PART 12:

There was something about seeing them together that made his chest feel tight in a way that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Later, after Emma went inside to wash up for dinner, Victoria stayed. She sat on the porch steps beside Daniel close enough that he could smell her shampoo, something floral that seemed at odds with everything else about her.

Thank you. She said quietly. For what? For letting her spend time with me. I know she’s yours and you don’t have to um She’s not mine. She’s her own person. And she likes you. That’s enough. Victoria was quiet for a moment. I never thought about kids. Never seemed like something that would fit in my life. And now? Now I don’t know.

Emma makes it seem less impossible. Daniel looked at her. You’d be good at it. You don’t know that. Yeah, I do. You’re good with her, patient, present. That’s most of it. Victoria pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. My father used to say I’d make a terrible mother, too focused on work, too cold.

Your father was wrong about a lot of things. Maybe. They sat in silence as the sun started its descent, turning the sky orange and pink. Emma’s laughter drifted from inside the house, something about a cartoon Daniel didn’t recognize. Normal sounds, the kind that made a place feel lived in. “I started going through his things,” Victoria said suddenly.

“The stuff in the house, papers, photos, a whole life packed into boxes.” How’s that going? It’s not. I keep starting and then stopping. It feels like I’m erasing him. You’re not erasing anything. You’re just making space. For what? Daniel didn’t have a good answer. Whatever comes next, I guess. Victoria rested her chin on her knees, staring at nothing.

I found letters from my mother, dozens of them, all unopened. He never read them? No, just kept them in a drawer. I don’t know if that’s sad or pathetic or both. Did you read them? No, I burned them. Daniel looked at her surprised. Victoria’s expression was flat, unreadable. “I don’t want to know what she had to say,” she continued.

“She left. That’s the only part that matters. The rest is just excuses.” Maybe she had reasons. Everyone has reasons. Doesn’t make them good ones. There was a bitterness in her voice that Daniel recognized. He’d carried the same edge for years after Emma’s mother left. The anger that came from being the one who stayed, the one who had to pick up pieces someone else had scattered.

“Emma’s mom left when she “It two,” Daniel said. “Just walked out one day, no fight, no warning. I came home from work and she was gone. Left a note on the counter that said she wasn’t cut out for this.” Victoria turned to look at him. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. It’s been four years. I’m over it.” “Are you?” Daniel thought about that.

“Mostly.” “Some days more than others.” “Do you hate her?” “I did for a long time.” “Now I just feel nothing.” “Which is maybe worse.” “Why worse?” “Because hate at least means you still care. Nothing means you’ve moved on so completely that the person doesn’t even matter anymore.” Victoria nodded slowly, like she understood exactly what he meant.

“I think that’s where I am with my mother. Just nothing.” They sat there as the light faded. Two people carrying the weight of abandonment in different ways, finding something like comfort in shared damage. Inside Emma called for Daniel. Something about homework she didn’t understand. He stood, brushing off his jeans.

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asked. “It’s just spaghetti. Probably going to burn it.” Victoria smiled faintly. “You always burn it.” “That’s not true.” “It’s absolutely true.” “You burned it last week.” “And the week before that.” “Those were isolated incidents.” “Three isolated incidents in a row is a pattern.” Daniel grinned.

“Stay anyway.” She did. Dinner was chaotic in the way meals with a six-year-old always were. Emma talked non-stop about school, about a girl named Sophia who’d stolen her eraser, about a math problem that didn’t make sense. Victoria listened like it all mattered, asking questions that made Emma feel heard.

Daniel burned the garlic bread, but salvaged the pasta. They ate at the small kitchen table, crowded together in a space meant for two, and it felt more like family than anything Daniel had experienced in years. After Emma went to bed, Victoria helped with the dishes. They worked in comfortable silence, Daniel washing while Victoria dried, the routine easy and unforced.

“This is nice.” Victoria said quietly. “What is?” “This.” “Being here, feeling normal.” Daniel handed her a plate. “You’re always welcome here. You know that.” “I do, but it still feels strange, like I’m intruding.” “You’re not.” “Your life was fine before I showed up every day.” “My life was functional.

That’s not the same as fine.” Victoria set the plate down, turned to look at him. “What are we doing, Daniel?” The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Daniel turned off the water, dried his hands on a towel that had seen better days. “I don’t know.” He said honestly. “Figuring it out?” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only one I have.

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