PART 3:

The door was cracked open the way she liked it. Not closed, but not wide enough that too much light got in. He eased it open another inch and looked inside. Emma was sprawled across her twin bed in a tangle of blankets and stuffed animals, dark hair fanned across her pillow. She slept like she did everything else, wholeheartedly, without reservation.

One arm was flung above her head, the other clutched her favorite bear, a threadbare thing she’d named Button when she was three. Adrian leaned against the doorframe and felt something in his chest crack open the way it always did when he looked at her. Eight years old, smart as hell, funny without trying.

The best thing he’d ever been part of making, even if the circumstances had been a disaster. Emma’s mother had left when Emma was 6 months old. No note, no explanation, just gone one morning when Adrian came home from a double shift to find the apartment empty except for the baby crying in her crib. He’d never heard from her again.

No custody battle, no child support, nothing. She just erased herself. Those first few years had been the hardest thing Adrian had ever survived. He’d been 24 working two jobs, trying to keep a baby alive on no sleep and even less money. He’d learned to change diapers and make formula and function on 3 hours of sleep.

He’d learned which bills could be paid late and which couldn’t. He’d learned to swallow his pride and accept help from Mrs. Castellanos when she offered it because sometimes love meant admitting you couldn’t do it alone. He’d learned that nothing in his life mattered more than the small human who called him Daddy. Emma stirred in her sleep, mumbling something he couldn’t make out.

Adrian stepped into the room and pulled her blanket up over her shoulders. She settled immediately, burrowing deeper into her pillow. Love you, baby girl, he whispered. She didn’t wake up. Adrian stood there for another minute, just watching her breathe, then backed out of the room and closed the door to a crack again.

In his own bedroom, he sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his work boots. His back ached. His shoulders ached. Everything ached in the specific way of a man who worked with his hands for a living and wasn’t getting any younger. He thought about Selina Cross standing by that window. He thought about the way she’d looked at him when he finally met her eyes.

He thought about how badly he wanted to stop thinking about her. Not for you, he said quietly to the empty room. Not even close. But when he lay down and closed his eyes, the last thing he saw before sleep took him was the way she’d turned from the window, backlit by the city, looking at him like he’d said something that mattered.

Friday was a half day. Adrian’s supervisor, a perpetually exhausted man named Rick, who smelled like cigarettes and regret, had assigned him to routine maintenance on the lower floors. Changing air filters, checking door hinges, replacing burnt-out bulbs. Easy work, mindless work. The kind that let Adrian’s thoughts wander to places they shouldn’t.

He kept replaying the conversation from the night before, kept hearing his own voice saying things he had no business saying, kept seeing the look on Selina’s face. What if I don’t want you to leave? Focus, he muttered to himself, yanking an air filter out of its housing harder than necessary. You’ve got work.

Do the work. At 1:00, Rick found him in a mechanical room and told him he could clock out. You sure? Adrian said. I’ve still got the fourth floor restrooms on my list. Jenkins can handle it. You’ve been pulling late nights all week. Go home. See your kid. Adrian didn’t argue. He cleaned his tools, signed out, and was in his truck by 1:15.

The elementary school let out at 2:45. Adrian parked across the street at 2:30 and waited, watching the doors. Other parents and caregivers gathered on the sidewalk, mostly mothers, a few fathers, a handful of grandparents. He recognized some of them from previous pickups, but didn’t know their names. That was intentional.

Adrian had learned that getting too friendly led to questions about Emma’s mother, and those questions never went anywhere good. At 2:47, the doors burst open and kids poured out like a dam breaking. Adrian spotted Emma immediately. She was near the middle of the pack, purple backpack bouncing, talking animatedly to a girl with braids.

When she saw his truck, her whole face lit up. Dad! Mike! She broke into a run, weaving through the crowd with the reckless confidence of a kid who hadn’t learned to be afraid yet. Adrian got out and crouched down just in time for her to crash into him, all sharp elbows and enthusiasm. Hey, trouble, he said, he said wrapping her in a hug.

How was school? Good. We did science and I got a hundred on my spelling test and Marcus brought his hamster for show and tell, but it pooped in the cage and everyone laughed. Sounds like a solid day. Can we get ice cream? It’s November. So? Ice cream doesn’t have a season, Dad. That’s capitalism talking. Adrian blinked. Where did you learn that word? Mrs. Castellanos.

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