Chapter 5 - Five Years of Stolen Moments
Callan arrived at Carlie’s apartment at six forty-five the next morning.
He carried no expensive gifts.
Daniel had advised caution, and Carlie had been clear that Andres did not need to associate his father with presents.
So Callan brought a box of pancake mix, fresh strawberries, and a child-sized apron decorated with airplanes.
Carlie opened the door wearing soft gray pants and a white sweater. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders.
For a second, they simply looked at each other.
This was the closest Callan had been to her home life.
A pair of tiny sneakers sat beside the door. Crayon drawings covered the hallway wall. A framed photograph showed Carlie holding a newborn Andres against her chest, exhausted and radiant.
“You’re early,” she said.
“By fifteen minutes.”
“You used to be late by an hour.”
“I remember.”
She stepped aside.
Andres came running from the kitchen.
“You came!”
Callan crouched.
“I said I would.”
The child threw his arms around Callan’s neck.
Callan froze for half a second before holding him.
The hug was quick and uncomplicated.
To Andres, it was affection.
To Callan, it was the recovery of a life he had not known was missing.
“Did you bring the airplane apron?” Andres asked.
Callan laughed.
“How did you know?”
“I can see it.”
“Right.”
Carlie watched them, her expression guarded but softer than before.
Breakfast became a disaster.
Callan added too much milk to the batter. Andres cracked an egg against the counter instead of the bowl. Flour covered the floor, the cabinets, and Callan’s charcoal sweater.
Carlie stood near the sink trying not to smile.
“You can laugh,” Callan said.
“I am exercising restraint.”
“You always had excellent restraint.”
“Not always.”
Their eyes met.
The warmth vanished beneath the memory of arguments.
Andres saved them.
“Mommy, Daddy put salt in the pancakes.”
The word stopped everyone.
Daddy.
Andres did not seem to notice what he had said.
Callan stared at him.
Carlie’s hand tightened around a dish towel.
“I meant Mr. Callan,” Andres corrected after noticing their expressions.
Callan swallowed.
“You may call me whatever feels comfortable.”
“Can I call you Daddy?”
Carlie knelt beside her son.
“Honey, we should talk about that.”
“But the test said he is.”
“Yes.”
“And he wants to be.”
“Yes.”
“And I want him to be.”
Carlie’s eyes filled.
Callan remained silent. This was her moment to guide.
Andres looked confused.
“Why is everybody sad?”
Carlie hugged him.
“We’re not sad. We’re feeling many things at once.”
“Grown-up complicated?”
“Exactly.”
Andres turned toward Callan.
“I’m going to call you Daddy sometimes.”
Callan’s voice barely worked.
“I would be honored.”
Over the following weeks, they created a schedule.
Callan rented a furnished apartment two blocks away. He delegated the daily management of his hotels to his executive team and began working remotely from Miami.
He joined Andres for breakfast three mornings a week.
He attended school pickup with Carlie.
He learned that Andres disliked peas, loved astronomy, feared large dogs, and refused to sleep without the hallway light on.
He learned how to buckle the booster seat properly.
He learned which bedtime story required silly voices.
He learned that parenthood consisted less of dramatic declarations than of repeating simple acts until a child trusted they would happen again.
Carlie watched him carefully.
Callan never complained.
When Andres woke sick at two in the morning, Callan arrived with medicine and remained on the sofa until sunrise.
When the school hosted a family art day, he canceled a meeting with investors and spent three hours constructing a cardboard rocket that leaned dangerously to one side.
When Andres became angry because Callan would not buy him an expensive remote-control airplane, Callan did not attempt to win his affection. He supported Carlie’s decision and endured the resulting tantrum.
Trust came slowly.
But it came.
Camilla visited Callan’s apartment one evening after arranging her belongings to be shipped from San Antonio.
She stood near the window, looking at the ocean.
“I accepted a position in New York,” she said.
“I heard. Congratulations.”
“You sound relieved.”
“I am glad you’re moving forward.”
She turned.
“Did you ever love me?”
Callan considered lying to soften the answer.
He had done enough of that.
“I cared about you deeply.”
“That isn’t love.”
“No.”
Camilla nodded as though confirming something she had known for years.
“Were you still in love with Carlie?”
“I spent five years pretending I hated her because admitting I still loved her would have forced me to face what I did.”
Camilla’s face tightened.
“You allowed me to build a life around you.”
“I know.”
“I defended you. I stood beside you.”
“You did.”
“And now that she appears with your child, I become a mistake.”
“No. My treatment of you was the mistake. You were a person who deserved honesty.”
Camilla looked away.
“I wasn’t innocent.”
Callan waited.
She folded her arms.
“Your mother contacted me before the yacht trip.”
His expression sharpened.
“When?”
“Several weeks earlier.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me Carlie had accepted a position aboard the yacht. She encouraged me to book the voyage.”
Callan stared.
“Vivian arranged this?”
“She said seeing Carlie happy and working would give you closure.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she also said Carlie had a child by another man. I thought if you saw that she had moved on, you would finally propose to me.”
Callan paced away.
Vivian had engineered the encounter.
But why?
“She knew I would see Andres.”
“Perhaps she didn’t expect him to be aboard.”
“My mother expects everything.”
Camilla reached into her purse.
“There’s more.”
She handed him a flash drive.
“What is this?”
“Copies of emails Vivian sent to me over the years.”
“About Carlie?”
“Some of them.”
“Why did you keep them?”
“Because part of me knew she was using me.”
Callan inserted the drive into his laptop.
One email, dated shortly after the divorce, instructed Camilla to ensure that all calls from Carlie were routed to corporate security.
Another advised Camilla to delete a voicemail left by Nathan.
Callan looked at her.
“You deleted it?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
Camilla’s face filled with shame.
“He said Carlie was pregnant. He demanded that you contact her.”
Callan stepped back.
“You knew?”
“I knew someone claimed she was pregnant. Vivian told me it was a manipulation. She said the baby belonged to Nathan.”
“You never asked me?”
“You were falling apart. Your mother said telling you would reopen everything.”
“You helped conceal my son.”
“I told myself it was a lie.”
“For five years?”
“I never knew Andres existed.”
“You knew there could have been a child.”
Camilla began to cry.
“I was in love with you.”
“That does not excuse it.”
“I know.”
Callan looked at the emails again.
The betrayal was not equal to Vivian’s, but it was real.
“I’m giving this to Daniel.”
“I expected you would.”
“It may implicate you.”
“I know.”
“Why bring it now?”
“Because Carlie deserves the truth. And so does Andres.”
Callan nodded.
“Thank you for finally doing the right thing.”
Camilla flinched but accepted it.
At the door, she paused.
“Vivian believed the yacht encounter would make Carlie look like a liar.”
“How?”
“She told me the child was six.”
“Andres is five.”
“Yes. Vivian assumed the timeline would prove he was born too late to be yours.”
Callan frowned.
“Why would she believe he was six?”
“I don’t know.”
After Camilla left, Callan called Carlie.
She came over once Andres was asleep.
He showed her the emails.
Carlie read them in silence.
When she reached the message about Nathan’s voicemail, she sat down.
“So Camilla knew.”
“She knew there was a claim. She says she did not know Andres existed.”
“She deleted Nathan’s message.”
“Yes.”
Carlie closed the laptop.
“I spent years believing everyone around you considered me disposable.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
Callan looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because every apology makes me remember another thing we lost.”
He sat across from her.
“What should I say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I’ll listen.”
Carlie stared at her hands.
“I was alone when Andres was born.”
“Nathan and Rosa were there, but I mean alone in the way that matters. The nurse asked whether someone should cut the cord, and I had no answer.”
Callan’s eyes burned.
“I imagined you beside me even though I believed you hated us.”
He did not interrupt.
“On his first birthday, I bought a cake too large for four people because you once told me Tucker birthdays should always be excessive.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Every milestone belonged to him, but part of me grieved you through all of them.”
Callan moved to the chair beside her but kept his hands to himself.
“I cannot give those moments back,” he said.
“No.”
“I cannot ask you to forgive me because I was manipulated. I still chose not to trust you.”
“Yes.”
“But I can spend every day showing Andres that he was always worth finding.”
Carlie looked at him.
“And me?”
The question was almost inaudible.
Callan’s heart accelerated.
“You were worth believing.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
He forced himself not to reach for her.
“You are worth loving,” he said. “You always were.”
Carlie closed her eyes.
For a moment, he thought she might lean toward him.
Instead, she stood.
“I need to go home.”
“Carlie.”
“Not yet.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
At the door, she looked back.
“Vivian’s hearing is next week.”
The protective-order hearing had been scheduled after investigators confirmed the forged document and suspicious financial transfers.
“I’ll be there,” Callan said.
“She will try to turn us against each other.”
“She won’t succeed.”
“You sound certain.”
“I finally know what losing you cost.”
Carlie’s expression softened.
“But you haven’t gotten me back.”
“I know.”
That answer mattered.
She left.
The following morning, Callan found Andres waiting outside his apartment with Carlie.
The boy held two toy airplanes.
“One is for you,” Andres announced.
Callan accepted the smaller one.
“What are we doing?”
“A race.”
“Where?”
Andres pointed toward the long courtyard.
Carlie smiled.
“You had better stretch. He cheats.”
“I do not,” Andres protested. “I use shortcuts.”
Callan looked at his son and then at Carlie.
May you like
For the first time, the future did not feel like something he had to control.
It felt like something he might earn.
