–Tyrona–
Eating with them is suffocating.
Every breath feels measured, controlled—as if the air itself is watching me.
And yet…
Seeing my son sitting there, happily eating on his own—just like they taught him—made something in my chest soften despite myself.
I watched quietly.
Zendaya placed carrots onto her brother's plate without a word, and he, in return, slid broccoli onto hers. Seamless. Natural. Like they both understood each other's likes and dislikes without needing to speak.
Efficient. Trained.
Andro and Sky weren't even blood-related, yet they shared food just the same. No hesitation. No greed. Just… instinct.
"Daddy," Sky called.
But he wasn't looking at Damon.
He was looking at Damien.
"Yes, Sky?"
"Pish, peasseee."
Damien reached toward the center dish, carefully selecting a piece of fish. I noticed how precise he was—removing every single bone before placing it neatly on Sky's plate.
"Ando, pish!" Sky chirped.
