Caelum called his father.
And started screaming.
Like, full-on shouting match—zero to Greek tragedy in under thirty seconds.
The yelling startled Lily, who burst into tears. Her nanny quickly carried her out of the room.
Meanwhile, I stayed right where I was—snug in my father's arms, watching the meltdown like I was at the movies. Dorian gently cleaned me up (I had just finished a bottle) and kept holding me, calm and silent while Caelum lost it.
I'm starting to like my father. He always knows how to keep me close to the drama without making it about himself. A rare talent.
Caelum's voice boomed from across the room:
"You threw me away to nannies while you drowned your sorrow in alcohol and women—and now you want to raise a child?! Are you insane?! I will make sure the whole world sees you for what you are. I have witnesses. I have recordings. By the time I'm done, you'll be the most hated man in the world."
Then he ended the call with a dramatic tap.
"I have to go," he declared. "I need to destroy my father."
And just like that, he stormed out.
I wished—again—that I had popcorn.
Aurora sighed and started rubbing her temples.
"Why did I ever agree to have both of you in my daughters' lives? You bring nothing but trouble."
Dorian winced but stayed quiet.
I giggled.
Then I pooped.
Dorian sniffed the air.
"She needs changing."
My nanny stepped forward, but Aurora stopped her with a sharp look.
"How about you make yourself useful instead of causing problems?"
Dorian nodded.
"You know what? I'll change her. I need to learn anyway."
My nanny smiled.
"I'll show you how."
Point: Mom—Zero. Dad—One.
Honestly, my baby brain had no shame left. I was getting used to being handled by strangers. I giggled at the look on Dorian's face when he opened the diaper—his usually stoic expression turned an adorable shade of green.
If I could've peed on him right then, it would've been the cherry on top.
He finished the job (with help), then fed me a bottle of milk Aurora had pumped earlier and rocked me gently to sleep.
When I woke up, it was the next day.
My mother had taken me and Liliane out to the garden for a picnic under a huge, beautiful tree. The scene looked like something out of a fairytale.
The servants had organized everything perfectly—blankets, umbrellas, elegant fruit and charcuterie boards, sparkling drinks in beautiful glass bottles. My mother, my sister, and I were dressed in matching floral dresses. We looked like a magazine spread.
Then the fathers arrived.
Dorian sat beside us and took me into his arms. Caelum came too, looking like hell.
"I sued my father back," he said without even sitting down. "Leaked every bit of his neglect to the press. My lawyers are filing a restraining order."
Aurora nodded.
"Good."
She pointed to Lily, who was bouncing in her nanny's lap.
"Are you not going to hold her? Look how excited she is to see you."
Caelum sighed, sat beside her, and took Lily into his arms. She immediately giggled.
We looked like a perfect family portrait.
And I don't know if it was the peaceful setting or the matching dresses or the fresh air, but suddenly I was remembering something from my past life—my last day with my old family.
It had also been a sunny afternoon, at a family barbecue under a big tree. Just like this.
I felt something heavy settle in my chest.
We hadn't ended things well.
My family was flawed—deeply—but they had their moments. My brother once fought bullies for me. My mom never missed a school event. My dad gave gifts when he didn't know how to give love.
They weren't perfect, but they were mine.
And I didn't get to say goodbye.
Tears started to fall silently down my cheeks.
Aurora looked at me from across the blanket.
"Is she crying? Or is it allergies?"
Dorian leaned in.
"There are tears... but no sound. Could be allergies."
Seriously?
I let out a loud wail.
Suddenly everyone panicked.
Dorian stood and bounced me.
"She never cries like this! What's wrong?"
Aurora fanned me with her hand.
"Maybe she's too hot."
The nanny chimed in.
"Under the tree, it's not that hot, ma'am."
Even Caelum looked worried, standing with Lily in his arms.
"It's allergies. The kid's too stoic—just like her dad."
Next thing I knew, I was back inside, being examined by a doctor.
"Her eyes are a little puffy," he said. "I'll prescribe compresses. We can run an allergy test next week. For now, just keep her cool and comfortable."
By then, I was exhausted and drifted off to sleep.
And then I dreamed.
I saw myself on the bus again—holding the child, taking the hit. I watched the EMTs declare me dead. I heard a nurse say,
"She's an organ donor. She had a card in her wallet."
They took me to another room. I saw my parents and brother being told I had died.
My mother collapsed, screaming.
My father tried to hold her.
My brother cried.
Later, I watched my funeral. They chose a good picture of me. I saw friends, coworkers, even strangers crying. I saw the boy I saved and his parents—they came to say thank you.
And then... another scene.
My parents at home, opening thank-you letters from people who had received my organs.
And I smiled.
Somehow, I felt at peace.
When I woke again, another day had passed.
I was in a crib beside my mother's bed. She was feeding Lily, and when she saw me staring, she burped her quickly and came to me.
"Oh baby, you're awake?"
I smiled at her.
Really smiled.
For the first time, I felt like maybe... it was time to stop holding onto my old life so tightly.
Time to forgive.
Time to move on.