"Regret doesn't weigh much—until the day you watch the one you hurt smile for someone else, and realize the heaviness was always yours to carry."
*****
(Brayden's POV)
I used to think parents who worried too much about their children were just being dramatic.
I used to roll my eyes when I saw how they panicked over the smallest things—as if the world was ending just because their kid scraped a knee or didn't reply to a message for a few hours.
But now… I understand.
That kind of worry isn't exaggeration—it's love.
Love that fears losing.
Love that trembles at the thought of causing pain.
I realized it one afternoon—staring at a little girl who had eyes like mine. A girl I had never hugged.
And I only realized that after I became a father myself—
even if I never truly got the chance to be one.
Now I know that being a parent isn't just about giving a name, or providing a living, or posing in family photos for the world to see.
It's about having a piece of your heart walking around outside your body.
A piece that laughs, cries, falls, gets back up—while you stand helplessly in the background, praying they'll always be okay.
And that piece, no matter how small… can drive you insane with fear of losing it.
I see it every time Brianna looks at Ella.
The worry. The gentleness. The kind of love that bleeds quietly through silence.
And watching that—watching them—tears me apart in ways I can't even put into words.
Because I wasn't there.
I wasn't by their side when Brianna struggled alone, when Ella grew up not knowing who her father was.
I missed every first word, every first step, every small miracle a father should have witnessed.
Every time I think about that, guilt claws at me, merging with the regret that's already carved itself into my chest.
I want to make things right now.
I want to give Ella a complete family.
I want her to grow up knowing she's loved—not just by her mother, but by me too.
I don't want her to grow up like I did—
with an empty seat at the dinner table, and a silence that pretends to be peace.
Because I know what that kind of emptiness does to a person.
It doesn't just make you lonely—it shapes you. It turns your heart into something that's always searching for what it lost.
And I can't—won't—let Ella live that way.
*****
During my lunch break, I decided to stop by the foundation.
It had been a day since I last saw Ella—after the fainting incident when I helped Brianna bring her home.
I hadn't heard from either of them since, and honestly, the silence bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
It followed me everywhere—into board meetings, through phone calls, even during lunch.
No matter how hard I tried to focus, I kept seeing her face, that tiny hand clutching Brianna's sleeve as she fell unconscious.
I thought about calling Brianna.
But something stopped me.
Maybe pride. Maybe fear.
Or maybe it was the quiet understanding that she needed space—something I'd never learned to give before.
So instead, I drove to the foundation. Sometimes, seeing things with your own eyes was the only way to silence your thoughts.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the familiar building.
The afternoon sun hit the glass walls, scattering light across the pavement. For a moment, I stood there—hands in pockets, unsure if I even had the right to walk in.
Then I saw Anya coming out. She blinked in surprise before smiling politely.
For a second, I almost turned away. Part of me still believed I had no right to stand here—to claim what I'd once thrown away.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Brayden. Do you need something from Mrs. Brianna?"
I shook my head lightly. "No. I just wanted to see Ella."
Her expression softened—surprised, but kind.
"Oh… Ella's a lovely child. I can see why you'd want to visit her."
I only nodded. No one here knew who I really was—not yet. And maybe that was a good thing.
"But I'm afraid Ella hasn't come back from school yet," she added.
I frowned. "Not yet? Isn't it about time?"
"She should've been back by now," Anya said carefully. "But Mrs. Brianna said she'd pick her up herself today.
Though she called me earlier—something urgent came up, so she asked me to get Ella instead."
For a brief second, silence hung between us.
Then I said, "How about I pick her up instead?"
Anya hesitated—understandably. A strange man volunteering to pick up a child wasn't something to take lightly.
So I added, calmly, "You can trust me. I won't take her anywhere else. I just want to make sure she gets home safely.
Besides…" I paused, meeting her gaze. "Do you know where Brianna is right now?"
"She's at her restaurant," Anya said softly.
"Alright," I replied. "I'll pick Ella up. Please let Brianna know I already did."
Before she could protest, I turned and headed back to my car.
My watch showed Ella's dismissal time had passed over an hour ago.
My heart thumped fast.
*****
The schoolyard was nearly empty when I arrived.
The faint echoes of children's laughter had faded, replaced by the quiet hum of cicadas in the late afternoon.
Only one security guard remained near the gate, leaning against the wall.
I walked closer, about to ask him something—when I heard a familiar voice.
"Uncle!"
I turned.
And there she was—a small girl with two neat braids and the brightest eyes I'd ever seen.
Ella ran toward me, her backpack bouncing with each step.
That smile—God, that smile—nearly stopped my heart.
"Uncle, what are you doing here?" she asked, tilting her head.
I crouched down, smiling. "I came to pick you up."
Her eyes widened. "Pick me up?"
I nodded. "Your mommy had something urgent to do, so she asked me to come instead. Is that okay?"
Her expression dimmed slightly.
"It's always like that," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "I waited a long time, but Mommy never came."
There was a tremor in her voice that made my throat tighten.
It wasn't just disappointment—it was a quiet loneliness, the kind that children shouldn't have to carry.
"Hey," I said softly. "Don't be sad, okay? Maybe Mommy really had something important.
But how about this—I treat you to some ice cream, and you tell me all about your day?"
Her eyes lit up instantly. "Really? Mommy won't be mad?"
"She won't," I promised. "I'll explain everything to her."
She grinned and reached for my hand, her tiny fingers curling around mine with trust that felt like a gift I didn't deserve.
"Let's get ice cream, Uncle!"
I chuckled, the sound coming out softer than I intended. "Let's go."
Before we left, I made sure to tell the guard where we were headed.
Then we walked hand in hand toward the car.
Her palm was small and warm.
Something about that simple contact made my chest ache—in the best and worst way.
Maybe this was what I'd been missing all along.
Maybe this was what it truly meant to be a father.
And for the first time in years, I wished time could freeze—not for me, but for her.
*****
After the ice cream, I drove Ella to Brianna's restaurant.
The road stretched quiet under the golden afternoon sky.
Ella talked the whole way—about school, her friends, the silly joke her teacher told, the paper flower she wanted to make for her "big wish."
I didn't interrupt once. I just listened, occasionally glancing through the rearview mirror to catch her smile.
Normally, I couldn't stand people who talked too much.
But with her… I didn't mind at all.
Because every word reminded me that she was real.
My daughter.
When we finally reached the restaurant, I parked and stepped out with a strange calm in my chest.
Ella still held my hand as we walked in.
The place was warm and bustling—the smell of spices and laughter blending in the air.
And then… I saw her.
Brianna.
She was sitting with a man.
And she was laughing.
That sound—her laughter—once used to make my day brighter.
Now it cut through me like glass.
My hands clenched before I even realized.
So this was the "urgent matter" that kept her from picking up her daughter?
Ella's hand slipped from mine as she spotted her mother.
"Mommy!" she called, running toward her.
Both Brianna and the man turned, startled.
I followed slowly—each step heavier than the last.
She froze. His words cut deep—not because they were wrong, but because they were everything she once wished to hear… seven years too late.
When I reached the table, I finally saw the man's face clearly.
Recognition hit instantly.
It was him—the same one I'd seen before, too close to her, too comfortable.
A heat burned in my chest, a mix of jealousy and pain that had nowhere to go.
"So this is the urgent matter you were talking about," I said quietly, my tone sharp enough to slice through the air.
"You couldn't even pick up your own daughter because of this?"
Brianna froze, eyes widening. The man shifted uncomfortably.
But I didn't care.
Because this wasn't just about Ella.
This was about everything I'd buried for years.
The anger. The loss. The regret.
It was about watching the woman who once begged me to stay—
now smiling beside someone else.
And maybe that was the cruelest punishment of all—
to realize regret doesn't just haunt you.
It grows faces.
It laughs beside someone else.
And in that silence, I finally understood—
some mistakes don't fade; they live in the smiles that no longer belong to you.