Lunch settled into the room like a warm sigh. The air held a fragile peace, the kind that comes after storms and tears.
Zayn perched comfortably on Charles's lap, swinging his tiny feet as his grandpa fed him slow, careful bites. In between, Zayn insisted on feeding Charles too, pressing fist-sized food pieces toward his lips with solemn concentration.
"Grandpa…" Zayn called, raising his tiny hand like an offering, big eyes blinking up at him.
Charles's laughter bubbled out, a sound threaded with joy and exhaustion. "Thank you, my love," he said, taking the bite and ruffling Zayn's hair until the boy giggled.
Kairo watched the scene quietly. And for the first time in a long time, nothing pinched in his chest. No jealousy, no fear, no strange ache to hoard his son. Just… happiness. A complete circle finding its center.
Sara saw it. She touched his shoulder gently and slipped a slice of meat onto his plate, brushing his hair with light fingers.
He looked at her mid-chew, cheeks full like a chastised squirrel. She puckered her lips playfully, sending an invisible kiss floating across the table.
His lips twitched. Then, without warning, he hooked her chair and dragged it closer with a scrape and a jerk. The scrape echoed like a tiny scandal.
Sara gasped, eyes widening. Even Zayn paused mid-bite. Charles glanced up, amused but pretending not to see, preserving his daughter-in-law's dignity. She smacked his arm, mortified.
Kairo took another bite, eyes smug, that bratty smirk painted across his lips as he'd earned it. She glared. He ignored. The audacity had muscle today.
Her hand slid under the table. And she found his thigh with two fingers and pinched sharply. Kairo choked on air, a small yelp escaping before he could swallow it. Charles's shoulders trembled with a silent laugh, pretending very hard to be invested in Zayn's food.
Kairo glared at his father for enjoying his pain. Then glared at his wife for causing it. Sara ignored him and continued eating with the poise of a queen who definitely didn't pinch anyone.
Lunch eventually ended, but the silent bickering spiraled for a few more minutes: raised brows, whispered threats, nudges, and soft protests, throwing silent daggers at each other across invisible lines. Meanwhile, Zayn and Charles lived in their own grandfather-grandson bubble, laughing at something only the two of them understood.
Soon, the family shifted to the living room. Zayn fell asleep in Charles's arms, his lashes brushing his cheeks like soft paint strokes. Charles kissed his forehead tenderly.
Kairo lay stretched across the couch, head pillowed on Sara's lap. She had protested twice, even, but he didn't care. He just wanted her warmth, her scent, her grounding. And she let him stay anyway because fighting him is a waste of time.
Sara quietly scrolled through social media, blurred scandal photos, twisted headlines, paparazzi still camping outside the Charles house like vultures waiting for scraps. The mess outside felt colder than ever.
Charles noticed her expression. "He fell asleep," Charles said gently.
Sara looked at Zayn and instantly rose, gently removing Kairo's head from her lap. He groaned like a cat being displaced, and she took Zayn from Charles's arms and carried him to the bedroom.
When she returned, Charles sighed. "Well… I should be heading back. I've got work. Meetings. PR coordination. We need to tighten our narrative before—"
"Dad, stay," Sara interrupted softly. "It's risky to step out now."
Charles smiled, trying to reassure her. "I know, dear. But I've to. You two handle tomorrow's press conference. I'll tackle the PR front from the office."
"You're not going anywhere," came Kairo's sleepy voice from the couch.
Sara and Charles both looked at him. His eyes were half-open, barely conscious, but his tone was pure stubborn steel.
"What do you mean I'm not going anywhere?" Charles asked, a brow rising.
"It means," Kairo said, pointing a lazy finger in his direction, "you are NOT stepping out of this house."
Charles narrowed his eyes. Sara pressed a hand to her forehead, ready to faint from this fresh father-son tension.
"Don't give me that look," Kairo grumbled. "I'm saying this for your safety. The paparazzi are still outside like hungry vultures. I'm not letting you step out and get swarmed. And the PR work?"He sighed dramatically. "I know how to handle it. So sit here and relax."
His voice carried that signature blend of attitude wrapped protectively around concern. But Charles stared at him as he had just declared himself the CEO of the world.
"Are you ordering me around already?" Charles shot back. "Don't forget I'm still your father. More experienced than you in everything. Don't teach me what to do."
Kairo frowned harder, an irritated cat trying to look like a lion. "Great. You've got the experience," he muttered. "But you're also old now. So stay here and chill. This time, it's my turn to handle things."
Sara sent him a horrified glare, silently screaming Stop talking. But he ignored it completely.
Charles leaned back, crossing his arms, eyes narrowing with amused disbelief. "Your turn to handle things?" A small smirk tugged his lips. "Aren't you the one who was crying earlier? Lost, helpless, trembling like an abandoned leaf?"
Kairo's eye twitched. Sara choked on her own breath, trying to hold back a laugh. He shot up like someone lit a fire under him.
"I was crying because I'm human. But that doesn't mean I'm weak. I'm still your son. A man, A husband. A father. And I have responsibilities. I just got emotional for a moment. But I'm fine now. And I'll fix this mess."
Charles glanced at Sara. She looked like she was mentally drafting her will in anticipation of their argument escalating.
Kairo flopped back onto the couch as if the whole speech drained the last bit of energy out of him. "So stay here. And please don't argue."
Sara sighed softly and turned to Charles. "He's right, Dad. It's unsafe for you to stay alone right now. Please stay with us."
Charles glanced at his son again, Kairo blinking slowly, fatigue taking over, eyelids heavy. He let out a long breath. "Fine. I'll stay. But I don't appreciate this tone of his. Tell your husband to learn some manners. He doesn't get to throw that attitude at me."
Sara pressed her lips together and nodded apologetically.
Kairo didn't even open his eyes this time. His voice was low, unfiltered, drifting toward sleep. "We just patched up today… Don't expect miracles in one day. Change takes time." Another beat, then a lazy murmur, "And you… soda glass… come here. I need you."
Sara's mouth fell open. Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. Kairo's eyes fluttered closed, his breathing slowing.
"Now stop glaring, go get some rest," Kairo murmured, eyes still closed.
Charles sighed, the long, tired sigh of a father who was processing seventeen emotions at once. This brat will always get on his nerves. Sara gave him a gentle smile. "Take some rest, Dad. You can use his bedroom."
Charles nodded, returning a faint smile of his own. He glanced at Kairo one last time, already slipping into sleep, and walked toward the bedroom.
Once he was gone, Sara finally sat beside Kairo. Instantly, as if his body had been waiting, he turned and rested his head on her lap again, sinking into her warmth. His breathing evened out in seconds, exhaustion claiming him fully.
Sara stroked his hair, letting her fingers glide through the soft strands. Her voice dropped to a murmur. "Don't you think you were a bit too much with Dad?"
Kairo didn't even bother lifting his head. "Too much? Today I was very polite to him," he muttered, sleepy, eyes closed, as if this were the fairest judgment ever delivered.
Sara chuckled under her breath. "You literally called him old."
"He is old," he defended instantly, tone still sleepy. "He's worked hard all these years. He needs to rest now. And…it's my turn to handle everything."
The simplicity of it tugged a small smile from her. "What a miracle. Someone's turning into a full gentleman these days. Too responsible. I'm impressed."
His voice came out low, rough, brushing against her stomach like a soft vibration. "Don't start. I'm trying to sleep. Don't tempt me to misbehave."
She slapped his arm lightly. He didn't move, just groaned, then burrowed closer, wrapping an arm around her waist like she was his personal pillow.
Sara shook her head, a warm ache blooming in her chest. Here he was, her husband, carrying the weight of a scandal, the world outside clawing at his name, yet still trying to be a good son, a steady partner, a father trying not to break under pressure.
He held her tighter, and she threaded her fingers through his hair again, feeling the quiet strength of the man who still found his way back to her lap when he needed a safe place to breathe.