The warm Lagos evening wrapped around Claire and her son like a gentle embrace. They sat together on the small balcony of their apartment, sharing a bowl of fresh mango slices as the sun dipped below the skyline. Alex Jr., now five years old, leaned against her side, his little body warm and trusting. His dark hair was messy from playing outside, and those striking emerald-green eyes — so unmistakably like his father’s — looked up at her with innocent curiosity.
“Mummy,” he said softly, his voice thoughtful in that way only a five-year-old could be, “I wish I had a daddy like Tobi and Chidi at school.”
Claire’s heart cracked open.
The bowl nearly slipped from her hands. She set it down carefully and pulled her son into her lap, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She pressed her face
