Chapter 8 - The Weight of a Name
The crisp mountain air of the Adirondacks offered no refuge from the cold reality waiting downstairs.
Gabriel stood at the top of the wooden staircase, his boots clicking softly against the pine steps as he approached the loft. The three boys stood in a tight huddle near the railing, their gray-green eyes wide, cautious, and unmistakably his.
Leo clutched his paper airplane so tightly the edges were frayed. Julian hid half behind his twin, while Samuel, the eldest by two minutes, crossed his small arms over his chest with a defensive scowl that mirrored Gabriel’s own expression during a hostile negotiation.
“Hey,” Gabriel said softly, stopping five feet away. He crouched down so he was at their eye level, keeping his hands empty and visible. “I know I’m a stranger to you. But I’m not here to hurt you. I’m never letting anyone hurt you.”
Samuel narrowed his eyes. “Mom said you were busy. She said you had a big empire and didn't have room for us.”
The words struck Gabriel harder than any bullet or knife blade ever had. He swallowed hard, the sharp taste of regret burning the back of his throat.
“Your mother was right about a lot of things,” Gabriel replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I was a fool. I chased things that didn't matter, and I missed the only things that did. But I’m here now. And if you’ll give me a chance, I want to learn how to be your father.”
Leo stared at Gabriel for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, the five-year-old stepped forward, dropped his paper airplane onto the floorboards, and poked Gabriel’s chest with a small index finger.
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“Can you build a bigger airplane?” Leo asked seriously. “One that actually flies out the window?”
A genuine, breathless laugh escaped Gabriel’s lips—the first real laugh he had felt in five years. He reached out, scooped Leo into his arms, and stood up, pulling Julian and Samuel close against his sides as Claire walked up the stairs to join them.
