Charles came back into the living room after the lawyers left, the air still trembling with the aftermath of everything that had been said. He walked slowly toward the couch where Kairo sat, hunched forward, fingers tangled together, staring down at the floor as if the carpet itself was judging him.
Charles eased down beside him.
Kairo kept his eyes fixed on the floor, unable to look at his father. Shame clung to him like a heavy coat. All he could think was that his old mistakes had come back to hurt the people he loved. All the stupid choices. All the ways he had hurt himself. Now, his father… Novacore… his family… were paying for it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice small, almost childlike.
Charles looked at him gently. Kairo forced himself to continue, voice cracking like thin glass.
"I'm sorry that because of me… You and Novacore have to go through this. I promise I'll be more careful with my actions in the future." He sounded like a little boy apologizing after breaking something precious.
Charles gave a soft, sad smile and lifted a hand to brush Kairo's hair, the way he hadn't done in years.
"This isn't your fault," Charles said quietly. "It was mine. I wasn't there for you when I should have been. I didn't guide you when you needed a father. I should've protected you… taught you better… helped you grow instead of expecting you to figure everything out alone."
His voice trembled. Kairo's breath stuttered. Tears gathered again.
"I'm the one who should be apologizing, son. I'm sorry you had to grow up like that. I'm sorry I left you to figure out life alone… and you walked through many wrong paths because I wasn't beside you. I'm sorry you were hurt alone. I'm sorry you carried everything alone. I'm sorry that as a father, I failed you."
Kairo couldn't hold back anymore. The tears slipped quietly.
Charles cupped the back of his head, pulling him in. "But from today onward… I will never leave your side. I'll protect you from every threat, every harm. I will be the father you deserved all along."
The words broke something deep inside Kairo.
"Don't ever think you're alone. Don't ever think you have no one to guide you. I am here. Always."He kissed Kairo's hair. "You are my pride, my son. My purpose. I will protect you from the world until my last breath."
That was all it took. Kairo broke. He crumbled forward, grabbing his father in a desperate hug, years of anger, disappointment, loneliness, unspoken questions, and buried hurt pouring out all at once. The wall he had kept between them for so long finally cracked and fell.
Charles held him tight, rubbing his back, letting him cry.
Sara stood a few steps away, tears shining in her eyes, watching a wound she'd long sensed finally begin to heal. Father and son held each other, both crying, both releasing the weight of years in each other's arms.
Quietly, not wanting to disturb this moment, Sara stepped away to check on Zayn, letting them have the space they needed to heal.
After a while, Sara returned with Zayn in her arms. Charles and Kairo were calmer now, faces blotchy but lighter, lighter in a way that comes only after years of weight have finally been set down.
"Grandpa!" Zayn chirped the moment he spotted Charles.
Charles and Kairo turned instantly, and a soft, genuine smile spread across both their faces. Zayn wriggled out of Sara's hold and ran straight to Charles.
"Ohh, my little champ…" Charles scooped him up onto his lap, hugging him tightly. "Grandpa really missed you, Baby Zayn."
Zayn cupped his grandfather's cheeks, frowning at the faint tears and red eyes. "Did you cry, Grandpa?"
Charles let out a gentle laugh. "No, my love… some dust got into my eyes." He covered smoothly, but Zayn still stared at him with narrowed eyes, unconvinced.
Charles raised an eyebrow dramatically. "What is it? Are you going to investigate Grandpa now?"
Zayn immediately shook his head. "No… I'm sorry."
Charles smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Zayn's cheek. "That's okay, my love. No need to be sorry. Now... should we play, hm? Grandpa's free."
Zayn's whole face lit up, bright as morning. "Yes!" he squeaked, bouncing on Charles's lap like a spring set loose.
"Then come on," Charles chuckled, standing up with slow care, lifting the little boy into his arms. "Let's go see what games my champ wants today."
Sara watched them with a warmth that settled deep in her chest. Even Kairo, still a little tender from earlier, couldn't stop the small smile tugging at his lips.
"Go play with grandpa, hmm?" Kairo said to Zayn, voice gentler than usual. "Dada and Mumma will make lunch."
Zayn nodded seriously. "Okay!"
Charles gave them both a grateful smile before walking away with Zayn, the little one already chattering in his ear about toy cars and robots.
Sara and Kairo exchanged a quiet glance, soft, relieved, a little full. She walked up to Kairo quietly. He looked at her for a second, then his gaze slipped down again, shame pulling at his shoulders, guilt settling heavy in his chest.
She reached up and gently cupped his face, guiding him to look at her. His lashes fluttered, that familiar rapid blinking he did whenever he was trying to hold himself together.
Sara leaned in and brushed a soft, warm peck on his lips.
Kairo exhaled shakily and wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her closer like he needed her right there to breathe.
She smiled, small and tender. "My baby boy cried a lot today."
His gaze dropped again.
She stroked his cheek with her thumb, slow and reassuring. "But he got his family back… strong, loving, supporting."
He swallowed, throat tight. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, voice paper-thin.
Sara sighed softly, just tired of seeing him punishing himself. "I prefer kisses over sorry now," she said, trying to nudge some lightness back into him.
He pulled her even closer, almost needy. She let him, her fingertips tracing the back of his neck.
"You're not angry, right?" he asked quietly. "You trust me, right?" His voice held that trembling fear again, the one he couldn't hide, no matter how hard he tried.
Sara looked at him carefully. "Kairo… what do I have to do to make you believe I trust you and I'm not angry with you?"
He dropped his gaze again, shoulders tightening as if he didn't know how to answer, how to let himself believe it. She felt his breath stutter against her chest, his walls still trembling, halfway up, halfway down… ready to collapse if she just held him a little longer.
She exhaled softly. "Baby… stop overthinking. I'm not going to leave you. Ever. I trust you, my love, that's why I'm right here with you."
His eyes lifted to hers, those green pupils locking onto her brown ones, searching, trembling. Then suddenly, he pulled her in, almost crushing her in his arms.
"I don't know how to stop," he confessed into her shoulder, voice trembling. "My mind keeps telling me you might leave me… I'm really scared, Sara."
She felt the fear in him like a storm trapped under his ribs. And even though she didn't know the perfect sentence to chase it away, she knew what her arms could do, so she held him. Tight. Steady. Rubbing slow circles on his back, letting her touch say what words couldn't.
She stayed like that until his breathing softened, until the clenched muscles along his spine loosened under her palms. Only when his grip finally eased did she pull back and cup his face again.
"I love you, Kairo," she said quietly, each word deliberate. "And I mean it."
His breath caught, shaky again, and he rested his forehead against hers.
"I need you," he whispered. "I need you every time… everywhere. You ground me. You make me feel things. Otherwise, I feel reckless. Lost. I'm so attached to you, Sara. It's like you run my whole system. If you're not there, I feel dead, even in my thoughts."
His voice trembled with the confession, raw and fragile, as if he'd peeled back every last layer just for her.
She sighed, finally done with his spiraling, because he was drowning into those dark corners of his soul, which were filled with fear of losing her, fear of being abandoned. So leaned in to peck his lips again. "And I'm there with you, everywhere, every time. I'm not leaving you just like that."
Then her tone shifted, soft to annoyed, annoyed to fully dramatic. "Get this shit into your thick skull, asshole. You're giving me unnecessary stress. My blood pressure is doing a rollercoaster because of you. Are you actually this dumb?"
He blinked at her like a confused cat, trying to process.
"I chased you, loved you, confessed you, made a baby with you, then finally married you… gave myself to you completely. And you still think I'm going to leave? Let me repeat it, you dickhead, you left me once. But I never left you. How many times do I need to tattoo this fact on your brain?"
He stared. "Are you… scolding me?"
"No, baby," she said with a straight face. "I'm just loving you. In a different language."
He stared at her with exaggerated wounded pride. "Is this how you treat your husband? I'm sad and emotionally injured right now. The whole world thinks I'm a piece of garbage, and I was terrified you'd be upset like every other wife and leave me. So yeah, I got emotional. And now you're calling me 'dickhead'? Mind your language, woman. I'm your husband. You're supposed to treat me with extra love in this situation."
He complained, as if waiting for her to apologize for a crime she didn't commit, while she just stared at him for a second and narrowed her eyes at him.
"Care to explain how I'm supposed to 'treat you with love,' Mr. Husband? Because I tried a while ago, and you almost crushed me to death with your overthinking."
He opened his mouth… then promptly looked down like a scolded puppy. She gently grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze up. "Are you planning to stay dramatic, or will you help me to cook?"
Instead of answering, he scooped her up again and marched toward the kitchen like a mad kicked puppy carrying his emotional support human. Her mouth tensed, trying not to laugh at how tragically adorable he looked. But she was happy that at least he wasn't drowning in that heavy emotional zone anymore.
"Still… you were rude to me," he muttered while pulling ingredients from the fridge.
She bit back a grin. He washed the vegetables with a wounded sigh, shaking his head. "Remember how softly I consoled you last night when you were sad? But now you cursed at me."
She finally let a smile slip. "Because fuckboys get fine only when they get cursed. Works like magic on them."
He turned sharply, glaring. "I'm your husband now. A gentleman. Stop calling me that."
"But you liked it back then. And you still call me a soda glass, then why shouldn't I?" she nudged.
"I was one back then, not now." He sliced a carrot a little too aggressively. "You'd better find new nicknames. And yes, you're still my soda glass. But I don't want to be the fuckboy or asshole to you anymore."
She chuckled softly and slid close to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. Her cheek brushed his shoulder as she looked up at him. His eyes flickered to her for a second before returning to the chopping board, pretending he wasn't melting on the inside.
"I loved that fuckboy more… even though he was faulty," she murmured, tracing idle circles on his arm. "He was my dream boy. Straight out of fiction."
He shot her a dry stare. "That's why good boys always get hurt. You girls always fall for assholes."
She chuckled. "So are you a good boy now?"
He glared harder. She laughed harder. "I swear, you're getting cuter day by day, baby boy," she said, pinching his cheeks. "Honestly, I miss that old asshole most of the time."
His eyebrow lifted. Before she even registered the shift, he spun her around, pulled her back to his chest. Her breath stalled as one of his hands slipped down, bold and familiar, fingertips stroking exactly where her body knew him the best, while another grabbed her throat, tilting her head up.
"The asshole still exists here," he whispered against her ear, voice deep enough to shiver through her spine. "I'm just trying to be a gentleman for my wife. Don't provoke me, soda glass. I still remember every way to make you come apart… right now, right here."
Her body trembled, lips caught between her teeth at the wrecking sweetness of his touch, his look, and his voice. Her eyes met his, glinting, nails gripping his arm. "Take me then… I missed this version of you."
His hand tightened, fingers pressing once… then he withdrew his hand entirely. A playful slap landed on her butt, snapping her breath.
"Not now," he murmured. "Dad's here."
She exhaled with a frustrated groan. He let her go. But she immediately tugged him back by the shirt, wrapping his arms around her waist and settling into him as if she belonged there.
"Just stay like this," she murmured. "I missed you."
His hold softened, then tightened with surprising tenderness. He pressed a kiss to her head, warm and grounding. She smiled into his chest. "By the way… I still think I can call you 'asshole.'"
His fingers squeezed her waist, making her squeak while laughing.
And just like that, they slipped into their rhythm again, teasing, touching, laughing, while chopping vegetables and stirring pots, their child giggling somewhere in the garden with his grandfather.
A little chaotic. A little sensual. A little domestic. Exactly them.