CHAPTER 4

  It was late when Elias finally came through the door.

  I didn’t say anything at first. I watched him set his keys down, watched the way he rolled the tension out of his shoulders like it had settled there for the night. He looked exhausted—not the kind that comes from a long day, but the kind that sinks into your bones and stays.

  He barely glanced at me before turning toward the stairs.

  “You’re late,” I said.

  That stopped him.

  He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I had to stay at work.”

  I nodded slowly. Straight to the point. He didn’t owe me an explanation, and we both knew it. Elias never wasted words unless he felt cornered. He was a good father—if that phrase still meant anything anymore. I wasn’t going to be the one to take that from him.

  But that wasn’t what worried me.

  “We put him to bed about an hour ago,” I said, standing from my chair. “He was asking for you.”

  Something flickered across Elias’s face—quick and buried just as fast. He nodded once and started down the hallway again.

  “You work too much.”

  He stopped. This time his shoulders tightened.

  “I’ve gotta make money,” he said. The words came out flat, defensive—not quite what he meant, but close enough.

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  I exhaled through my nose. “You know you pay us to watch him.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You don’t have to,” I continued. “We’re his grandparents.”

  “I know,” he said. “But I do.”

  I understood what he meant. He didn’t owe us anything. But he didn’t trust us with anything either.

  I moved into the kitchen, poured a glass of water—gave us both something to do.

  “You remind me of myself,” I said.

  He didn’t react. But he heard me.

  “I used to think providing was enough,” I went on. “That if I worked hard, paid the bills, everything else would fall into place.”

  I took a sip, choosing my words carefully. “I was wrong.”

  Elias leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Guarded. Closed off. Same posture he’d had since he was a teenager.

  “You were always out,” I said. “Running the streets. Getting into whatever you could. And your mother…” I paused. “She had her own way of handling things.”

  He scoffed quietly. I didn’t blame him.

  I set the glass down and met his eyes. “You are a good father. As much as that’s worth coming from me. You do more than people see. More than they give you credit for.”

  He didn’t soften. He knew there was more coming.

  “But being a good father doesn’t make you a good man.”

  That landed.

  Not loud—but clean.

  His head tilted slightly, eyes sharpening. The old fire was there, but tempered now. Controlled.

  “You say we’re alike,” he said evenly. “But you didn’t have a family treating you like an inconvenience. I did.”

  I didn’t interrupt.

  “I don’t care to argue the past,” he continued. “But I’d rather be half of what you never were than lose myself trying to please people who won’t look at their own reflection before judging mine.”

  I recognized those words. Not because I’d taught them to him—but because I’d inspired them without meaning to.

  His eyes dropped, tired in a way that made my chest tighten.

  “All I need from you,” he said quietly, “is for you to treat my son right. Think of it as a second chance.”

  He’d said things like that before.

  What I wanted to tell him was that we were still in the middle of our first.

  Instead, I just sighed. “Go see him before you leave.”

  Elias didn’t respond. He pushed off the doorway and headed upstairs.

  As his footsteps faded, I sat back down.

  And for the first time that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that history wasn’t just repeating itself—

  It was watching us all pretend we didn’t see it happening again.