Chapter 15
Six months later, Sofia lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side with Amelia.
Not at Lorenzo’s estate.
That had been deliberate.
Her father paid for nothing she had not agreed to.
Sofia wanted a home where love did not automatically come with access.
Amelia was small but healthy.
Her growth had improved steadily.
Sofia still checked her breathing too often at night.
Dr. Pierce told her most new mothers did.
Sofia had returned to therapy.
Grant remained in the intervention program and attended supervised legal proceedings concerning future parenting time.
He had not been allowed unsupervised contact with Amelia.
He had seen her twice through arrangements approved by the professionals involved.
Both visits were quiet.
No dramatic reconciliation.
No promises.
Eleanor had not met the baby.
That decision belonged to Sofia.
The divorce case continued.
Property took time.
Accounts took time.
Parenting plans took longer.
Lorenzo discovered that not every painful problem could be solved by arriving in a black car with two men behind him.
He visited on Sundays.
He knocked.
Even when he had been invited.
The first time Sofia noticed, she smiled.
“You know you can come in.”
“I know.”
“Then why knock?”
He shrugged.
“Practice.”
One Sunday afternoon, Sofia placed Amelia in a bassinet beside the window.
Lorenzo sat at the kitchen table while she opened her mail.
Bills.
A hospital statement.
A card from Margot.
Then one envelope from Grant’s attorney.
Sofia stopped.
Lorenzo saw the return address.
He did not ask.
She opened it.
Inside was a handwritten letter from Grant and a formal request to begin the next stage of supervised parenting time once Sofia’s attorney and the child-development specialist agreed it was appropriate.
The legal request was ordinary.
The handwritten page was not.
Sofia read it silently.
Then folded it.
“What did he say?” Lorenzo asked.
She looked at her father.
Six months earlier he would have demanded to know.
Now he waited.
Sofia placed the letter in a kitchen drawer.
“He said he knows saying sorry doesn’t make him safe.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“And?”
“He wants the chance to become safe.”
Amelia stirred in the bassinet.
Sofia went to her.
Lorenzo remained at the table.
He did not tell his daughter what to do.
He did not tell her Grant deserved nothing.
He did not tell her Amelia needed a father.
For once, nobody else would decide whether fear, love, regret, and change were enough to open a door again.
May you like
Sofia lifted her daughter and looked toward the closed drawer.
She had time before she answered.
