In the park and watched videos on deep creatures. It was one of those rare and uninterrupted days when nothing else seemed to import. Elon was secretly hoped that X had remembered for years, a snapshot of happiness in a life that often seemed too big, too fast and too complicated.

But now, while they sat together on the living room sofa, Elon perceived that something was different. X it was unusually silent. His small legs moved away from the edge of the pillow and his fingers grabbed his favorite shark toy a little closer than usual. The boy looked at his father, not with the curiosity with his eyes wide open who usually accompanied his infinite questions about rockets and space, but with a seriousness that seemed too heavy for someone of his age.

“Dad, can I ask you something really important?” X’s voice was just over a whisper.

Elon placed the phone, his full attention now on his son. “Of course, friend. What do you have in mind?”

X hesitated, biting his lip. He looked down on the floor, then returned to his father. “I want to live more with my mother.”

Words hit Elon as a Thunderclap. For a moment, the room seemed to freeze. The sound of the waves outside became distant, the golden light suddenly too bright. Elon slammed the eyelids, uncertain if he had listened correctly his son. Then he saw him: the concern in the eyes of X, the way his little shoulders curled up as if he already knew that this question could break something.

Elon made a deep breath, stabilizing himself. “Can you tell me why?” He asked gently.

X looked down again, his even softer voice now. “Because it becomes sad when I’m not there. And I love it. He needs me more.”

There he is. The type of truth that only a child could say: similar, pure and completely shocking. Elon leaned backwards, looking for words. He had spent years made impossible decisions, launching missiles, designing the future. But nothing had prepared for this. For his son to tell him, in the best possible way, that he felt more necessary somewhere else.

Elon did not discuss. He did not protest. Because he knew that it was not custody or equity. It was not about him. It was about a boy who tried to bring too big a weight for his small heart.

“Do you think you have to take care of the mother?” Elon Piano asked.

X nestled. “She smiles more when they are with her. And help to cook. And let’s read books. I think it’s alone.”

The words were knives, not for cruelty but for love. Elon looked at his son, he really looked at. It was not a question of choosing the sides. It was a 5 -year -old boy who did what he thought was right. And he broke Elon’s heart.

He lengthened his hand and touched a strand of hair from the front of X. “It’s a very kind thing to say. You care a lot about her, right?”

“Yes,” he whispered X.

Elon swallowed with difficulty. There were a thousand things he could say: Resions because he also needed his son, topics, logic, even tears. But none of them felt well. Because at that moment, it was not the CEO of Tesla or Spacex. He was not the innovator, the billionaire, the resolver of problems in the world. He was just a dad. And his son had to be heard.

“Okay,” Elon Piano said. “Thanks for telling me. It was really courageous.”

They sit in silence for a while. Outside, the sky pushed from the gold to rose to a deep blue and ink. Elon stared at the horizon, wondering when life had become so complicated. He thought that being a good father meant being strong, providing everything, building the future. But perhaps, only perhaps, he also meant knowing when to let himself go, even if just a little.

“Can I still come here on the weekends?” He asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Elon smiled through the seal in the chest. “Of course. Film of sharks and pancakes: this is not changing this.”

X leaned against him, leaning his head on his father’s arm. And in that simple touch, Elon heard everything changed. Because love, he realized, did not concern control. It was presence. And the presence meant listening, even when it hurt.

That night, after X had gone to bed, the house felt heavier than usual. Elon got up with the kitchen sink, staring at the Pacific black stretch. The quiet was deafening. He sipped a cold coffee and repeated the conversation in his head, again and again.

“She needs me more.”

The words echoed like a cycle that could not turn off. He knew the facts: his work was held occupied. There were Tate, Tutors and rulers to help take care of X when he couldn’t. He had always thought that love could be built in routine: unlocking, good night stories, weekend at the ocean. But the children did not measure love in the effort. They felt it in presence. And sometimes, Elon had to admit it, there wasn’t.

He opened the phone and typed a message to Grimes, then he canceled him, then he typed him again. In the end, he hit send:“Can we speak tomorrow? It concerns X.”

The next afternoon, Grimes arrived home. Elon wasted no time with chatter.

“He told me he wants to be more with you,” he said.

Grimes slammed the eyelids, caught by surprise. “Did he say it?”

“Yes,” Elon replied. “He said you’re sad when it’s not there. He said he wants to help.”

Grimes looked down, the fingers curled around the edge of his cup of coffee. “I never told him to say it. I didn’t even know he felt like this.”

Elon nodded. “He sees more than we think.”

There was a break, heavy with the story not expressed. Divorce has never been a clean cut, no matter how long it has passed. There was always a scar below.

“What do we do?” He asked quietly.

Elon I show slowly. “We do this job. We adapt the program. Leave it alone with you more during the week and it comes to me on the weekends. I will not fight it.”

His eyes met his. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I want to feel safe. I want it to feel as if we were listening to, even if it hurts.”

Grimes made a small and grateful smile. For a moment, the tension has loosened.

That weekend, when X returned to Elon’s house, everything seemed different. They made shark -shaped pancakes, looked at their favorite documentaries and built a strong general in the living room. But this time, Elon did not hear the annoyance of the work or the weight of a clock that Ticchetta. It was only there, fully present.

While X climbed on the bed that night, he looked at his father and said: “I like it like that. I am with you and the mother. I am like half of you.”

Elon nodded, his narrow throat. “You are. And we are both better thanks to you.”

X smiled, approaching his shark toy. “Do you promise that we will always have pancake weekends?”

Elon leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Promise.”

And while his son went to sleep, Elon sat down a little along the bed, observing the ascent and the fall of the chest. At that moment of tranquility, he realized something: love did not concern being perfect. It was a question of presenting himself, listening and letting himself go when he had more.