Defeated.
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“Why are you apologizing?”
“The call. It woke you.”
“I was already awake.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze drifting past me toward the living room where our children slept.
“I put them to sleep,” he said,.
“I saw.”
“We were playing a game.” A smile ghosted across his lips.
His eyes met mine.
“Mia,” he said suddenly.
I looked up. “Hmm?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.
“Today” His voice cracked, and he had to stop, clear his throat, try again. “Today was the best day I’ve had in a very long time. Alex said he loved me.”
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