Chapter 4 - A LITTLE BOY NAMED OLIVER
Oliver wanted to know everything about his father.
It began with the obvious questions.
“Is Daddy tall because he eats vegetables?”
Alexander looked at me.
I looked at Alexander.
Then he answered solemnly.
“Mostly genetics.”
Oliver frowned.
“What's genetics?”
“Something your mother can explain better.”
I nearly smiled.
Nearly.
We met at a children's museum.
Public place.
My choice.
Alexander arrived without his usual entourage hovering nearby.
He wore jeans and a dark sweater.
Oliver studied him suspiciously.
“Are you a king?”
Alexander blinked.
“No.”
“Mommy says you have a big house.”
“I do.”
“And lots of cars.”
“Yes.”
Oliver considered this.
“Then you're probably a king.”
Alexander smiled.
A real smile.
It transformed his face.
I looked away.
They spent two hours building a model bridge.
Alexander let Oliver decide where every piece belonged.
When the structure collapsed, Oliver gasped.
Alexander crouched beside him.
“Want to try again?”
Oliver nodded.
They rebuilt it.
And I stood several feet away, watching the man I'd once believed incapable of tenderness patiently explain how support beams worked to a four-year-old.
My chest ached.
Because this was the father Oliver deserved.
And because I still didn't know whether Alexander could become that man consistently.
When it was time to leave, Oliver hugged him.
Alexander froze.
Then slowly wrapped his arms around our son.
“See you tomorrow, Daddy?”
Alexander looked at me.
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered.
May you like
Oliver smiled.
And Alexander Moretti, the man whose name could silence an entire room, looked as though someone had handed him the world.
