Max leaned his back against the dresser and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, a wide, uncontrollable grin spreading across his face. He began to laugh quietly to himself, the sound bouncing off the walls.
The possibility felt like a miracle. He was forty, a man who had spent most of his life building empires and fighting wars, and his longest, deepest wish had always been to hold a child of his own. He had tucked that dream away long ago, labeled it "impossible," and buried it under his responsibilities.
But now?
He leaned his head back against the wood and stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing. He was about to blow up a farmhouse. He was hunting a ghost in the shadows. And yet, here he was, wondering if he should be buying tiny shoes instead of more ammunition.
"A father," he murmured, the word feeling heavy and sacred on his tongue.
