Tedd arrived early.
Every time.
He never knocked until the exact second of the agreed time. Never came with expectations. Only hope.
Today, Jaimie opened the door and found him standing with a small paper bag and a gentle, almost nervous smile.
"Good morning," he said softly.
Her eyes dropped to the bag.
"I hope that's not more toys. He has enough to run a toy kingdom."
"No," Tedd chuckled. "Just some coloring books... and a sketchpad. You mentioned he loves drawing dinosaurs."
Jaimie hesitated, then stepped aside. "He's in the playroom."
Tedd entered slowly, like the condo might reject him at any second.
Sam was sitting on the floor, sketching a T-Rex with green crayons.
Tedd knelt down beside him.
"Hey, little guy."
Sam glanced up, cautious but curious.
"I'm Tedd," he continued. "I brought some new drawing stuff if you want to try them."
The boy stared at the paper bag.
Jaimie watched from the hallway—arms crossed, face unreadable.
"I can draw already," Sam said with the blunt honesty of a three-year-old.
"I bet you can," Tedd said with a smile. "But maybe you can show me how you do it. I'm not very good, but I want to learn."
Something flickered in Sam's eyes.
He reached forward and took the sketchpad.
"Okay," he said. "But no coloring outside the lines."
Tedd laughed. "Deal."
Minutes passed. Then hours.
Jaimie stood silently in the kitchen, watching through the half-open door.
They were talking now—about dinosaurs, volcanoes, the color green.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTM3yiUdYbA
Tedd listened to every word like it was gospel.
Sam giggled more in that hour than he had all week.
It twisted something in her chest.
Not pain.
Not yet love.
Something worse: doubt.
She wanted to hate Tedd. She really did.
But hate only lives where love once burned bright.
And Tedd... Tedd had been the match, the blaze, and the ash.
He was quieter now. Gentler. Softer around the edges but firmer in his promises.
He never touched her unless she offered a hand.
He never spoke of their past unless she asked.
But he was present.
Every Sunday. Every Wednesday afternoon. Each visit, he brought no explanations—only his full, unwavering presence.
Later that night, Jaimie lay beside Sam, watching him sleep.
His arms curled around the stuffed triceratops Tedd had given him.
She brushed a hair from his forehead and whispered into the dark.
"He looks like you."
The confession was for no one.
And maybe, also... for herself.
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