Chapter Ten: The Truth Reframed
A year later, Vivian was pregnant.
Damon cried when she told him.
Happy tears. The first he had cried in twenty years.
She showed him the test. Two pink lines.
He held it like it was made of glass.
“We’re going to be parents,” she said.
“We’re going to be parents,” he repeated.
They decorated the nursery together.
Pale yellow walls. A crib from IKEA. Nothing fancy.
A rocking chair from a secondhand store. Damon sanded it. Refinished it. Made it beautiful.
Vivian’s brothers came to visit.
They had reconciled slowly. The brothers had never been part of Eleanor’s schemes. They had their own families. Their own lives.
They brought gifts. Baby clothes. A wooden rocking horse. A blanket hand-knit by their wives.
They drank beer on the porch.
Matthew, the older brother, pulled Damon aside.
“I’m sorry,” Matthew said. “For how Mom treated you. For not speaking up sooner.”
Damon looked at him.
“You’re not responsible for her.”
“Maybe not. But I could have said something. I could have defended you.”
“It’s in the past.”
“Is it? Can you forgive us?”
Damon thought about it.
The years of snide comments. The looks of condescension. The way Eleanor had treated him like hired help.
“She’s your mother,” Damon said. “I don’t expect you to choose sides.”
“You’re my sister’s husband. That makes you family. Real family.”
Matthew extended his hand.
Damon shook it.
“Family,” Damon said. “I like the sound of that.”
The baby came on a Tuesday.
A girl. Six pounds, nine ounces. Dark hair. Grey eyes.
They named her Elena. After no one. After no family. A fresh start.
Damon held her in the hospital room.
His hands — those hands — cradled her tiny body like she was made of glass.
She fit in the curve of his arm.
She was so small. So light. So impossibly fragile.
He had held guns. He had held millions of dollars. He had held power.
Nothing compared to this.
Vivian watched from the bed.
Her hair was matted. Her face was tired. Her eyes were radiant.
“You’re going to be a good father,” she said.
“I’m going to try.”
“That’s all anyone can do.”
Elena opened her eyes.
Grey. Like his.
She looked at Damon.
And smiled.
Or maybe it was gas.
Damon didn’t care.
He smiled back.
“Hi, Elena,” he whispered. “I’m your dad. I’m going to mess up sometimes. But I’m always going to love you. Always.”
Elena cooed.
Vivian cried.
Damon cried.
The nurse cried.
It was a good day.
