The last of the party guests had departed, leaving behind a happy mess of wrapping paper and cake crumbs. The sun was low in the sky, stretching long shadows across the lawn. Inside, the house was quiet. Zara and Eleanora sat in the kitchen, a silent, supportive presence.
Lyra waited in the living room, Rowan awake now and playing with a soft block on the floor. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a nervous, unsteady rhythm. She hadn’t seen his face in over a year.
The doorbell chimed.
She opened the door, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize the man standing on her porch. The impeccably tailored suits were gone, replaced by simple dark jeans and a plain gray shirt. His hair was shorter. He was leaner, and the arrogant confidence that had once radiated from him was gone, replaced by a quiet, heavy stillness.
His eyes, when they met hers, held no demands. Only a deep, soul-crushing weariness.
“Lyra,” he said. His voice was rough, as if from disuse.
“Caspian.”
He held a single, simply wrapped gift in his hands. He didn’t try to step inside. He just stood on the threshold, waiting. She finally stepped back, allowing him into the home he had never seen.
His gaze went immediately to the floor, to the small boy looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. Caspian’s breath hitched. A storm of emotions crossed his face—pain, regret, and a wave of such profound love it was staggering.
The conversation was stilted, awkward. He didn’t offer another apology; his public one, issued a lifetime ago, still stood.
“You’re well,” he stated, his eyes still fixed on their son.
“I am,” she confirmed. “Rowan is, too.”
Silence stretched between them. Finally, he knelt, not getting too close to Rowan, but lowering himself to the child’s level. He looked back at Lyra, his expression pleading.
“I’m not asking for you, Lyra,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I lost that right a long, long time ago. I’m asking for him.”
His gaze returned to Rowan. “Let me be his father. Not all at once. An hour a week. In the park. With you there. Whatever you say, whatever the terms. I will spend the rest of my life earning his trust. I just… I need a place to start.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He didn’t press. He reached behind him and lifted a small, wooden box he had set down by the door. He held it out to her.
`Caspian’s unsent letters to Rowan`.
“This is who I’ve been for the last year,” he said quietly. “This is the father I have been in private. I want to be him in public.”
He then placed his own small gift on the floor near Rowan. A small, carved wooden bird. He pressed a button on its base, and it played a simple, gentle melody.
Rowan crawled toward it, fascinated.
Caspian rose to his feet. He looked at Lyra one last time, his eyes filled with a gratitude that asked for nothing in return. “Thank you for your time.”
And then he turned and walked out the door, leaving the decision, the power, and the future entirely in her hands.
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