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“What happened today?” Tristan asked.
Albert didn’t answer.
“Fighting with your classmates doesn’t sound like you,” Tristan said.
Albert just stared out the window.
“All right,” Tristan said. “I’ll wait until you feel like talking.” And he pulled out a chair next to his son.
Maggie had taken the girls shopping for new shoes, and Tristan had arrived home just in time for a phone call from Albert’s teacher, explaining that he had gotten in trouble for fighting with another boy. Now Tristan wondered if this was the beginning of a larger problem.
Several minutes passed before Albert finally spoke. “He’s an arse.”
Maggie would have scolded their eldest for his language, but Tristan chuckled. “I’m sure. But was it worth hitting him?”
“He deserved it for what he said,” Albert made a fist as he spoke.
Tristan didn’t ask what the other boy had said. He had been Albert’s dad long enough to know that he would continue when he was ready.
“He said you don’t love me as much as my sisters,” Albert said finally, still staring out the window. “Said it’s because I’m not really your son.”
Tristan felt a rush of anger himself at the thought.
“He’s wrong,” he told Albert, feeling fiercely protective of his boy. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about and he’s wrong.”
“But he’s not,” Albert said, not meeting Tristan’s eyes. “I were nearly three when you married Mum.”
“He’s wrong,” Tristan repeated. “You’re my son every bit as much as the girls are my daughters.”
“But…” Albert trailed off, still not looking up.
“Bertie. Look at me.”
At the use of the nickname only Tristan called him, Albert looked up at last. There were tears in his eyes.
“I love you,” Tristan said. “You’re my son, I love you, and nothing will ever change that. It doesn’t matter that we’re not related by blood. All that matters is that we’re a family.”
Albert was crying as he reached for a hug. “I love you, Dad.”
Tristan hugged his son close. “I love you, Bertie.”
Tristan loved all four of his children equally. But he saw the most of himself in his eldest. His son.