I let out a humorless chuckle. “No, not bad,” I said softly, stepping closer. “Not bad at all. I was just telling him that we’re going to separate.”
Livia’s lips parted, color draining from her face. “W-What?”
I tilted my head, a slow, quiet smile on my lips. “So go ahead. Have dinner with him. Maybe even comfort him the way you used to.”
“Breakfast, Mommy,” my little boy Adrian chirped, setting the tray down carefully on the bed. A tiny pancake, a glass of milk, and that radiant smile that always melted my defenses. “Daddy says he’s sorry. Please forgive him.”
My chest tightened. He climbed onto the bed gingerly, wriggling into the small space beside me, his sticky little hand finding mine. “Please, Mommy,” he whispered, eyes wide with innocence and trust. “Daddy said he’s sorry for taking your things. He promises to be better, to stop.”
I glanced toward Sebastian, lingering in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. That practiced, contrite expression—so precise it seemed more suited for a theater stage than real life—was his go-to when he wanted forgiveness.
“Adrian,” he urged, his voice soft but insistent, “say it again. Tell Mommy you forgive Daddy.”