Fatima's POV
Father's Day – Texas
There was something about waking up in Texas that felt slower. Maybe it was the stillness of Aunt Mae's house early in the morning or the way the birds chirped like they were rehearsing for Sunday service. Either way, I knew today was going to be special. It was Zac's first Father's Day with full custody of Kolby, and even though we weren't home, I wasn't letting the day go by like it was just another Sunday.
Kolby had crawled into bed with me before the sun was even up. She curled right under my bump like it was the world's softest pillow and whispered, "Mommy, can we give Daddy his sur-pise now?"
I smiled. "Not yet, baby. Let Daddy sleep a little longer, okay?"
She nodded, eyes wide, holding her tiny index finger up to her lips. "Shhhh..."
We had been planning this for weeks—well, I had. Kolby was mostly in charge of glitter, chaos, and deciding which crayon to use. I packed the handmade card she colored with help from Serena, and I made sure to tuck Zac's gift deep in my suitcase, even though the TSA lady side-eyed me when she saw a wrapped box next to a bunch of prenatal vitamins.
We waited until after breakfast. Aunt Mae made biscuits from scratch, and Kolby—who apparently forgot how to use utensils—insisted on feeding Zac pieces of bacon like he was the baby. He didn't even mind. He just sat there, shirtless and sleepy-eyed, grinning like he hadn't just been ambushed by our daughter's sticky fingers and syrup breath.
"Okay, Peanut," I said after I wiped her hands clean. "You ready?"
She ran off down the hallway, barefoot and squealing, and came back holding the card and box like it was the winning lottery ticket. "HAPPY FADDERS DAY!" she yelled, handing Zac the card first.
He opened it and immediately laughed at the crayon scribbles inside—Kolby had drawn what looked like him, her, and the baby in my belly... except the baby had a crown and was labeled "Boss Baby."
"She said that one's you," I said, pointing to the lopsided crown.
Zac looked at her, then at me. "So I'm not even the boss of the baby?"
"Nope," I said. "Welcome to girl dad life."
He opened the box next and pulled out the vintage black leather watch I found after he mentioned losing his grandfather's old one when he was younger. I had it engraved on the back:
"Time is precious, and so are you to us. – T & K"
His jaw clenched just slightly, like he was holding something in, and he leaned back in his chair, blinking away the emotion. "Y'all tryna make a thug cry before noon?"
Kolby climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I lub you, Daddy."
"I love you more, Peanut," he whispered back, kissing her forehead.
He looked over at me, and even without words, I knew what he was saying. Thank you. Not just for the watch. But for this life we were building—for the daughter I didn't birth but loved like my own, and for the little one on the way who hadn't even made it Earth-side yet but already had his whole heart.
"Thank you for being her dad," I said softly, my hand resting on my stomach. "And thank you for choosing us, every single day."
He stood up, walked over, and pulled me into him, Kolby still on his hip. "Y'all are the best thing to ever happen to me."
And in that moment—sweatpants, bedhead, and all—he didn't look like a man worried about scripts or court cases or exes with too much internet access. He looked like a dad. A protector. A provider. A man completely at peace in the love he'd built around him.
And I thanked God for giving my daughters a father worth celebrating.
The afternoon sun was heavy and slow, spilling through the porch screen like honey. Aunt Mae was sitting in her favorite rocking chair, the same one Zac said had been there since he was a boy. Kolby was inside napping after running around all morning, and Zac had gone to the store with his cousins. It was just me and her, a pitcher of sweet tea, and the sound of summer buzzing around us.
"You look tired, baby," Aunt Mae said, her eyes never leaving the yard. "But it ain't just the pregnancy wearin' on you, is it?"
I smiled softly. "No ma'am. It's a lot—work, being a mom, the spotlight... just life."
She nodded knowingly. "Well, life don't get easier, it just gets different. But you... you doin' just fine."
There was a long pause before she turned to face me, rocking slowly. "Takes a real woman to love a child that's not her own. But it takes a real man to know that woman loves that child, and not let nothin' or nobody make her feel like she ain't her mama too."
My eyes stung a little, because she said it like she'd seen it all before. Like this kind of love—the patchwork, messy, miraculous kind—wasn't new to her.
"You and that boy?" she continued. "Y'all got somethin' real. That man look at you like God gave him a second chance. And don't let no outside noise make you forget who you are to that baby girl—or who you are to him."
I nodded, blinking fast. "Yes, ma'am."
Aunt Mae reached over and patted my hand. "Now go lay down before you swell up like a watermelon. You got a man worth loving, and a baby on the way. That's blessing enough for today."
...
Later that night, Kolby was asleep in her little travel bed and the house was quiet, except for the soft hum of a box fan blowing in the hallway. Zac was lying back on the guest bed in just a T-shirt and shorts, scrolling through something on his phone. I walked in, wearing his favorite silk robe—the one I know he likes because he always tugs the belt loose like it's a reflex.
"Hey," I said, leaning in the doorway.
He looked up, grinning. "Hey, my wife."
"You keep calling me that like it's legal," I smirked, walking over to the bed. "Close enough."
I sat beside him and pulled a small wrapped box from the nightstand drawer.
"What's this?" he asked.
"My gift to you. Just from me."
He sat up and unwrapped it slowly. Inside was a framed photo—a candid shot from a few weeks back. He was holding Kolby on his hip, and I was sitting next to them, mid-laugh, with my hand on his chest and his hand resting on my bump. Someone had captured it on set, and I had printed it in black and white, with a small gold engraving at the bottom that read:
"Everything we are. Everything we're becoming."
Zac stared at it for a long time. He didn't say anything right away. Just traced his thumb over the edge of the frame and exhaled deeply.
"I love it," he finally said, voice low. "I love you."
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I know I've said it a thousand times today, but thank you. For being her dad. For being here. For choosing me."
He pulled me into his lap gently. "Always."
And with the house quiet, the moonlight spilling in just right, and the weight of the day finally lifting from our shoulders, I gave him one more gift.
One that didn't come in a box.
One that said, in every way possible: you're loved, appreciated, and home.
Happy Father's Day, my love.
*it's a short chapter but I wanted to put something out, happy Father's Day to any father out there. Yall are appreciated and happy heavenly Father's Day to my daddy. I miss you old man*
