Chương 3
Her voice was low.
“I thought people would look at me and see that I had made a mistake.”
Robert glanced at her.
“Gaby.”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“What?”
“That I should have called.”
She looked back toward the road.
“That’s what everyone says.”
Robert slowed slightly as traffic became heavier.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
She looked surprised.
“No?”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I was going to ask why you thought you couldn’t.”
Gaby stared at him for several seconds.
Then she looked away.
The answer seemed harder than the question.
“I don’t know.”
Robert believed her.
That bothered him.
They drove in silence for several minutes.
The silence was not comfortable.
It was not peaceful.
It was two people sitting beside years of things they had never said.
At a stoplight, Robert noticed a small stain on the passenger seat.
He almost ignored it.
Then he realized it was probably from a bottle leaking or a child’s snack.
Something ordinary.
Something from a life he had not been invited into.
He reached over and touched it with his thumb.
A meaningless mark.
A reminder.
His daughter had been living moments he never saw.
“Tell me about Leo,” he said.
Gaby looked at him.
“What?”
“I know his name.”
She gave a small smile.
“Barely.”
The honesty of it hurt.
Robert nodded.
“Okay.”
She looked back at the sleeping baby.
“His favorite thing is music.”
“Music?”
“He likes old songs.”
Robert almost smiled.
“Old songs?”
“Apparently.”
She brushed a finger lightly over Leo’s hair.
“If something is playing, he gets quiet.”
“What kind?”
“Anything.”
A pause.
“He likes the songs you used to play in the kitchen.”
Robert looked at her.
“The old jazz records?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t know he heard those.”
“You played them every Sunday.”
“That was years ago.”
“He heard them.”
For a moment, Robert had no answer.
He remembered those mornings.
Gaby was little.
She would sit on the counter wearing oversized pajamas while he made pancakes.
He had thought those moments were ordinary.
He had forgotten them.
She had not.
The light changed.
Cars moved forward.
Robert continued driving.
When they reached his neighborhood, Gaby became tense again.
“You don’t have to stay long,” he said.
“I know.”
“You can leave if you want.”
She looked at him.
“You’re giving me permission to leave?”
“I’m reminding you that you have a choice.”
That seemed to affect her more than he expected.
Because choice was something she had not had much of lately.
The gate opened automatically.
The SUV entered the driveway.
The house looked exactly the way it had for years.
Clean.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Gaby stared at it.
“I forgot how big this place feels.”
Robert parked.
“It’s just a house.”
She gave him a tired look.
“No.”
He turned toward her.
“It feels like you.”
The comment bothered him.
Not because it was insulting.
Because he understood what she meant.
Everything in his life had a place.
Everything had a purpose.
Everything was managed.
There had never been much room for chaos.
And children were chaos.
Families were chaos.
Pain was chaos.
He had spent years building a life where chaos could not enter.
Then he looked at his daughter and realized he had kept out more than problems.
He had kept out parts of her.
Inside the house, Robert moved slowly.
Not because he was tired.
Because he did not want to overwhelm her.
Gaby stood near the entrance holding Leo while Robert found blankets, water, and anything else he could think of.
He opened cabinets.
Checked drawers.
Moved through his own home like a guest searching for something he was not sure he deserved to offer.
“You still keep the same coffee mugs,” Gaby said.
Robert looked over.
“What?”
She pointed.
“The blue ones.”
He glanced at the cabinet.
A row of old mugs sat behind the glass.
“I guess.”
“You hated those.”
He almost laughed.
“I did not hate them.”
“You said they looked like they came from a retirement home.”
“That sounds like something I would say.”
A small smile appeared on her face.
It disappeared quickly.
But Robert saw it.
And he held onto it.
Not because it solved anything.
Because it proved she was still there.
The doorbell rang.
Both of them froze.
Robert looked toward the front door.
Gaby’s face changed instantly.
Fear.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“Who is it?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Robert walked toward the door.
“Dad.”
He stopped.
The urgency in her voice made him turn.
“Don’t.”
The word carried years of experience.
Robert stood still.
“Why?”
She looked toward the door.
“Because if it’s him, he won’t come here to talk.”
The doorbell rang again.
This time longer.
Robert looked through the window beside the entrance.
A man stood outside.
Late thirties.
Dark jacket.
Impatient posture.
Even from a distance, Robert could see the confidence of someone who believed doors opened for him.
Gaby stepped backward.
Her face went pale.
“Derek.”
Robert did not move.
The anger he had been holding since the street returned.
But this time it was different.
It was not the anger of a father who wanted revenge.
It was the anger of a father who finally understood that the person he loved had been afraid for a long time.
The doorbell rang again.
Robert looked at his daughter.
Then at the man outside.
For years, he had solved problems by controlling the situation.
By having the right information.
By making the right call.
But this was not a business meeting.
This was not a negotiation.
This was his daughter standing behind him, waiting to see if he would finally stand with her.
Robert walked to the door.
Derek’s hand was still raised when Robert opened the door.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Robert had seen Derek many times before.
At family dinners.
At birthdays.
May you like
At the hospital when Leo was born.
Every time, Derek had worn the same expression.
