It was as if Joseph were Chaim's real father.
The thought struck her with the force of a physical blow.
“Vivica, how dare you even think that?” she chided herself. He was being kind to Chaim out of love for his late brother. How could she be so presumptuous as to imagine him as a father figure?
And yet, Chaim seemed to want him as a father. If—and it was a huge if—she and Joseph ever did get together, Chaim would naturally become his son. But would it be strange for a nephew to become a stepson? Was that crossing some kind of line?
She tried to push the thoughts away, but her mind kept drifting back, conjuring images of the three of them as a happy, complete family.
It was a sweet daydream, shattered only by the sound of her son's voice.
"Mommy, you're still awake?" Chaim asked, now clean and freshly bundled in Joseph's arms. He looked at her curiously, noticing her wide, unfocused eyes.
Vivica snapped back to reality, her cheeks flushing with guilt as her gaze met theirs. "Oh, yes… I took a nap this afternoon, so I'm not tired yet," she stammered, avoiding Joseph's eyes.
Joseph placed the little boy on the other bed. "Get under the covers before you catch a cold."
Chaim snuggled into the blankets and grinned at his mother. "Mommy, Uncle Joseph promised to tell me a story!"
Vivica's smile froze. A man who could dismantle opponents with his words in a courtroom was going to tell a bedtime story to a three-year-old?
As Joseph stepped out of the room for a moment, Vivica seized the opportunity. "Sweetheart, your uncle had a long day at work. Let's let him rest, okay?"
"No, he promised!"
"I'll tell you a story when I'm feeling better."
"But your stories are your stories, and his stories are his. They're different!"
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