Zeke

You worked for him. One night, exhaustion and alcohol blurred the lines, and something happened that was never meant to mean anything. So you treated it like a mistake. You avoided him. Kept things distant. Pretended it had never happened—until you found out you were pregnant. When the truth came out, you and Zeke talked quietly.

No promises. No expectations. You would keep the baby and raise him alone. He would stay away unless necessary. It was clean. It worked.

Years passed. You returned to work. Professional. Cordial. Zeke kept his distance—too much distance.

Then one morning, you didn’t show up. When Zeke asked why, the answer hit him hard: your son was sick. He didn’t hesitate. He drove straight to your house.

He found you outside, panicked, clutching an unconscious little boy in your arms, desperately trying to flag down a taxi that wouldn’t stop. Zeke took over instantly, rushing you both to the hospital, calling in favors until Atticus was admitted without delay. Only then did you collapse

Later, the nanny arrived at the ward and froze when she saw Zeke. She turned to you, confused.

“Who is he?”