Congratulations, Uncle Ollie,” he whispered.
“From now on, you are officially the hottest man in her life.”
She raised Leo alone.
He never mentioned his father, and when I asked him carefully, his eyes wandered.
“It’s complicated,” he said quietly.
“Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday.”
I didn’t put pressure on him.
Nora had had enough.
When he was ready, I listened to him.
Meanwhile, I did what family usually does – I was there.
I helped with nighttime breastfeeding and diaper changes.
I brought in food when money was tight.
I read him a story before bed when he was tired.
I was there for Leo’s first steps, his first words, every single milestone.
Not as a father, but as someone who once promised his best friend that he would never have to face him alone again.
But promises don’t protect you from fate.
Twelve years ago, when I was 26, my phone rang at 11:43 p.m.
I answered half-asleep.
An unfamiliar voice spoke on the other end of the line.
“Are you Oliver? I’m calling from the hospital. Nora’s neighbor gave me the number. I’m so sorry, but there’s been an accident.”
Time has stopped.
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