Chapter fifteen.

Greyson’s POV.

I scrolled through my phone, a slideshow of memories from happier times playing out on the screen. There were photos of my wife and me, smiling and laughing, our arms around each other, surrounded by our friends and family. Then there were pictures of my son, so small and precious, his big blue eyes shining with wonder and joy.

A lump formed in my throat as I swiped through the pictures, a bittersweet ache in my chest. Today marked three years since my wife had left me with our son, not caring he was small and needed a mother figure. I remembered how I had begged her to stay, to give me one more chance, but she had refused. She had called our son a “mess to deal with,” her words stinging like a slap in the face.

I had spent the last three years alone, my heart broken and my life in shambles. But despite it all, I still loved her. I let out a sad, wry laugh. Love was such a strange, complicated thing. It could make you feel the highest of highs, but it could also bring