Disclaimer : The characters aren't mine, they belong to creator Dvid Shore
Life with Billy was an adventure—a loud, messy, sometimes frustrating, but always beautiful adventure. At two years old, Billy had developed a vocabulary of mostly single words and the occasional short phrase, but what he lacked in language, he made up for in personality.
He had Greg's piercing blue eyes and sharp expressions, his little face a mirror of his father's when he didn't get his way. His stubbornness, though, was a shared trait. Stacy could see herself in the way Billy huffed and crossed his arms when he couldn't figure out how to stack his blocks just right. But he also never gave up, attacking every challenge with the same quiet determination that made her heart swell.
In the evenings, after dinner, Greg would often sit at the piano. It was his escape, a moment of quiet in an otherwise chaotic day. Billy, however, treated it as a performance. He would plop himself down on the carpet, legs crossed, his mouth slightly open as he watched his daddy play, completely mesmerized.
"Daddy," Billy would say softly, pointing at the keys.
Greg would pause mid-song, glancing over with a smirk. "What? You want a turn?"
Billy would nod solemnly, but Greg never let him near the keys. "When you can reach them without climbing, we'll talk."
Stacy, leaning against the doorway, would watch them with a smile. She didn't know what melted her heart more—the way Billy looked up at Greg like he hung the moon, or the way Greg's eyes softened, just a little, when he played for his son.
Stacy and Greg still argued—usually about Greg's negligence when it came to Billy. He was the same sarcastic, self-centered man she'd fallen in love with years ago, and while he'd softened slightly for Billy, there were times when his aloofness drove her up the wall.
"Could you maybe try feeding himbeforehe's screaming for food?" Stacy snapped one morning, as Billy clung to her leg, whining for a snack.
Greg, lounging on the couch with his feet propped up, didn't even look up. "He wasn't screaming when I gave him the banana. He just wasn't interested. Clearly, he's inherited your picky eating habits."
Her glare could've melted steel. "He'stwo, Greg."
"And he's already developing complex preferences. Impressive," Greg deadpanned, finally getting up to grab the crackers Billy was now pointing at with an insistent "Dis! Dis!"
Moments like that infuriated her, but they didn't last. Because for every time Greg brushed something off, there was another where he surprised her.
Like the day Billy had refused to nap, sobbing inconsolably in his crib. Stacy had been ready to pull her hair out when she'd walked into the room and found Greg sitting on the floor beside Billy, holding a stuffed giraffe and making ridiculous animal noises until Billy finally giggled through his tears.
Her irritation always melted in moments like those. It was impossible not to love the way Greg was with their son, even if he'd never admit how much he cared.
Wilson visited every couple of weeks, always greeted by an enthusiastic "Uncle Jimmy!" from Billy.
"He gets more words every time I'm here," Wilson said, crouching down to give Billy a high-five. "Next time, I'm expecting full sentences."
Greg scoffed. "You're just jealous he likes me more."
Billy, hearing this, turned to Greg and said, "No."
Stacy burst out laughing, while Wilson grinned. "I think he just picked his favorite."
Greg muttered something under his breath, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.
It had been two years since Billy came into their lives, and everything had changed. Greg and Stacy hadn't been intimate since before Billy was born, but surprisingly, it hadn't bothered either of them. Their relationship had shifted, deepened in ways she hadn't expected.
They kissed more now—quick pecks in passing, lingering moments in the kitchen when Billy was distracted. It wasn't about passion, but connection. Each kiss was a reminder that despite the chaos, they were still in this together.
Stacy had never loved Greg more than she did now. She saw it in the way he played with Billy, the way he quietly supported her without making a big show of it, the way he sat at the piano at night and played songs that made her chest ache.
And though he would never say it, she knew Greg felt it too.
ONE MORNING
"Greg, this is a terrible idea," Stacy said, crossing her arms as she stood in the kitchen.
Greg leaned on his cane, his expression unreadable but clearly defiant. "It's a genius idea. Billy's a natural for the hospital scene—he's already got the attitude."
Billy, seated in his high chair with a spoon in one hand and yogurt smeared across his face, let out a delighted, "Daddy funny!"
Stacy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You can't just bring a two-year-old to work, Greg. It's a hospital, not a daycare."
Greg tilted his head. "Oh, but whenyougo to work, it's fine?"
"Because I don't bring him with me," she snapped. "What happens when he starts touching things he's not supposed to?"
"I'll let him borrow my cane," Greg quipped. "He can defend himself."
Stacy shot him a look. "Not funny."
"It's a little funny," Greg muttered under his breath.
"Greg," Stacy said, her tone softening just slightly, "you know I love you, but you're not exactly themost responsible parentwhen it comes to—"
"Hey, I take offense to that!" Greg cut in, raising a hand dramatically. "You're looking at the guy who taught him the word 'stethoscope.'"
Billy, hearing the familiar word, perked up. "Scope!"
Stacy blinked, startled, before narrowing her eyes at Greg. "You're not helping your case."
Greg smirked, shifting his weight onto his good leg. "Look, you have a big day at the firm, right? Let me handle this. Worst-case scenario, Wilson babysits him for half an hour. Best-case scenario, he gives a better differential than my fellows."
Stacy stared at him for a long moment, her arms still crossed. "If you call me even once to tell me something went wrong—"
"It won't," Greg interrupted confidently.
"—then you're not getting out of bath time for a month," she finished, her voice firm.
Greg grimaced. "You're playing dirty."
Stacy bent down to wipe yogurt from Billy's cheek, shaking her head. "You have no idea."
Stacy left for work a half-hour later, reluctantly handing Billy over to Greg, who stood by the door with his cane in one hand and a mischievous gleam in his eye.
"Bye, Mommy!" Billy said, waving a chubby hand.
"Be good for Daddy," Stacy said, crouching down to kiss his forehead.
"Always," Greg replied, smirking as she gave him one last warning look before heading out.
"Daddy funny!" Billy declared again as Greg locked the door behind her.
Greg grinned, scooping Billy up and tossing him onto his hip. "You're the only one who gets me, kid."
By the time they arrived at PPTH, Billy was wide-eyed and curious, pointing at everything in sight.
"Car!" he shouted, pointing at a wheelchair parked near the front desk.
"That's not a car," Greg said, rolling his eyes.
"Close enough," Billy insisted, crossing his arms in a way that was eerily similar to Stacy.
Greg smirked. "Fine. It's a car. But you're not driving it."
Billy's fascination only grew as they made their way to the diagnostics department. He toddled ahead of Greg, his little hands reaching out to touch every surface he could find.
"You're leaving a trail of fingerprints," Greg muttered, catching up. "Perfect. Now Wilson will know you've been here."
"Uncle Jimmy!" Billy cried as soon as Wilson walked into the diagnostics conference room.
Wilson blinked, looking at Greg. "You brought him here?
"Relax," Greg said, settling into a chair and propping his cane against the table. "He's basically my assistant."
Wilson crouched down to Billy's level, ruffling his hair. "Hey, buddy. What have you been up to?"
Billy grinned. "Daddy funny."
"Debatable," Wilson said, straightening up.
"Excuse me," Greg said, pretending to be offended. "I'm hilarious. You're just jealous because he likes me more."
Wilson rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.
Billy, meanwhile, had wandered over to the whiteboard and was scribbling wobbly circles on the bottom with a dry-erase marker.
"See?" Greg said, gesturing toward him. "The kid's already contributing to the team."
"You let him draw on the board?" Wilson asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't use that part anyway," Greg said nonchalantly.
The rest of the visit was, predictably, chaotic. Billy toddled around the room, inspecting everything with wide-eyed curiosity, while Greg alternated between indulging him and using him as an excuse to avoid actual work.
"Billy," Greg called, waving him over. "Come here. Let's show Uncle Jimmy how to fake a limp."
Wilson groaned. "Please don't."
But Billy ignored them both, toddling over to Greg's cane instead.
"Mine?" Billy asked, gripping the cane with both hands.
Greg sighed, crouching down. "Fine. But don't tell your mother."
Billy beamed, dragging the cane across the room while Wilson looked on, equal parts amused and horrified.
"You're a terrible influence," Wilson muttered.
"Tell me something I don't know," Greg replied, smirking.
By the time Stacy came home, Greg was sprawled out on the couch, Billy curled up asleep on his chest.
She paused in the doorway, her irritation fading as she took in the scene. Greg's arm was draped protectively over Billy, his expression softer than usual as he dozed off.
"You survived," she said softly, setting her bag down.
Greg's eyes flickered open, his smirk returning instantly. "Told you I would."
She leaned down, brushing a kiss against his temple. "Maybe I'll let you off bath duty."
Greg chuckled, shifting slightly so he could look at her. "You're too good to me."
"Debatable," she teased, settling onto the couch beside them.
As she reached out to stroke Billy's hair, Greg's free hand found hers, their fingers tangling together. For all the chaos, for all the challenges, this was their life—and she wouldn't trade it for anything.
Here's a revised version of the paragraph based on your clarification:
As Stacy sat on the couch, her fingers brushing through Billy's soft, straight hair, memories of those early, tumultuous days came flooding back. Her unexpected pregnancy had been a storm she hadn't anticipated, and Mark's reaction had been the lightning strike that shattered everything. He'd known from the moment she told him—it wasn't his child. It couldn't be. The second those words left her mouth, he'd thrown her out. At the time, she'd been devastated, terrified of what her future would hold. But as she looked now at Billy curled up against Greg's chest, his little hands clutching the fabric of Greg's shirt, she realized how far she'd come. Mark's rejection had led her here—to a life that, while chaotic and far from perfect, was hers. And in Greg's flawed, stubborn way, he'd given her and Billy the home she hadn't dared to hope for.
END.
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