Chapter 8
Sofia did not let Julian hold the babies that day.
Her choice.
He accepted it.
Good.
Victor did not.
“This is cruel.”
I looked at him.
Interesting.
“You call a mother deciding who touches her newborn cruel.”
He stared.
“You are poisoning her against her husband.”
“No.”
Sofia answered from the bed.
“I heard everything before my father arrived.”
Victor turned.
She continued.
“I watched Julian move my call button.”
Silence.
“I watched him stand there while you picked up my son.”
Her voice cracked.
“I don’t need poisoning.”
Victor looked away.
Good.
Julian stood near the doorway.
Not entering.
“Can I say something?”
Sofia considered.
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“I believed Dad.”
No excuse.
“I believed because believing made me feel like what happened to me had meaning.”
That was new.
Sofia listened.
Julian continued.
“If I was taken from Marianne but still loved, still fed, still raised well…”
His voice broke.
“Then maybe it wasn’t wrong.”
There it was.
A child’s survival turned into an adult’s defense mechanism.
“If it wasn’t wrong, then giving Bianca one of ours could be generous instead of cruel.”
Sofia’s eyes filled.
“And now?”
Julian looked toward the bassinets.
“Now I think I needed it to be right because admitting it was wrong meant admitting my whole life started with someone hurting my mother.”
Silence.
That was honest.
Not enough.
But honest.
Sofia said:
“You still hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“You still moved the button.”
“Yes.”
“You still knew I said no.”
“Yes.”
Good.
No hiding behind trauma.
She closed her eyes.
“I don’t know what happens to us.”
Julian swallowed.
“I know.”
“No.”
She opened her eyes.
“You don’t get to say you know.”
He stopped.
Fair.
Sofia continued.
“You wait.”
That was the first consequence Julian truly seemed to understand.
No fixing on his schedule.
No grand apology producing a marriage.
Wait.
Be useful when asked.
May you like
Leave when told.
Trust rebuilding, if it rebuilt at all, belonged to Sofia too.
