Chapter 10 - LEO ASKED ME IF I WAS HIS DAD AND I GAVE HIM THE ONLY ANSWER I COULD
Two years after Leo crawled to my gate, he asked the question.
He was eight.
Maya was five.
Rebecca had lost all parental rights after conviction and related family-court findings.
Ethan remained their father legally and emotionally.
I remained guardian.
We had never needed another word.
Until Father’s Day.
Leo’s class made cards.
He came home carrying one inside his backpack.
Did not give it to me.
I noticed.
Said nothing.
At dinner, Maya handed me a glitter-covered paper.
“HAPPY DAD UNCLE DAY.”
I laughed.
“Very specific holiday.”
She climbed into my lap.
“You dad uncle.”
Leo looked down.
I saw it.
Something bothered him.
Later, I found him in Ethan’s old room.
We kept one.
Not shrine.
Photos.
Some clothes.
A watch.
Children could visit whenever.
Leo sat on the floor holding a picture of Ethan.
“What’s wrong?”
He shrugged.
I sat.
No interrogation.
Eventually:
“Can I have two dads?”
My throat tightened.
“You can have whatever words feel right.”
He looked at me.
“Daddy Ethan dead.”
“Yes.”
“You here.”
“Yes.”
“Teacher says dad is person raises you.”
“Sometimes.”
“Then you dad?”
Dangerous.
Beautiful.
I thought carefully.
“I will never replace Ethan.”
Leo frowned.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to.”
“He is your father.”
“He loved you.”
“He chose your name.”
“He taught you to throw a baseball badly.”
Leo smiled.
“He bad.”
“Terrible.”
Then I continued.
“But if you want to call me Dad someday, I would be honored.”
His eyes filled.
“You want?”
“Yes.”
“Uncle Thomas okay too?”
“Always.”
He nodded.
Then:
“Maybe both.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Our family complicated.”
Fair.
He hugged me.
I did not cry until later.
Alone.
Like a respectable mafia boss turned boring businessman.
Maya heard him call me Dad-Uncle once and immediately adopted it.
“Dad-Uncle Thomas.”
I hated it.
They loved that.
Meanwhile, adoption became a legal question.
Rebecca’s rights terminated.
Ethan dead.
I could petition to adopt.
Would that erase Ethan?
No.
Legally, adoption would establish me as parent.
Emotionally, we could preserve everything.
Still, I hesitated.
Ethan asked me to protect them.
Not become him.
Dana, who remained loosely involved through services, asked:
“What do the children want?”
“Leo wants my last name added.”
“What does Maya want?”
“Purple cake.”
“For adoption?”
“Yes.”
“Reasonable.”
We met with a child attorney.
Explained.
Leo asked:
“If Thomas adopts, Daddy Ethan gone?”
“No.”
“Picture stays?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“You can choose.”
He thought.
“I want Leo Ethan Moretti.”
My throat closed.
His middle name was already Ethan.
Then:
“Same.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Maya wanted Maya Rose Moretti.
Already her name.
Apparently legal proceedings were underwhelming.
The adoption hearing was small.
Judge Park again.
She looked older.
So did I.
Leo stood beside me.
Maya held my hand.
Judge Park asked:
“Why do you want Thomas to adopt you?”
Leo answered:
“Because he stays.”
That was it.
Not money.
Not protection.
Not mafia.
He stays.
Maya answered:
“He makes pancakes.”
I did not make pancakes well.
Lie under oath.
Judge Park smiled.
Then looked at me.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Yes?”
“You understand adoption creates permanent parental obligations.”
“Yes.”
“Not guardianship.”
“Not temporary rescue.”
“Yes.”
“Are you prepared?”
I thought of the gate.
Broken leg.
Filthy shirt.
Please don’t make us go back.
“Yes.”
The judge signed.
No fireworks.
No press.
Family.
Afterward, we visited Ethan.
Leo carried the adoption papers.
He placed a copy near the grave marker.
“Daddy.”
I nearly stopped him.
Paper would blow.
Then let it.
He said:
“Thomas dad too.”
Wind moved.
Maya placed purple flowers.
“Two dads.”
I stood behind them.
Leo turned.
“Say something.”
Again.
Always.
I approached.
“Ethan.”
My voice cracked.
“I hope this is okay.”
I laughed softly.
“You’d probably tell me I’m doing everything wrong.”
“Bedtimes.”
“Schools.”
“Too much security.”
“Not enough vegetables.”
Leo whispered:
“True.”
I glared.
Then continued.
“I’m not replacing you.”
“I’m keeping the seat warm in a different way.”
“However long I get.”
My eyes filled.
“And I love them.”
I looked at both children.
“More than I knew I could.”
We stayed until sunset.
At home, a surprise waited.
Antonio, Elena, Dana, Santos, teachers, therapists, friends.
Small party.
Maya got purple cake.
Of course.
Leo received a framed photograph.
Ethan holding him as a baby.
Me standing beside them.
Three Morettis.
Leo stared.
“Where from?”
Elena smiled.
“Your dad’s old phone backup.”
I had never seen it.
Ethan was laughing.
I looked younger.
Less tired.
Less careful.
Leo touched the glass.
“Both dads.”
My throat closed.
“Yes.”
That evening, after everyone left, Leo sat beside me.
“Dad?”
First time without Uncle.
I froze.
He grinned.
“You heard.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he asked for ice cream.
Manipulative child.
I got it.
Maya appeared.
“Dad!”
I nearly dropped the bowl.
She laughed.
They had planned this.
Children are criminals.
Apparently heredity.
But something inside me healed in that kitchen.
Not because they gave me a title.
Because the title came after years of showing up.
No fear could force it.
No money buy it.
No court manufacture it.
Dad.
One word.
Earned in ordinary mornings.
Hospital nights.
Therapy.
Bad pancakes.
Hall lights.
Listening.
Staying.
May you like
The most feared man in Austin had spent decades building a name people whispered.
Then two children gave him one he valued more.
