Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 36

Mateo’s POV

It happens during breakfast, like all life-changing moments should—surrounded by chaos and covered in food.

Elio is in his high chair conducting a symphony of destruction with his mashed banana. Aria is methodically dropping Cheerios onto the floor one by one, watching them fall with scientific intensity. Sören is eating his oatmeal like a tiny philosopher contemplating the nature of existence between bites.

Normal Tuesday morning. Selene's making coffee. Axel's reviewing game footage on his tablet while eating eggs. I'm on baby-feeding duty, which mostly means being a human napkin.

"Come on, pequeño," I say, spooning more banana toward Elio's mouth. "Open up. The airplane is coming in for landing."

He ignores me completely, too focused on smearing banana into his hair.

Then Axel laughs at something on his tablet—this low, surprised sound that makes both of us look over. Elio's head swivels toward him like a heat-seeking missile.

And then it happens.

"Da-da."

Clear as a bell. Perfect consonants. Looking directly at Axel with those huge dark eyes, reaching toward him with banana-covered fingers.

"Da-da."

The room freezes.

Selene's hand stops mid-pour, coffee streaming into her mug. Axel goes completely still, tablet forgotten, staring at Elio like he just spoke fluent Latin. Even Aria and Sören pause their respective activities, sensing something significant.

Elio doesn't notice. Just keeps reaching for Axel, repeating it. "Da-da. Da-da."

"Did he just—" Selene's voice is strange. Complicated.

"He did." Axel sounds like someone punched him. "He said—"

"Da-da." Elio's getting frustrated now, straining against his high chair straps. "Da-da!"

Axel moves automatically, lifting Elio out, and the baby immediately grabs his face with both sticky hands, grinning like he won a prize. "Da-da."

The word lands in my chest like a fist.

I didn't expect this. We agreed—all three babies, all three parents, no biological hierarchy, no mine versus yours. They're ours. Period. End of discussion.

But hearing that word—that word—aimed at someone else...

Something cracks open that I didn't know was sealed.

"That's amazing," Selene says, crossing to them, her hand on Axel's shoulder. "His first word. Elio, can you say it again? Da-da?"

"Da-da," Elio confirms, still patting Axel's face. Still not looking at me.

My throat is tight. My eyes sting. This is ridiculous—I'm happy for Axel, I am, this is a milestone, this is beautiful, this is everything we've been building toward—

So why does it feel like I'm being erased?

"I'm gonna check on the laundry," I hear myself say, standing so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. "Be right back."

I don't wait for a response. Just walk out of the kitchen, down the hall, into the utility room where there is absolutely no laundry that needs checking because I did it all yesterday.

The door closes behind me. Washer, dryer, shelves of detergent and fabric softener. The most boring room in the house. Perfect for a breakdown.

I lean against the dryer and try to breathe.

This is irrational. Completamente irracional. Babies don't understand genetics. They don't know whose DNA they carry. Elio said "Da-da" to Axel because Axel was there, because Axel laughed, because babies are random little chaos agents who do things for no reason.

It doesn't mean anything.

Except it feels like it means everything.

I think about the agreement we made. Sitting in Selene's apartment before the babies were born, before we knew there were three of them, before any of this got real. "No DNA tests," we said. "No paternity questions. All three are ours, no matter what."

It seemed so simple then. So enlightened and progressive and modern. Look at us, choosing family over biology. Choosing love over labels.

But standing in this laundry room while my maybe-son calls someone else Daddy for the first time, it doesn't feel progressive. It feels like a loss. Like watching something slip through my fingers that I never got to hold.

What if he's not mine?

The thought surfaces despite my best efforts to drown it. What if Elio is Axel's? What if they all are? What if I've been playing house with another man's children while telling myself biology doesn't matter?

It shouldn't matter. I know it shouldn't matter. Love is choice, family is choice, we chose this—

But what if it does matter? What if I'm lying to myself about how okay I am with not knowing?

The door opens. Selene.

Of course it's Selene. She probably clocked my exit the second it happened, analyzed my body language, and calculated exactly how long to give me before intervening.

"The laundry looks very clean," she observes, leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm doing inventory. Very important work."

"Mateo."

"I'm fine."

"You left the room like someone lit your chair on fire."

"I move fast. It's the athlete in me."

She doesn't laugh. Just watches me with those eyes that see everything, the ones I couldn't hide from even if I tried.

"He reaches for you constantly," she says softly. "Follows you around the house. Laughs at your voices more than anyone else's. One word aimed at Axel doesn't change that."

"I know."

"Do you?"

My jaw tightens. "It's stupid. I know it's stupid. We agreed—"

"Feelings aren't stupid just because they're inconvenient." She moves closer, her hand finding my arm. "You're allowed to feel jealous. You're allowed to want him to say your name first. That doesn't make you a bad person or a bad parent."

"It makes me a hypocrite. I'm the one who said biology doesn't matter."

"You meant it when you said it. And you can still mean it while also feeling complicated about a baby's first word." Her thumb strokes my arm. "Those two things can coexist."

I stare at the dryer like it holds answers. It doesn't. It's just a dryer. A very expensive dryer that Axel researched for three weeks before purchasing, but still just a dryer.

"What if they're all his?" The question comes out raw. Scared. Smaller than I want it to sound. "What if I'm just—what if I'm the fun roommate? The guy who lives here but isn't really—"

"Stop." Her voice is firm. "You're their father. DNA doesn't decide that. Showing up decides that. And you show up every single day."

"But—"

"Mateo." She cups my face, forces me to look at her. "Aria said 'Mama' two weeks ago while looking at the ceiling fan. Babies are random. First words are random. This doesn't mean what your brain is telling you it means."

I almost laugh. Almost. "The ceiling fan?"

"I think she thought it was sentient. Very concerning."

The knot in my chest loosens. Not completely—it's going to take more than one conversation to untangle whatever this is—but loosens.

"I should go back," I say. "Apologize to Axel. He probably thinks I'm—"

"He thinks you needed a minute. He gets it." She takes my hand. "Come on. Elio's been asking for 'Teo' since you left. It's not 'Da-da,' but it's definitely you."

"Teo?"

"Close enough."

We walk back to the kitchen together. Axel's still holding Elio, but he looks up when we enter, something careful in his expression.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't apologize for our kid saying your name." I manage a real smile. "Just means you're doing something right."

Elio spots me and immediately reaches out, straining toward me with grabby hands. "Teo! Teo!"

The knot in my chest loosens a little more.

Not "Da-da." Not the word I wanted. But mine nonetheless.