Sebastian's POV
The house was quiet after Rain left.
Too quiet.
Ray had taken Mom to the kitchen. I'd heard the kettle start—her comfort ritual. Tea always came before words. I sat on the stairs for a while, staring at the door, wondering what would've happened if we had let him stay. If I had asked questions.
But I didn't need answers from him.
I needed them from her.
Eventually, I walked into the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the table, wrapped in Ray's hoodie like she always was when she needed comfort. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, fingers curled around a mug of jasmine tea. She looked so small.
Ray gave me a look—gentle, protective. Then he patted my shoulder and left us alone.
I sat down across from her. She didn't look up, just swirled the tea around like it could erase time.
"I didn't know how to tell you," she whispered finally.
I didn't speak. Just waited.
She looked up. Eyes red. "I was fifteen. When I found out I was pregnant, he… he changed. Like I was a curse. Like I had ruined his life."
She took a shaky breath. "He didn't yell. He didn't hit. He just… disappeared. Walked out of the hospital the day I had you. Never came back."
My chest ached. I knew parts of it. Had filled in gaps over time. But hearing it—hearing how alone she had been?
"You didn't deserve that," I said softly.
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Neither did you."
Silence.
Then, I reached across the table and took her hand. "But I had you. And Ray."
Her lip trembled. "You don't hate me? For not telling you everything?"
I shook my head. "Never. You did everything. You were everything."
She broke. Not loudly—just soft, silent tears that slipped down her cheeks while she squeezed my hand like she was afraid I'd vanish.
I didn't let go.
---
Later that night, I found Ray in the backyard.
He was leaning against the railing, hoodie pulled up, one hand in his pocket. The stars were out. California air warm and a little sticky.
I stood next to him. Neither of us said anything for a while.
Then I asked, "When did you know?"
He glanced at me.
"That she loved you."
His eyes didn't move from the sky. "Always. Even when she didn't."
I nodded slowly. "You love her too."
It wasn't a question. He didn't deny it.
"I'm not your father," he said, finally looking at me.
"I know," I replied. "But you're the one who stayed."
His jaw tensed. His voice was quiet. "She called me. From London. I didn't ask questions. I just came home. She was holding you. Crying. You had a fever. I thought—" He stopped, exhaled. "I've never been more scared."
He looked at me again.
"I'm not perfect. I don't always know how to say it. But I've always been here, Sebastian. I always will be."
And for the first time in my life, I hugged him.
He froze for a second—like he wasn't used to it. Then his hand came up and patted my back awkwardly.
"Okay, alright," he muttered, but he didn't pull away.
I pulled back. "You're really bad at emotions."
He smirked. "You're really bad at punching people who deserve it."
I laughed. "Next time, I'll let you do it."
"Damn right you will."