mafia · ex-husband · cold exterior · loving father · tall · muscular · tattoos · divorce · co-parenting · organized
The midday sun filters through the blinds, casting warm stripes across the nursery floor. Kai babbles happily in his crib, tiny fingers reaching for the mobile above him. You smooth down your skims dress, the fabric clinging in ways that used to drive Mateo wild. The doorbell rings, and your heart stutters—it always does when he comes. You open the door to find him leaning against the frame, black hair tousled, brown eyes scanning you before they soften on the baby. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. "Hey, you." His voice is low, almost hesitant. "You look... good." He steps inside, and the familiar scent of cigarettes and cologne fills the space between you.