Kate and Oliver sat in the middle row of the theater, sharing a giant bucket of popcorn with a cozy blanket draped across their laps.

Onscreen, the animated dragon roared, spewing fire across the kingdom. Kate turned to her son, widened her eyes dramatically, and let out a playful growl, holding her hands up like claws.

"Rawrrr! I'm the kid-eating dragon!" she declared, lunging at him and tickling his sides.

"Moooom! Stop it!" Oliver yelled between laughs. "I'm too big for that!"

"You'll always be my baby," she said with a soft smile, pausing to look at him.

Oliver had her blonde hair. But those blue eyes—they were his. Along with so many other little things. And every time she looked at him… she saw him.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

"Nothing, sweetheart," she said, forcing a smile.

Oliver leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"When I grow up, I'm gonna take care of you, just like you take care of me."

Kate froze. Her throat tightened. She ran her hand gently over his cheek, her eyes shining.

"I'll always take care of you, honey. Because I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy."

It was perfect. Until it wasn't.

A few rows down, a little boy about Oliver's age—maybe a little older—stood up from his seat, giggling as he ran between the aisles. His father chased after him, laughing, pretending to be a monster. The boy squealed with joy and dove into his dad's arms.

Oliver watched them… and stopped smiling.

He sat still, popcorn forgotten in his lap, eyes fixed on the scene in front of him. A quiet fell over him. His head tilted slightly. And just like that, something inside him shifted.

Kate noticed it right away. Her chest tightened.

"Ollie…" she whispered.

"Can I ask you something?" he interrupted.

"Of course, sweetheart."

He hesitated for a moment, then turned to look at her, eyes serious—like he was finally saying out loud what he'd been holding in for a long time.

"Why did Dad leave us?"

Kate felt her soul crack.

"If he married you… why didn't he want us? Was it because of me?"

His voice was soft. But the words hit like knives—cutting exactly where it hurt most.

Kate tried to smile, but couldn't.

"Ollie, listen to me. It was never because of you. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. You're smart, kind, strong… It was never your fault. Never."

"Then why?" he asked, quietly but firmly. "All my friends play with their dads. At the park, at soccer. And me… I'm always alone. You work a lot, I know you do. But… if you call him, maybe he'll come. I can talk to him, Mom. I'll tell him I'll be good, that I won't be any trouble. And then… I won't be alone anymore."

Kate didn't let him finish. She pulled him into her arms and hugged him as tightly as she could, her eyes shut, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

"You are never alone, my love. Never. I'm always with you. Always."

Oliver rested his head against her chest, silent.

And as Kate held him close, she finally admitted what she'd spent years avoiding.

Her son needed a father.

On the way home, Oliver had fallen asleep, his breathing soft and steady. Kate watched him quietly from the rearview mirror, heart still heavy from what had happened at the theater.

But they weren't going home.

Not to the Maxwell mansion.

They were headed to Eileen's apartment.

Because ever since Oliver turned one, they had lived with her best friend. It was the only way to keep him safe—completely, absolutely safe.

She didn't want Grayson to know about Oliver. Even if he'd never come back, even if he'd stayed silent all these years, she couldn't risk it. Someone in that house—a driver, a maid—might say too much.

She found out she was pregnant three months after the wedding.

And when she did, she left for Ireland alone. And that was where Oliver was born.

Her parents knew about the trip to Ireland, but she didn't trust them with the truth about why she had gone.

Because the moment they found out about Oliver, they'd use him to blackmail Grayson. They'd twist the child into leverage, a bargaining chip.

And she'd be damned if her son was used the way she had been.

That night, after tucking Oliver in and wrapping him in his favorite blanket, Kate gently shut his bedroom door. In the living room, Eileen was already waiting for her—with two glasses of whiskey and a knowing look.

"How was the movie?" Eileen asked, handing her the drink.

Kate took a sip, then sank into the couch beside her, completely drained.

"It was going fine… until he asked about his father."

Eileen raised her eyebrows, unsurprised.

"And what did you expect? He's seven, with a high IQ. He's not dumb, Kate. And he's a kid. Honestly… I'm surprised it took him this long to ask."

Kate nodded slowly, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.

"So what am I supposed to do? Tell him his father is a living demon who married me just to destroy my family?"

Eileen was quiet for a moment.

She was the only one who knew the whole story. The only one who had been there when Grayson vanished and Kate shattered. The one who helped her escape. Who helped her rebuild.

Who helped her survive.

"No, of course not," she murmured eventually. "But he's a boy. And he needs a father."

Kate tensed.

"Please… don't start," Kate said quietly.

"Why not?" Eileen challenged. "You've been alone for seven years. Not a single date, Kate. Not because no one's interested, but because you won't let anyone in. You haven't moved on. You're still holding on. It's time to let go. For all you know… he's already married."

Kate stood from the couch without looking at her. She walked to the window, the lights of London casting long shadows across the glass.

"I'm not thinking about him."

"Sure," Eileen said, letting out a low, knowing laugh. "You wear it all over your face. You're still in love with Ethan."

Kate turned slowly. But she didn't answer.

There was no point.

Because deep down, she knew the truth.

Her ex Ethan, was just a closed chapter. A memory long gone.

She didn't think about him.

She thought about Grayson.

But that… she would never admit.

"You know what? I'm heading out. I've got a case early tomorrow…"

"Right. Of course," Eileen murmured, setting her glass on her knee. "You're always running."

Kate was already reaching for her bag when her friend's voice stopped her cold.

"But the day's coming, Kate—when the past is going to hit you right in the face."

The door opened.

"And you won't be able to run."

Kate didn't look back. She walked out.

But deep in her chest, something stirred. And a small, quiet voice inside whispered that Eileen was right.