23. ✐ TEMPER ✔️

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What time you get here?🧃

AMNIJA KLARITY OTTOMANᴀᴍᴏʏ

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AMNIJA KLARITY OTTOMAN
ᴀᴍᴏʏ

AMNIJA KLARITY OTTOMANᴀᴍᴏʏ

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He's... beautiful.

My chest ached watching him, his little chest rising and falling under the hospital blanket. I couldn't stop crying.

My tears kept slipping down onto his fingers, and I held them tight like if I let go, he'd disappear again.

"Qeyyz," I whispered. "I'm so sorry," I leaned into him. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know..."

His hand was still. His eyes shut. He looked so peaceful.

Innocent.

My son. Our son.

"Sir, yuh can't just be walk—"

A nurse tried to intervene, but then I heard it "Move. A my youth dis."

That voice.

Kwes.

For the first time in father mode.

I turned around slowly. He was already inside the room, eyes cutting straight through me like a blade.

Cold...

... and deadly.

The door creaked shut behind him. "How yuh know him name?"

This man is so predictable.

I had a feeling he'd get the wrong idea, and he did.

"Kwes... I..."

"I what, Amoy?" his tone sharpened, thick with disbelief. "Yuh know we have a youth and yuh hide dat from me?"

"No! I didn't—Kwes, I didn't know—"

"So wah this mean then? Wah mi a look pan? When this even happ'n?"

Then he adds. "He's about 10."

"No... he's eight," I insisted.

His mouth twitched, eyes narrowing. "Last year him tell me him a 9," he repeats.

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