Laughter echoed from the living room.
The kind that made walls feel warmer and hearts a little less guarded.
I peeked from the kitchen doorway, a dishtowel in hand, as EJ chased Sam around the couch, both of them giggling like schoolboys on recess. Sam squealed, clutching his stuffed dinosaur under his arm like a precious treasure, yelling, "You'll never catch me, Tito Dad!"
EJ growled playfully and lunged. "We'll see about that!"
They collapsed onto the rug in a tangled mess of arms, legs, and joy—Sam landing squarely on EJ's chest, breathless from laughter.
I smiled without meaning to.
It was always like this when EJ was around. Lighter. Softer. Like life let itself exhale for a moment.
And he had been around—for everything.
Since EJ came back from the Marines, he didn't hesitate.
He slipped into our lives like he was always meant to be there.
When Sam took his first steps, it wasn't me who caught the moment on video—it was EJ, kneeling on the floor, arms wide open, eyes tearing up as Sam stumbled forward.
When Sam had his first fever, it was EJ who rushed in the middle of the night with a digital thermometer, Vicks, and a bottle of Pocari Sweat.
When I had meetings, or deadlines, or just a pounding headache from life's endless noise—it was EJ who showed up with a bag of snacks and said, "Go nap. I've got him."
And when Sam was scared, or hurt, or confused, he didn't cry out for me.
He whispered, "Tito Dad..."
Because in Sam's heart, EJ was the closest thing to 'father' that ever made sense.
"You're staring again," EJ called from the rug, lifting his head slightly.
"Just making sure neither of you destroys the furniture," I replied with a smirk.
"Sam, should we show Mommy our new dinosaur song?" he asked.
Sam leaped up and struck a pose. "Roar-roar, stomp-stomp! We are dinos, chomp-chomp!"
I clapped. "A Grammy-worthy performance."
They bowed dramatically. I turned back toward the sink, but not before I caught the quiet glance EJ gave me—the one he always did when he thought I wasn't looking.
There was love in it.
Steady, patient, enduring love.
He'd told me many times since coming back: "I love you, Jaimie. I always have."
I believed him.
But believing someone loves you doesn't always mean you can love them the same way.
And that's what scared me.
Because I needed him—for Sam.
He was the only man who'd ever shown up without an agenda, without taking anything in return.
But did I need him for me?
That was harder to answer.
I once thought love should feel like a storm—like Christian, or Jeth, or Dominic. Love that made you dizzy, desperate, undone. But EJ? EJ was like sunrise. Predictable. Gentle. Safe.
And part of me feared I had broken myself so many times that I could no longer recognize something good unless it hurt.
So I stood in the kitchen that night, watching him tuck Sam into bed, singing softly with that same calm voice he used to use on me back in high school when my world was falling apart.
And I thought:
Is it fair to need someone only because they're good to your child?
Is it fair to keep someone beside you out of comfort and not clarity?
I didn't have the answers yet.
But I knew this much:
Sam loved him.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqrmYgvDEo0
I trusted him.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡng7HgIU7mV
And for now, that had to be enough.
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7l7hjRfkoT
