Ashton's small hands rested lightly on the blanket. His blue eyes, so much like Evander's, darted toward his father, searching his face carefully. His tiny lips parted slightly as if hesitating to speak, but finally, he voiced the question weighing on his mind.
"Y-You're not mad?" His voice was small, uncertain.
Evander, who was crouched beside the bed, smiled softly. He reached out, ruffling Ashton's messy hair with his large hand. "Why would I be mad?" His voice was, warm, filled with nothing but patience.
Ashton hesitated again. He lowered his gaze, his little fingers fidgeting with the hem of his pajama shirt. His shoulders rose slightly as if bracing himself for something. Then, barely above a whisper, he confessed, "Because… I don't want a sibling."
