Chapter 5 - The Saturday Visits
The first Saturday visitation was a masterclass in tension.
At exactly 10:00 AM, a single black sedan pulled up to Emma’s sunlit suburban home in Evanston, Illinois. Blake stepped out alone, wearing a casual navy sweater and dark jeans—a stark contrast to his usual billionaire armor. He carried three large wooden toy boxes under his arms.
Emma opened the door, her expression guarded. "No media?"
"I came alone, just like the judge ordered," Blake said quietly, his voice lacking its usual arrogance.
He stepped into the warm, spacious entryway. The house smelled of baked vanilla cookies and pine. Framed photographs lined the hallway walls—Noah, Liam, and Mason riding bicycles, building snowmen, laughing with David and Richard. In none of those pictures was there a space for him.
"Boys," Emma called out softly toward the living room. "Someone is here to see you."
The three little boys tumbled out of the playroom, chasing a soft rubber ball. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Blake.
Noah, the eldest, stepped forward bravely, peering up at Blake’s tall frame. "You're the man from the airport."
Blake dropped to his knees on the hardwood floor, setting the wooden toy boxes down. For a man who regularly managed thousands of employees and multi-billion-dollar corporate takeovers, his hands were trembling uncontrollably.
"Hi, Noah," Blake whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm... I'm Blake."
"Mommy said you used to be her friend a long time ago," Liam said, peeking from behind his mother’s dress.
Blake looked up at Emma, a deep, agonizing pain in his dark eyes. Her friend. She hadn't told them he was their father yet, protecting them from the sudden shock.
"Yeah," Blake said softly, turning back to the boys with a tender, watery smile. "I was her friend. And I brought you guys some hand-carved wooden trains."
For the next two hours, Blake sat on the living room rug, letting the three boys climb over his shoulders, build train tracks across the rug, and spill juice on his expensive sweater. He didn't care about the stain. He didn't care about his stock market notifications buzzing relentlessly on his discarded phone.
Emma sat on the kitchen stool nearby, watching him.
She saw the way Blake gently wiped Mason’s nose when he sneezed. She saw the way his eyes filled with tears every time Liam laughed. She saw the absolute, undeniable reverence with which he treated her boys.
This wasn't the ruthless, paranoid billionaire who had destroyed their marriage. This was the man she had fallen in love with in college—the idealistic, warm-hearted boy before money and power had corrupted his trust.
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When the two hours were up, Noah wrapped his small arms around Blake’s neck. "Are you coming back next Saturday, Mr. Blake?"
Blake hugged the little boy so tightly he could barely breathe, burying his face in Noah’s dark hair. "Every Saturday for the rest of my life, buddy," Blake whispered.
