Desideratum

Chapter 3

"Cadence," she called as she descended down the stairs, the sound of her steps clicking against the hardwood floors alerting him of her approaching presence long before her voice did. When she arrived at the foot of the stairs, she saw him nestled on the couch, with one of her large, fashion related books on his lap.

She smiled. "What are you doing?" she questioned, amused, as she walked towards him. He looked up at her with a sheepish grin on his face.

'"Looking at the pictures," he answered.

Marinette laughed. "I imagined," she said.

"Are you hungry?"

He nodded.

"How does take-out sound?" she suggested.

Cadence grinned, throwing her a knowing look, and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, shush you, I'm just too tired to cook" she admonished, already moving to the kitchen area. "What would you like?" she asked.

She expected a firm, excited answer. What she received, however, was an uncertain voice calling out for her. "Mom… Who is this?"

There was a frown on her features as she turned around to face him. "Hmm? What are you talking about?" she asked, confused.

In response, Cadence raised an old, rumpled photograph into the air, his cerulean eyes watching her with innocent curiosity.

Her eyes softened at the sight of him, and a quiet sigh escaped her lips as she slowly, almost hesitantly, started to make her way towards him. Taking a seat on the couch, she pulled the picture out of his grasp and moved the heavy book onto the table, beckoning him to approach her.

"Come here," she said, accommodating him on her lap. "I suppose you already realized that's me. And that man… that man is your father."

Marinette had always known that hiding the truth from him was selfish, but she had also known that labeling him as different from the very beginning would hurt him even more. She resolved that she would tell him everything the moment he asked. So far, he had never once inquired about his father, and she would have been content with postponing this discussion until the day that he did.

It seemed like fate had other plans, though.

His brows furrowed. "I have a father?"

She kissed his temple affectionately. "Everybody has a father, silly."

"But I never saw him."

"I know you never did," she murmured softly in response.

She knew better than to believe he was upset. He was simply confused. She had never lied to him, but there were certain aspects of their lives that had never been treated, and because of that, he must find the way secrets were now coming up to light, abruptly and calloused.

"You were his wife?" he inquired curiously, his small hand hovering over the photograph now held in her hands. Marinette swallowed back her tears. "Yes."

His frown deepened. "Did he die?"

"No, sweetie," she said, shaking her head.

"You fought," he guessed.

There was a moment of silence before she answered, "In a way, yes." Her arms tightened around him, and her chin came to rest on top of his head. "But that doesn't matter anymore. I don't want you to think that your father forgot about you, because he never knew you existed, in the first place. But now we're back here, back in Paris, back where he lives… and if you want, I can find him for you."

Luka's reaction didn't matter. The only one who mattered was Cadence. And she would rather have her heart stomped on a million times than have her child miss his father.

Cadence, however, continued to frown. "Did he hurt you?"

"He did, but… I guess the most accurate way to put it is that… we both hurt each other. We just… didn't fit."

"So, why did you marry?"

"That's a longer story, sweetie," she answered evasively.

"Okay," he said, and before she could respond, he returned to his place on the couch, the large book back in his lap.

She watched him intently as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You didn't answer my question," she reminded him softly.

Cadence looked up from his book. "Do you want to see him again?" he challenged.

She carefully avoided the answer. Cadence was only six years old, but he was incredibly protective of her. Whether that was because he had picked up on the way she acted around him, or because he was aware of the fact that he only had her was a debatable issue.

"It doesn't matter what I want. He's not my father."

"But if you don't want to see him again, how are you going to search for him? And how is he going to meet me?"

"Honey, those are details that we will figure out as we go," she soothed.

He contemplated the matter in silence for a mere five seconds, before he reached a conclusion. "I don't want to see him."

"Cadence…" Unmistakable relief flooded her eyes upon hearing his answer, but it was mixed with doubt. Without realizing, sometime during the past month, she had already come to terms with the fact that she would see him again, that he would find out, and that his reaction might not be entirely positive.

The truth was, Cadence never ceased to surprise her.

Swallowing, she tried again. "If you're worried about me, don't be. I've lived with this man for years. Maybe things didn't work out between us, but I'm sure you would love him. He really is a wonderful man, we just-didn't fit together. Cadence, you are so much like him. I never told you this but-your name is after something that relates to him. You may not feel his absence now, but maybe in a few years, you will."

"I won't," he answered, stubbornly holding his ground.

With a sigh, she stood from her seat and kneeled down in front of him. "Sweetie," she whispered, brushing unruly strands of blond hair away from his face, "There are many children in this world who would give anything to have a father like yours. Don't throw this chance away, and don't do it to take care of me. I am the mother. I am supposed to take care of you."

Cadence rolled his eyes, already annoyed. "I don't want to meet him, Mom."

"Alright," she consented, standing up. "But if you ever change your mind, all you have to do is tell me."