I made you cookies, too. Dad helped, but I did most of the mixing. Some of them are a little burned, but they still taste good. I’m sure they’re perfect. Victoria stepped back to let them in. And Ethan noticed she’d made an effort to make the space feel less sterile. a throw blanket draped over the couch, a few books stacked on the coffee table, signs of actual human habitation.

Maya handed over the container of cookies with the kind of ceremony usually reserved for presenting royal gifts. Victoria accepted them with appropriate semnity, then suggested they eat a few now with milk. The three of them ended up in her enormous kitchen. Maya perched on a bar stool, swinging her legs while Victoria and Ethan leaned against the counter.

These are delicious, Victoria said after her first bite, and she sounded genuinely surprised. When’s the last time I had homemade cookies? Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had homemade cookies. Never? Maya’s eyes went wide with shock. Not even when you were little. My mother wasn’t really the baking type.

We didn’t have much money, and she worked a lot. Victoria’s expression turned distant. After she died, I lived with my father, but he was always traveling for work. The housekeeper made dinner sometimes, but nothing like this. Maya considered this with her usual seriousness. That’s sad. Everyone should have homemade cookies at least sometimes.

We can make you more if you want. Dad and I bake a lot because it’s fun and because it makes the apartment smell good. I’d like that very much. They spent the next hour in easy conversation. Maya telling Victoria about school and her friend Emma and the book about space she was reading. Victoria listened with genuine attention, asking questions that showed she was actually interested rather than just being polite.

Ethan watched the two of them interact and felt something settle in his chest. Some tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying finally releasing. Eventually, Maya wandered off to explore Victoria’s house, leaving the adults alone in the kitchen. Victoria turned to Ethan with an expression. He couldn’t quite read. “She’s wonderful,” Victoria said quietly.

“Smart and kind and so confident. You’re raising an incredible human.” “I’m trying. Most days I feel like I’m barely keeping it together. You’re doing more than that. She’s happy, Ethan. You can see it in everything about her. She feels safe and loved and free to just be a kid.” Victoria’s voice caught slightly. I don’t remember ever feeling that way.

Uh, it’s not too late. You know, to figure out what makes you happy, to feel safe, to build something that looks like joy instead of just success. Is that what we’re doing? Building joy? Ethan considered this. Maybe, or at least laying the foundation for it. Maya reappeared then, announcing that Victoria’s house was really big, but kind of empty, except for the view, which is amazing.

With 8-year-old diplomacy, she suggested that Victoria needed more colors, maybe some plants, definitely more pictures on the walls. “You’re absolutely right,” Victoria agreed. “Maybe you could help me figure out what to add. I’m not very good at making places feel like home.” Ma’s face lit up.

“Really? I could draw you more pictures, and Dad knows about plants because we have six plants at home, and only one of them has died.” High praise,” Victoria said to Ethan with barely suppressed amusement. “The one that died was Maya’s responsibility, and she forgot to water it for 3 weeks. I consider five out of six a victory.” They left as the sun was setting.

Maya clutching a promise from Victoria that they’d have another cookie session soon. In the truck, Mia was quiet for a few minutes before speaking. “I like her, Dad. She’s sad, but she’s trying not to be, and I think that’s brave.” Ethan glanced at his daughter in the rearview mirror, once again startled by her perceptiveness.

Yeah, sweetheart. I think that’s brave, too. Are you going to keep being her friend even though she’s rich and lives in a fancy house? Why would that matter? Maya shrugged. I don’t know. On TV, rich people and regular people don’t usually be friends, but I think you should anyway because she needs friends and you need friends and it doesn’t matter about the money stuff. You’re right.

It doesn’t matter about the money stuff. I’m right about most things, Mia said matterofactly. You should listen to me more often. That night, after Maya was asleep, Ethan’s phone rang. Victoria’s name appeared on the screen and he answered immediately. Everything okay? Everything’s fine. Better than fine, actually.

Victoria’s voice sounded different, lighter, less guarded. I just wanted to thank you for bringing Maya over, for letting me meet her. She’s extraordinary, Ethan. She liked you, too. Apparently, you’re sad but trying not to be, which makes you brave in her assessment. Victoria laughed, the sound genuine and unforced.

She’s not wrong about the sad part or the trying part. She paused. Can I ask you something? Of course. How do you do it? Balance everything? the garage, raising Maya, being present for her while dealing with your own grief and trauma. Some days I can barely manage running a company, and that’s with a staff of hundreds helping me. You’re doing it all alone.

I’m not doing it alone. I have Mrs. Chen, Maya’s teachers, the other parents at her school. I have people who show up when I need them, even if I’m terrible at asking. Ethan settled deeper into his couch. And I’ve learned that perfection isn’t the goal. Presence is. Maya doesn’t need a perfect father. She needs one who shows up, who tries, who loves her enough to keep pushing forward even when it’s hard.

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