Leonard sat at the rounded table, his hand loosely wrapped around a half-finished glass of water. His eyes were fixed on Nathan and Maya—they were pure energy, laughter, and innocence. And they were his. His children.
He smiled, faint but undeniably soft, as Maya squirmed excitedly in her seat to tell Felix about her bunny hat again, like she hadn't already repeated the story twice. Nathan licked a smudge of sauce off his finger and leaned over to his sister's plate to sneak one of her fries. She scolded him with a dramatic gasp, and Leonard felt the warmth bloom in his chest.
This, he thought, this is what fate owed me.
There had been so many days when he believed he had lost any right to be near them. And maybe he still didn't deserve it—not in the traditional sense—but today, here he was. Sitting with them. Talking with them. Laughing along to their chaotic little stories.
