(Alex's POV)
He'd watched them at the beach two weekends ago.
Stayed far — behind dark sunglasses and a cap, pretending he was waiting for someone. But his eyes never left her.
Ava.
Her laughter rang across the shore like something out of a memory he'd lost and couldn't stop chasing.
She was in a flowy white sundress, hair tied up, sandals dangling from her fingers. The wind danced with her — she let it. For the first time in forever, she looked like she belonged somewhere. Like she wasn't running anymore.
And beside her was Adrien.
Grumbling about the sand like a typical teenager, rolling his eyes at the breeze, but smiling anyway. She'd brought snacks in that oversized tote of hers — the same one she used to carry when they were young. Back then it held cigarette packs and poetry notebooks. Now it held juice boxes and sunscreen.
Alex watched as they sat down on a blanket. Adrien leaned back, talking, laughing, sometimes snapping at her when she poked his side playfully.
And then.
She fed him.
With her hands.
She peeled slices of mango and held them to his mouth like he was five again. Adrien groaned — embarrassed — but didn't stop her.
He let her.
Alex's jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth would crack. His nails dug crescent moons into his palms.
He'd yelled at her once for that very thing. "What are you, my mother?" he'd spat, pushing her hand away like it burned.
And she had just whispered, voice too soft for someone so bruised: "I just wanted to take care of you."
But Adrien?
Adrien didn't even say thank you. He just expected it. Like love came in slices of fruit and attention was a birthright.
Alex stood under the hot sun for an hour that day, sweating in his jeans and bitterness, watching Ava love that boy like he was the center of the damn universe.
That same night, he'd texted her.
That's what led to the café.
But even then, he didn't expect this.
He didn't expect to see her again so soon — today — waiting outside Adrien's school, waving and bright-eyed like she hadn't just been haunted by him days earlier.
And Adrien?
Adrien strolled out like royalty. No urgency, no excitement. Just earbuds in and a slouch in his shoulders.
"Where's the car?" he mumbled, walking right past her.
No "hi." No hug. No smile.
Alex would've killed for a smile like that from her once.
Instead, she smiled at her son.
"Long day?"
Adrien just shrugged. She flicked his hoodie up playfully. "Wanna go get something sweet?"
He didn't say thank you.
Didn't even look at her.
And still — still — she adored him.
Alex's rage simmered beneath his skin like boiling tar.
He hated the way Adrien didn't know how lucky he was.
He hated the way Ava allowed herself to be dismissed and still offered more.
He hated the way she stayed, and stayed, and stayed — for him.
For a boy who had no idea what kind of miracle he lived with.
Because Alex had never been given that.
He remembered the Ava who flinched when he raised his voice.
The one who begged him not to leave and curled up on the floor like that would make him stay.
The one who cried in silence, so he wouldn't be bothered by it.
Adrien got the healed Ava.
The Ava who laughed too loud and touched too much.
Who said "You're not too much. I'm just more."
Who stayed even when you were mean, grumpy, unfair.
Alex got the broken version.
And she never loved him through it.
He remembered what he told her at the café. "He's just like me."
But he hadn't meant it as a compliment.
Adrien was short-tempered, demanding, cocky.
A mirror of the worst parts of Alex.
And still — Ava loved him.
That was what really broke Alex.
Not that Adrien reminded him of himself.
But that Ava loved him anyway.
Alex remembered something else too. The way Ava always showed up. No matter how tired, no matter how invisible she became. She showed up for Adrien.
Even when he rolled his eyes.
Even when he said, "You're too clingy, Mom."
Alex used to scream at her for being "too much."
And back then, she'd cry.
Now? She just laughed.
"Guess that's your problem, buddy. I love you too much."
Alex wanted to scream.
Too much?
Where was that too much when he needed it?
When he begged for it in all the wrong ways?
Adrien didn't deserve that kind of love.
Not the way he brushed it off. Not the way he looked at her like she was furniture — expected, present, background noise.
She should've left him.
The way she left Alex.
But she stayed.
God, she stayed.
He watched her now — looping her arm around Adrien's, tugging him toward the car, still chatting, still trying.
She was relentless.
She was magic.
And she was his, once.
Now she belonged to a boy who couldn't even say thank you.
A boy who didn't deserve the mangoes in the sun.
Didn't deserve the laughter, the forgiveness, the softness.
Alex got slammed doors and silence.
Adrien got love that endured.
And that — that was what broke Alex in ways he couldn't repair.
Because for all the things he'd ruined, all the ways he'd tried to reach back into her orbit...
He'd never be that boy.
And Ava would never love him like that.
He got in his car. Drove off before they could notice.
But nothing drowned out the echo in his chest.
You were supposed to love me like that.
You were supposed to stay for me, too.
Why wasn't I enough?