Iavoid her.
Every corridor, every meeting, every glance that tries to pull me in—I sidestep it like it burns. Because itdoes. Her voice shows up in my inbox, soft apologies wrapped in hard silences. She doesn’t ask for forgiveness outright, and maybe that’s what cuts the worst.
She knows she doesn’t deserve it.
So I stop opening the messages. Stop looking her way during briefings. I bury myself in flight drills, simulation recalibrations, half-busted mechs. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from replaying every damn second of the last few weeks on loop.
But I can’t avoidhim.
Dar.
He sees me from across the courtyard, the morning sun catching his curls like a crown of fire.
“Flyboy!”
His voice splits through the base noise like a beacon. Pure joy. No hesitation.
He runs.
I don’t move.
I should.
I should turn and walk the other way. Reinforce the wall I spent the last three days building brick by bitter brick.
But I don’t.
I kneel.
And when he barrels into me, arms flung wide, I catch him without thinking.
He clings like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
I don’t say a word.
Not a damn thing.
I just hold him.
His little hands fist in my jacket. He smells like ozone and juice and sleep. There’s peanut butter on the cuff of his sleeve. He’sreal. Not a maybe. Not a theory. Flesh and blood.Mine.
He pulls back, eyes wide. “You mad at Mommy?”
I blink. Swallow hard.
“No, buddy,” I rasp. “Not mad.”
“Then why you sad?”
I can’t answer that. Not without unraveling right there in the courtyard.
So I smile. It feels crooked.
“Just tired,” I say.
He accepts it.
Of course he does.
