Chapter 5 ANDRE

The bell above the bakery door chimed as I stepped out, a warm brown paper bag in my hand-two loaves of fresh bread and six doughnuts nestled inside. The sun hung low, casting long shadows that stretched across the pavement like reaching fingers.

But I wasn't thinking about the sun. Or the bread. Or even the doughnuts.

I was thinking about that boy.

Inside, he had looked up at me through a curtain of messy curls and thick lashes-his small face full of curiosity. For a split second-barely even that-it felt like I was staring into a mirror from a time long gone.

I had frozen.

He tilted his head, puzzled by my stare, until someone nudged him gently forward. He turned, giggled, and skipped away like nothing happened.

But I couldn't move.

He looked like me. Not just a little. Like... me.

I stood on the sidewalk, trying to breathe past the strange, slow burn crawling through my chest when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I didn't want to answer. Not yet.

But Michael never called twice unless it was urgent.

"What?" I answered, voice low and distant.

"Where are you?" Michael sounded out of breath. "She's going into labor. Now."

I blinked. "Wait-what? I thought she already had the baby."

"For God's sake, Andre-no! The contractions hit fast. They need someone to grab her cravings-the bread, the doughnuts... I told Anna you were already at the bakery."

I glanced down at the bag in my hand. Destiny had a strange way of showing off.

"I'm on my way," I said, already turning on my heel.

My steps lengthened as I made for the car, focus sharpening, breath quickening. But just before I opened the door, I looked back through the bakery window one last time.

He was still there-laughing. A smudge of jam on his cheek.

I swallowed hard.

It's not possible. Just a coincidence, I told myself.

I opened the car door, slid in, and drove off-still haunted, still unsure, completely unaware I had just stared into the eyes of my own son.

The hospital waiting room buzzed with quiet excitement. Michael's family was gathered-his mother, aunts, even little Penelope clinging to her grandmother's leg.

Michael paced in front of us, eyes wet with joy.

"I'm about to be a dad again," he whispered, voice cracking. Then he disappeared into the delivery room.

That's when it hit me.

I smiled, but something inside twisted-tight, hollow.

They say the first cry of a newborn is a miracle. But as the sound echoed down the corridor, I realized I had no idea what that miracle felt like. It stirred something in me-a door I thought I'd locked tight creaking open with the weight of a longing I never named.

The room smelled like antiseptic and fresh beginnings.

The baby was tiny, swaddled in pale blankets, her fists curled in like secrets. Michael looked exhausted but proud, his grin wider than the sky.

"Come here," he called, voice thick with emotion. "Meet my daughter. Trinity."

I stepped forward, eyes locked on her delicate face. Something shifted-quietly, painfully. An ache that didn't scream, but lingered in silence.

Anna rested in the hospital bed, flushed from birth but radiant in a way only new mothers are.

"Congratulations," I said, my voice softer than usual. "You still look stunning, by the way."

She gave a tired laugh. "Andre, I look like I fought a lion."

"And won," I smiled. "You brought life into the world. That's power."

Michael rocked Trinity gently in his arms, then extended her toward me.

"Here. Hold her."

I hesitated-then took her.

She was warm. Fragile. A bundle of breath and trust. She curled her tiny fingers around mine like she'd been waiting.

Something cracked open in me.

She fit so perfectly in my arms, like she belonged there. Like I'd missed this my whole life.

I smiled, but the ache behind it told a different story.

I had held power. Women. Success. But never this. Never something this... real.

I glanced at Trinity's tiny features and wondered-what if Sandra never lost our babies? Would I have known this joy?

Michael was at the corner filling out her birth certificate, his face glowing with pride.

What kind of father would I have been?

A nurse passed by, then doubled back to me, smiling.

"Do you have a baby here too?"

I chuckled. "No."

But her gaze lingered-like something about me seemed familiar.

The door to the hospital room creaked open slowly at first, then swung wider as Michael's parents stepped inside, their faces lit with anticipation. His mother gasped the moment she laid eyes on the tiny bundle in Anna's arms.

"Oh, she's perfect!" she whispered, pressing both hands to her chest as tears brimmed in her eyes. She moved closer with the careful steps of someone approaching something sacred. "Michael, she looks just like you did when you were born."

Michael beamed, pride radiating off him like a second skin. "Mom, meet Trinity."

His father clapped a firm hand on Michael's shoulder, the corners of his mouth twitching with a rare smile. "Well done, son. She's a beauty."

Just behind them, Anna's family entered in a small, cheerful wave-her mother in front, already reaching for the baby with trembling fingers.

"Let me see my granddaughter," she said breathlessly. Her eyes softened the second she saw Trinity's tiny face, wrapped in pale blue and pink. "Oh, my goodness... she's a dream."

"She has Anna's mouth," one of her cousins chimed in.

"No, no," her sister said, laughing gently. "That's Michael's stubborn little chin right there."

The room buzzed with affection-low gasps, soft laughter, and the sound of camera shutters clicking. Someone brought in a balloon that read "It's a girl!" and another relative handed over a plush pink elephant that made a crinkling noise when squeezed.

Anna, lying against the pillows, glowed with a tired pride. Her cheeks were still flushed, her hair a little messy, but she looked... complete. Whole. A soft smile danced on her lips as she watched their two families merge into a sea of celebration.

I stood off to the side, hands in my pockets, watching it all unfold like a scene from someone else's life.

There was so much joy in the room. So much warmth.

Michael caught my eye and gave me a grin that said this-this was everything he'd hoped for.

I nodded quietly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, even as something tugged deeper in my chest.

In that moment, surrounded by laughter, happy tears, and the innocent coos aimed at a newborn, I realized something:

This wasn't just a celebration of new life.

It was a reminder of what it meant to be surrounded by love-and what it meant to long for something you never knew you were missing... until you saw it in someone else's arms.

Later, I drove home alone. Rain tapped steadily against the windshield, the city blurred behind a wet sheen.

At a red light, I saw a man carrying his child across the street, both of them laughing in the rain.

My hands tightened on the wheel.

Not out of jealousy. But grief-for something I had convinced myself I might never have.

Some men leave legacies in boardrooms. Others leave theirs in lullabies.

I had one... but not the other.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure which one truly mattered more.