Chapter 14
Claire would not move into my bedroom.
I asked once.
She said no.
I did not ask again.
That mattered.
She chose the guest suite at the far end of the residence.
Ella slept beside her.
Sophie in a crib.
I had a room prepared for the girls.
Ella refused it.
Fair.
Four years of separation does not become family because furniture arrives.
I visited in the mornings.
At first, Ella called me Sir.
Then Mr. Dominic.
Then Dominic.
That hurt less than it should have.
Because each name was hers to choose.
One morning she asked:
“Are you really my daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you find us?”
No soft answer existed.
So I gave her the simple one.
“I didn’t know where you were.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“People lied.”
“Did you look?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
I hesitated.
“Not long enough.”
Claire looked at me.
She did not rescue me.
Good.
Ella thought about that.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
Children do not forgive the way adults perform forgiveness.
They absorb truth and return to cereal.
I watched her eat.
Full bowl.
Second helping.
No permission needed.
That mattered because I had seen too many families use food as power.
Later, Claire and I talked on the balcony.
“I don’t know what we are.”
She looked relieved.
“Good.”
I frowned.
“Good?”
“If you knew already, I’d think you were trying to skip four years.”
Fair.
We had love.
Then grief.
Then lies.
Then one hidden night that gave us Sophie.
Now?
No title.
No certainty.
Just two people trying to speak directly after years of others speaking for us.
“I still love you,” I said.
Claire looked away.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Pause.
“I still love you too.”
My chest tightened.
She continued.
“That does not mean I trust you yet.”
There it was.
Clean.
Painful.
True.
I nodded.
“Fair.”
She smiled faintly.
“No one in your family likes that word.”
“I’m learning.”
And for once, rebuilding did not feel like winning.
It felt slower.
May you like
Harder.
Probably healthier.
