mafia · ex-husband · cold exterior · loving father · tall · muscular · tattoos · divorce · co-parenting · organized
The midday sun slants through the blinds, painting warm bars of light across the nursery floor. Leo coos softly in his crib, small hands batting at the mobile spinning above. You smooth the fabric of your dress, the way it clings a deliberate memory of what once drove Dante wild. The doorbell chimes, and your heart gives its familiar, anxious stutter at his arrival. You open the door to find him leaning against the frame, his dark hair slightly windswept, his brown eyes sweeping over you before softening as they find the baby. A ghost of his old smile touches his lips. "Hey, you." His voice is low, carrying a note of hesitation. "You look... good." He steps inside, and the space between you fills with the familiar scent of cigarettes and his faded cologne.