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Cooper stands at the edge of the living room, toes curled into the rug, his fingers fidgeting nervously at the hem of his pajama top.
His name is a small, private tribute. A nod to the old ritual, the silly and secret symbol of the partnership that became a family. Can opener. Cooper. It made sense to them. A cooper, after all, is someone who builds things strong enough to carry what matters. And their son, from the moment he arrived, seemed made to do just that—to open hearts, and hold the best things safe inside.
Across the room, Donna looks up from the couch, where she’s reading Women Who Lead: The Science of Power and Presence, a highlighter tucked behind her ear like a little yellow badge of honor.
She marks her place with a finger and raises an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, mister. Thought you were brushing your teeth.”
“I did,” he replies as he clutches a folded piece of lined notebook paper against his chest. “But I need to practice something. It’s for school.”
Her expression softens instantly. She sets the book down carefully on the armrest, the highlighter slipping from behind her ear and landing with a quiet tap on the coffee table. “What kind of something?”
Cooper glances down at the paper, smoothing it flat with the edge of his thumb, trying very hard not to wrinkle it. He edges forward, one cautious step at a time, as if worried the courage he’s gathered might evaporate if he moves too fast.
“We’re supposed to give a speech about our real-life heroes,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t know if my speech is good.”
“I’m sure it is, sweetheart,” Donna says, her smile warm and tender, loving. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, giving him her full attention. “Is it about your dad? You wanna read it to me?”
Cooper hesitates. His mouth opens, then closes again like a fish gasping for air. For a second, he seems torn between bolting into his room and staying rooted to the spot. Finally, he gives a small, shy nod. “Y-yeah,” he murmurs.
Donna shifts, sitting up a little straighter, gathering her knees under her. She pulls the throw blanket off her lap and tosses it to the side, a signal that she’s officially ready for whatever he needs. “Okay,” she says, her voice soft and encouraging. “Hit me with it.”
Cooper clears his throat with a little croaky noise. He plants his feet firmly on the rug and lifts his chin, standing taller than he had just moments before. A sudden, surprising confidence radiates from him—a glimpse of the young man he will one day become, bold and steady. It’s almost too much for Donna’s heart to take.
Her smile deepens, pride welling in her chest. He may not have inherited her red hair—his is a wild mess of sandy blonde that refuses to stay combed—but he has her presence, her unmistakable spark.
Watching him square his shoulders, she sees the future flashing before her eyes: science fairs, sports games, college applications, all of it. And right now, in this quiet moment, he’s already her little hero.
Cooper takes a deep breath, the paper trembling just slightly in his small hands, and begins to read.
“My hero is my mom, Donna Paulsen-Specter. She used to run a big law firm, even though she wasn’t a lawyer. She didn’t need to be—everyone still listened to her anyway.”
“Now she helps other women be awesome like her. She teaches them they don’t have to change who they are just to be good at their jobs. Sometimes she still helps my dad, especially when he forgets stuff, like birthdays or even to eat lunch. And sometimes she acts in plays where she wears crowns and fancy dresses from, like, a million years ago. But even then, it’s still her, because her voice is always strong.”
“She taught me that being confident isn’t the same as being mean. That real power doesn’t come from shouting louder. It comes from knowing who you are and daring the world not to look away.”
“She always knows when I’m pretending to be okay, but she doesn’t just say, ‘You’ll be fine.’ She says, ‘Tell me everything.’ And somehow, just talking makes me feel better. When I’m scared, she doesn’t tell me to ‘stop being scared’ either. She says being brave means doing it even if you’re scared.”
“My dad is really smart and strong, but he says being with my mom makes him feel like he's unstoppable. Like he's already won, just because she’s there. I think that’s her superpower—making people feel bigger, just by believing in them.”
“My mom isn’t like other moms. She can’t really cook. Like, at all. She burns French toast almost every time. But Dad still eats it, and he smiles like it’s the best thing he’s ever had, just because she made it.”
“That’s the kind of hero my mom is. The kind who makes people happy, even if the toast is a little black on one side.”
“I wish more people could be like my mom. But I’m also really glad she’s one of a kind. And that she's mine… and Daddy’s.”
“When I grow up, I want to be just like her. Smart, kind, and not afraid of anything.”
“The end,” he says, his voice a little shaky as he folds the paper down. He lifts his head slowly, eyes searching for Donna’s face, hoping he got it right.
There’s a long pause. Longer than Cooper expected.
He shifts on his feet, holding the now slightly crumpled paper in his hands. Across from him, Donna blinks, stunned. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, but for once—maybe the first time in her son’s entire life—no words come out.
Instead, she rises from the couch in a rush, crossing the distance between them in two strides. She drops to her knees to meet his height and pulls him into a hug so tight he lets out a surprised squeak. Her hands tangle in the messy hair at the back of his head, stroking it.
“You okay, Mom?” he mumbles into her shoulder, voice muffled by the fabric of her—Harvey’s—old Harvard sweatshirt.
She lets out a laugh that’s more sigh than anything else, a shivery, overwhelmed sound. “Yeah, baby,” she whispers. “I’m just... a good kind of speechless.”
He doesn’t pull away, and neither does she. Not for a long moment. When she finally does, she leans back just enough to look at him properly. Her eyes are swimming with tears she doesn’t bother to hide. She sniffs hard, rubbing the heel of her hand under each eye.
“D-did you write all that by yourself?” she asks, her voice thick and unsteady.
Cooper nods at first, a quick, eager bob of his head. But then, guilt flickers across his features. He takes a deep breath, fiddling with the edge of his paper, and shakes his head. “Daddy helped me a little. Are you mad?”
Donna’s heart twists in her chest. She cups his cheek gently with one hand, her thumb brushing the soft skin under his eye. “No, bub,” she says, her smile breaking wide and bright, even as her voice wobbles. “I’m not mad. God, how could I be mad? That was incredible.” She leans in and kisses his forehead. “You are incredible.”
Cooper pulls back a little, squinting at her, still uncertain. “Even with the toast thing?”
Donna lets out a real laugh this time, one that makes her chest ache in the best way. She presses her forehead lightly against his. “Especially with the toast thing,” she chuckles.
“For the record… I like it extra crispy.”
Both Cooper and Donna turn their heads almost in perfect sync to see Harvey leaning casually against the doorframe, a smug little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Cooper’s face lights up, his whole body vibrating with pride. He looks back at Donna, grinning so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes, and for a second, the resemblance between father and son is almost eerie.
“Told you,” he sneers playfully, puffing out his chest a little.
Donna shakes her head fondly, laughter bubbling up in her throat as she ruffles Cooper’s hair and shoots Harvey a look that’s equal parts amusement and deep, overwhelming love.
Her boys.
Her whole, perfect world.