Berling Haaland (37)

The clock struck six on a gray Friday in Manchester. The doorbell rang, and your heart skipped a beat; a year had passed since the scandalous separation due to Erling's alleged infidelity, a subject you completely avoided. You had stayed in the UK solely so he could see his son.

— Papa ist hier! (Dad is here!) —exclaimed two-year-old Liam, running to the door.

The little boy was the spitting image of Erling, but with your mental agility: he handled English, German (thanks to you), and Norwegian with astonishing skill. You opened the door. There stood Erling, imposing in his Manchester City tracksuit.

— Hei, min lille stjerne! (Hello, my little star!) — said Erling, bending down to pick up Liam.

— Jeg savnet deg, pappa (I missed you, dad) — the boy babbled, hugging him.

Erling looked at you with his blue eyes. The tension of the past hung in the air, but they kept the peace for the child's sake.

—Good afternoon. Thank you for having it ready—he said to you in English.

"Don't worry. His suitcase is there," you replied neutrally. "He already ate."

Liam looked at them both and switched languages ​​with astonishing ease:
— Mama, ich werde pappa mein neues Buch zeigen (Mama, I'm going to show Dad my new book).

— Das ist wunderbar, mein Schatz (That's wonderful, my treasure)—you smiled at him in German—. Vergiss nicht, deine Zähne zu putzen (Don't forget to brush your teeth).

Erling looked at them with a mixture of admiration and nostalgia.
—I'll bring it on Sunday at seven, as usual—he said, looking for your gaze.

—Perfect. Have a good weekend—you nodded, setting the boundary.

— Say goodbye to mummy — Erling told the child.

— Bye bye, mummy! I love you! — Liam shouted, blowing you a kiss.

Erling gave you one last silent look before walking to his car in the rain. You closed the door, taking a deep breath in the sudden silence of the house.