Page 63 of Single Mom's Daddies
Nikolai sits up, slow and stiff, as if the weight of the words pulled him upright. “She’s in a hospital,” he says. “We can’t just barge in.”
“I’m not suggesting we do.”
“But weshouldsee her.”
“Agreed.”
Roman lets out a breath. “We’ll talk to Saffron in the morning.”
“We’re asking,” I say. “Not telling.”
“Obviously.”
Nikolai stands fully now and stretches. “What if she says no?”
“She won’t.”
“You’re that sure?”
“She told us the truth. She wants her daughter to have a future with her fathers. She won’t say no.” I feel the tension leave my chest—not all the way, not yet, but enough to breathe.
Later, sleep doesn’t come. I knew it wouldn’t. I don’t even try, really.
I keep thinking of Ivy’s fragile heart and how that might limit our time with her. I press my palms into my eyes and stand. I walk back down the hallway and into the kitchen, flip on the low lights under the cabinets. The glow bathes the counter in a soft amber tone.
The clock says it’s 3:12 a.m. I’ve been awake for twenty hours. My bones ache. I don’t care. I go to the coffee machine out ofpure instinct. My hands move without thought—filling the filter, pouring water, starting the brew. It’s ridiculous to make coffee at this hour, but it’s what I do when I don’t know how else to move forward.
Saffron’s right. I am a caffeine addict. She is too. Because of Ivy, I’d imagine. How many sleepless nights has she had over that girl? How the hell has she done it? How has she not broken?
The coffeemaker gurgles, spits steam. I watch it fill like it holds the answers to all the questions I haven’t been brave enough to ask. I should’ve remembered her. That night. The butterfly. I don’t forget sex. Especially not when it’s that good.
But I buried the memory. Felt like the least I could do when Nadia came back to us.
I lean against the counter and close my eyes. Halloween. Nine years ago. It was raining. Not heavy, but steady. The kind of rain that made the streets gleam like oil and turned fallen leaves into paste.
I was still raw.
Nadia had left just a few weeks before. She said she needed space. Said she loved us, but she couldn’t be with us. We thought she meant another man. Or a loss of feelings.
And I—well, I didn’t take it well.
I don’t usually unravel. I’m the quiet one. The one who steps in with reason when everyone else goes nuclear. The one who handles business, smooths edges, makes it work.
But when she left, I didn’t feel like that man. I felt hollow.
The night we went to that party, I’m the one who pushed Nik and Roman into seducing the butterfly. I wanted to put Nadia behind us, to see if we could make it work with another girl, even if only for a night. Or if Nadia was the only reason the four of us worked together that way.
That night was one of the best of my life.
The butterfly made me feel like myself again. She was soft and eager and so fucking trusting. Magic.
None of us said a word about it on the drive back.
Then Nadia came back, and eventually, Mila came. Then Alex. And our family was complete. For a time.
And I never let myself think about the butterfly again. Until Saffron walked into our lives with that sweet face and that stubborn spine and that fierce, dry humor. She kissed like a ghost I’d known once. She smelled like memory. But I didn’t put it together. Didn’t let myself try.
I pour coffee into a mug and stare down into the steam. After we lost Nadia, I vowed I’d never waste time with my loved ones. Life is too fucking short, and that bullet proved it. You never know when, “I love you,” is the last time you’ll say it.
