Harry left without knowing what had happened outside the clinic, and I had no intention of telling him. He went back to work, taking extra shifts and working overtime, while I returned to my usual routine—uni, shifts at the club, and waiting for the stolen moments we could share. He came every other day for a few hours and spent weekends with me.

Thankfully, he no longer had to rely on his bike. His dad had bought him a car, too worried about the long drives back and forth. That was the "business" George had to take care of the other day—he had not only purchased the car but also had a car seat installed for Antony. His reasoning? Harry wouldn't know how to pick a reliable family car. But deep down, I knew George didn't want Harry spending money on it either.

I liked George. He wasn't a man of many words, but he spoke volumes through his actions. He loved his son, and he was doing everything in his power to support him.

Harry, on the other hand, was falling more and more in love with his son every day, and it was the sweetest thing to watch. He'd come back from visiting Nadia's house, gushing over every little thing Antony did—how he held his tiny fingers, how he moved in his sleep, how he barely fit into Harry's palm.

Rose, of course, had other thoughts.

"You do realize all babies are the same, right? They eat, cry, shit, and sleep. No miracles there."

"Shut up, Rose." Harry would chuckle. "What the fuck would you know about babies?"

But something did surprise him. At Nadia's house, there was no drama. No insults, no cold shoulders. They were nice to him. Too nice.

He was hesitant at first, but soon enough, he admitted that Nadia was treating him differently. She didn't rush him out when visiting hours were up, didn't hesitate when he asked to hold Antony. She even asked him to name the baby. That left him completely stunned.

He wasn't used to them giving him choices—only demands.

Harry's voice was low and teasing as we cuddled under a blanket, two half-finished mugs of tea on the coffee table.

I chuckled. "I don't think Nadia would appreciate hearing your name all day."

He groaned dramatically. "Point well made. What about George, like my dad?"

I smiled. "That would make him so happy... but you know her family wouldn't love that idea. Maybe pick something neutral, something that doesn't connect to either family?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "You're right again. Besides, I'm saving George for someone else."

I turned my head to look at him. "Who?"

That signature smirk spread across his face, dimples deepening. "Our son."

Our son.

The words sent a jolt through me, but I forced myself to roll my eyes playfully. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm nineteen."

His smirk faded slightly, like I had just punctured a dream he hadn't realized he was holding on to.

"I don't mean now," he murmured, pulling me tighter against him, resting his chin on my shoulder. "But someday."

I didn't respond. Instead, I traced patterns on his forearm, letting silence settle between us.

Then, as if he knew I needed a shift in the conversation, he spoke again.

"What do you think about Antony?"

I smiled. "You know what? I actually love it."

His face lit up. "Yeah? Antony it is, then. I've always loved The Little Prince, and since my son is my little prince..."

I blinked at him. "Wait. You love The Little Prince?"

His jaw tensed. "You think I don't read?"

I hesitated. "I just... I wouldn't have pictured you reading that, that's all."

His grip on the blanket loosened. His eyes darkened. "You think I have a screwdriver in one hand and a wrench in the other all day? That I don't know what a book looks like?"

Shit.

"Harry, I didn't mean it like that—"

"Do you think just because I didn't go to college, I'm stupid?" His voice was tight, defensive.

I sat up, caught completely off guard. "Where is this coming from?"

His jaw clenched. "Nadia said you'd think that."

I froze.

"What?"

"She said that you'd always see me as less. That no matter what I did, I'd never be good enough for you."

My chest tightened. I pushed off the blanket and stood up, needing distance.

"So you're talking to Nadia about me now?" My voice wavered despite my best effort. "Since when?"

His expression faltered. "Since we have a kid together."

The words hit me like a slap.

Since we have a kid together.

Like that changed everything. Like he had a connection with her that I would never understand. Like I was temporary.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and turned toward the kitchen. "Antony is a great name, Harry. I think Nadia will love it."

I didn't give him a chance to respond. I grabbed my keys, my phone, and my jacket.

"Don't wait up. I'll be back in a while."

And then I walked out.

I don't know how long I drove or where I was even going.

My phone buzzed with a message.

Come back. I'm an asshole.
I'm sorry.
Don't let her win.

I ignored it.

Somehow, I found myself outside a café Harry and I used to visit. I parked, grabbed some change, and got a tea to calm my racing mind.

The fireplace flickered in the corner. I stared at it, my fingers tightening around my mug.

"Trouble in paradise?"

A familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"Mark?" I turned to see him smirking down at me.

He sat down beside me and leaned back. "Had a fight with long-haired tattoo boy?"

I rolled my eyes. "His name is Harry."

"Yeah, yeah. That one." He waved me off. "Well, whatever it was, it's your fault."

I frowned. "Excuse me?"

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Val. The way that guy looks at you? You don't even see it. But I do. I see the way he watches you like you're the only thing that matters."

My heart stilled.

"You're it for him, Val. So whatever happened, stop being stupid and go home."

He stood up, tossed some cash on the table, and walked away.

And I sat there, stunned.

I returned home and found Harry sitting on my bed, shirtless, his wet hair messy. He looked at me with so much guilt in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

I didn't answer. Instead, I walked straight toward him and crashed my lips to his.

We were not letting Nadia win.

Later that night, we had made up, our argument melting into something deeper, something raw.

We were wrapped up in each other, laughing at Rose's dramatic protests as we ate a late-night dinner.

Then, a knock on the door.

Harry groaned, letting go of me. "If that's my dad or Pete, just let them in."

I stood up, smoothing down my sweater, and opened the door.

And froze.

"Hello, Valerie dear."

My mother stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

My throat went dry.

Behind me, Harry's voice carried from the kitchen.

"Who is it, babe?"

I swallowed hard. 

"It's just her ignorant mother" my mom replied shutting the door behind her.