Hospital corridors always have that distinctive smell—a mixture of disinfectant and coffee that feels both reassuring and unsettling. I sat on a hard plastic chair in the waiting area, holding a paper cup of long-cold coffee. It had been three days since that chaotic night, and I had barely left this place.

“Mom, when can Uncle Ethan come out?” Leo sat beside me, his little legs dangling over the edge of the chair, tightly clutching the silver compass. His black hair was slightly disheveled, his green eyes filled with anticipation and concern, an expression that made him look much older than his years.


“Soon, baby.” I gently stroked his black hair. “The doctor says his wound is healing well.”

Leo nodded, his small hand gently caressing the surface of the compass as if it were some precious talisman. Then he suddenly looked up, his eyes carrying a seriousness I’d never seen before: “Can I call him Daddy? Not just when it’s dangerous.”

My heart trembled slightly. Leo’s spontaneous “Daddy” that night had seemed so natural in the moment of crisis. But now, in the calm of everyday life, this title meant so much more.


“If you want to call him that, of course you can,” I answered softly. “But you need to know that our situation is a bit… complicated.”

“Because Grandpa is a bad person?” Leo asked bluntly, his eyes carrying that innocence and directness unique to children.


I sighed. A child’s world is always so straightforward—I didn’t know how to explain the complexities of the adult world to a five-year-old. Children’s worlds are always so clear-cut: good people and bad people, black and white, without the gray areas of the adult world.

“Things aren’t that simple, Leo,” I carefully chose my words. “William did some wrong things, but people sometimes make wrong choices for various reasons.”

“Ms. Reed?” A nurse approached. “Mr. Morgan can see visitors now.”

I stood up, taking Leo’s hand. “Come on, baby, let’s go see… Daddy.”

—

Ethan sat on the edge of the hospital bed, the bandage on his shoulder clearly visible. When we walked in, his eyes immediately brightened.

“Leo!” He smiled, extending his uninjured arm.

Leo hesitated for a moment, then ran forward, carefully hugging Ethan. “Are you feeling better… Daddy?”

That word froze the air in the room for an instant. Surprise flashed in Ethan’s eyes, followed by profound joy. He looked at me, as if seeking confirmation. I gave a slight nod.

“Yes, I’m much better,” Ethan’s voice was slightly choked. “Especially now that I see you both.”

Leo began excitedly recounting the events of the past few days—Sophie had taken him to the zoo, he’d found his favorite chocolate in the hospital vending machine, and how he’d shown his compass to all the nurses. His voice was full of energy as he gestured animatedly, describing every detail, completely unaware of the subtle atmosphere permeating the room.

“Leo,” I interrupted softly, “could you go to the nurses’ station and get me some water? I need to talk with your daddy about some things.”

Leo nodded, saying importantly: “Grown-up talk, I understand.” Then he bounced out of the room.

When the door closed, only the two of us and silence remained in the room.

“He called me Daddy,” Ethan finally broke the silence, his voice carrying an incredulous joy.

“He seems to have accepted this fact quite naturally.” I sat in the chair beside the bed, my fingers lightly stroking the armrest, avoiding his gaze. “Children’s adaptability is always surprising.”

“Olivia,” Ethan’s expression turned serious, “this morning, I submitted a comprehensive voluntary disclosure to the Financial Regulatory Authority, including all details I know about Morgan Group’s misconduct.”

I looked up in surprise, finally meeting his eyes. “You did what?”

“It was the right thing to do,” he said firmly, without a hint of wavering in his eyes. “I can’t condemn my father’s actions while continuing to benefit from them. I’ve proposed a comprehensive restitution plan, including compensation for all victims’ families.”

“The company will undergo a complete restructuring,” Ethan explained. “I’ve agreed to relinquish most of my control, bringing in an independent board and external oversight. As for me…” he paused, “I may face some legal consequences, but the prosecutors, considering my cooperation, should be lenient.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said softly. “The evidence primarily points to your father and Thompson. You could have distanced yourself.”

“And then what?” Ethan shook his head. “Continue running a company built on fraud and lies? I couldn’t face Leo that way. I can’t teach him honesty and integrity while evading responsibility myself.”

He reached out and took my hand. “I want to be a father Leo can look up to, someone worthy of your trust.”

“How is your father?” I asked, changing the subject, but not withdrawing my hand.

“Refusing to plead guilty, insisting everything was just business decisions.” Ethan’s expression grew complex. “His legal team is working full force. But with the evidence on the USB drive and Thompson’s testimony, he’ll have a hard time escaping punishment.”

“Does he know you’ve chosen to stand against him?” I asked softly, my fingers unconsciously returning his grip, offering silent support.

“He does.” Ethan’s voice was low, carrying a deep weariness. “He said I betrayed the family, betrayed all his efforts.”

“Do you regret it?” I asked the question that had been lingering in my mind, my voice almost a whisper.

Ethan looked out the window, sunlight falling on his profile, highlighting his resolute features. “I regret not discovering the truth sooner, regret missing five years of Leo’s life, regret not trying harder to find you.” He turned back, looking directly into my eyes. “But I don’t regret my decision now. Some things are more important than family, than the company, than wealth.”

Our gazes met in the air, and in that moment, all words seemed superfluous.

The door suddenly opened as Leo bounced in, holding a cup of water and a package of cookies, breaking the spell of the moment. “The nurse says you can have snacks now, Daddy!”

—

A week later, Ethan was discharged from the hospital. Media coverage of the Morgan Group scandal was everywhere, with William Morgan’s photo appearing in every headline. As a member of the Financial Crimes Investigation Unit, I was temporarily suspended pending an internal investigation.

We returned to my apartment, but it no longer felt safe. Although William was in custody, his influence still lingered. Every unfamiliar phone call, every footstep outside the door, made me extremely anxious.

“You can’t continue living here,” Sophie said bluntly during a visit. “At least not now. The media has already started probing into Leo’s identity.”

That very evening, Ethan made his suggestion.

“I have an apartment in Brooklyn,” he said, his voice carrying a careful tentativeness. “Not some conspicuous mansion, but a residence in a normal community with a comprehensive security system. You and Leo could stay there temporarily, until the storm passes.”

“Just as friends, Olivia,” he explained, as if reading my hesitation. “I know there’s still much to rebuild between us. But Leo needs both of us, and I want to be part of his daily life.”

There was a hint of pleading in his voice, a vulnerability that softened my heart. This former controller of a business empire now sat in my living room, asking for a chance to be part of his son’s life.

“I need to think about it,” I finally said. “This is a big decision.”

Ethan nodded in understanding, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes. He stood up, preparing to leave, his movements carrying a hint of fatigue and hurt.

As he walked toward the door, I suddenly spoke: “Ethan.”

He turned, hope gleaming in his eyes.

“I’ll consider it seriously,” I said, my voice gentler than I’d intended. “For Leo’s sake.”

—

The next day, as I was considering Ethan’s proposal, I received a disturbing text: a tabloid claimed to have exclusive news about a “hidden heir to the Morgan family.” The attached blurry photo, though Leo’s face wasn’t clear, showed his favorite dinosaur backpack.

My heart raced as my trembling fingers dialed Ethan’s number.

“We accept your proposal,” I said directly. “But I have conditions.”

“Any conditions,” he answered without hesitation, his voice filled with joy and concern I couldn’t ignore.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, giving myself courage: “We need clear boundaries. This is just a temporary arrangement, not representing… anything else. Leo and I will stay in the guest rooms, and we’ll maintain our separate spaces.”

The other end of the phone was silent for a moment, then came Ethan’s voice, gentle and respectful: “Of course,” his voice carried a hint of disappointment I couldn’t ignore. “I completely respect your decision.”

We moved into Ethan’s Brooklyn apartment that evening. It was a surprisingly cozy place—spacious but not luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows and wooden floors, abstract paintings hanging on the walls. To my surprise, Leo’s room was already prepared, with dinosaur stickers on the walls and shelves filled with children’s books.

“When did you prepare all this?” I asked in surprise.

“Last week,” Ethan admitted. “I hoped Leo would have a comfortable space, even if you decided not to move in.”

This small detail touched my heart, but I reminded myself to maintain distance. Our relationship was too complex, the wounds too deep to make decisions based on momentary impulses.

The first week of living together was filled with awkward silences and deliberate politeness. We moved carefully in the same space like two strangers, with Leo being our only common topic. Whenever we accidentally had more intimate interactions—fingers brushing while passing coffee, eyes meeting in the hallway—I would quickly retreat, building that invisible wall.

One evening, after Leo had fallen asleep, I found Ethan in the kitchen reviewing some documents.

“What’s this?” I asked curiously, unconsciously drawn to his concentration.

“Victim compensation plan.” He looked up at me. “I want to ensure every family harmed by my father’s actions receives fair treatment, including your parents’ colleagues and students.”

I sat across from him. “You don’t have to take responsibility for your father’s actions, Ethan.”

“I know,” he closed the file. “But I want to do what’s right. Not just for redemption, but for rebuilding. The Morgan name once stood for fraud and greed; I hope it can represent restoration and justice.”

We sat quietly for a while, with only the ticking of the clock in the kitchen.

“Leo asked me today,” I finally said, “why we don’t live together like other families. He said since you’re his daddy and I’m his mommy, we should be like the families on TV.”

Ethan’s expression softened. “How did you answer?”

“I told him sometimes grown-up matters are complicated and need time to resolve,” I said softly. “But I also told him that regardless of our arrangements, we both love him and will always be there for him.”

“That’s true,” Ethan said earnestly, then hesitated before gently extending his fingers to cover mine. “Olivia, I know there’s too much hurt and misunderstanding between us that needs resolving. I don’t expect everything to immediately return to how it was. But I want you to know, I never stopped loving you.”

“We need time, Ethan.” I stood up, feeling a wave of panic. “Not just for ourselves, but for Leo. He’s just gained a father; I don’t want him to experience more changes and uncertainty.”

His words were like a pebble dropped into a still lake, creating ripples upon ripples. My heart raced, a long-absent warmth spreading in my chest. But at the same time, fear and uncertainty followed like shadows.