Chương 10
Claire stood.
“Sometimes consequences aren’t a lesson. They’re just the new arrangement.”
Three days later, Marisol called with news Daniel had expected to feel happier about.
“Ben is willing to sign consent for the adoption.”
Daniel said nothing.
Marisol waited.
“What changed?”
“He says the visits changed it.”
“How?”
“He doesn’t believe disrupting Sophie’s legal parentage is in her interest.”
Daniel sat slowly.
“He said that?”
“His attorney said that.”
“Does he want anything?”
“Yes.”
Daniel’s shoulders tightened.
“What?”
“He would like a written agreement that you will continue contact as Sophie’s therapist recommends.”
Daniel looked at the warehouse floor through his office window.
“Is that enforceable?”
“Depends how it’s structured, and I’m not discussing the details until we determine what you actually want.”
“He wants visitation in exchange for consent.”
“Maybe. Or he wants reassurance that signing a document won’t make him disappear again.”
Daniel rubbed his jaw.
“That’s emotional blackmail.”
“It could be.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not.”
He stood.
“If I say no?”
“Then he may still consent. He may not.”
Daniel walked toward the window.
For years he had imagined adoption as the removal of uncertainty.
One signature.
One hearing.
One clean line between danger and safety.
Now the path required him to voluntarily preserve a relationship with the man whose absence had made the adoption necessary.
“I need to think.”
“Yes.”
That evening Daniel sat on the back steps while Noah practiced throwing a tennis ball against the fence.
Sophie was inside doing homework.
The balloon arch had been gone for months, but one strip of pale ribbon remained caught high on the wooden fence where nobody had bothered to remove it.
Noah threw.
Caught.
Threw.
Caught.
“Can I ask you something?”
Noah missed the catch.
The ball rolled into the grass.
“You already did.”
Daniel smiled.
“Do you want to see Grandma?”
Noah picked up the ball.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe is allowed.”
“Do you?”
Daniel considered lying.
“No.”
Noah nodded.
“Does Sophie?”
“No.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Because you’re not Sophie.”
Noah looked at him.
Daniel realized how obvious the sentence should have been.
Noah threw the ball again.
“She came to my game last week.”
Daniel stood.
“What?”
“She stayed by the parking lot.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
“Did she talk to you?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Noah shrugged.
Daniel’s pulse rose.
“Noah.”
“She didn’t do anything.”
“That is not the point.”
“She watched one inning.”
“She is not supposed to come near you without talking to me.”
“You said she couldn’t come to the house or school.”
“I thought it was understood.”
“It wasn’t.”
Daniel hated that Noah was right.
“Did she know you saw her?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She waved.”
“And?”
“I waved back.”
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
Noah’s expression hardened.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“You look like I’m in trouble.”
“You’re not.”
“I wanted to wave.”
Daniel lowered his hands.
“Okay.”
“She’s still my grandma.”
“I know.”
“You’re mad.”
“At her.”
“For watching baseball?”
“For ignoring a boundary.”
“You didn’t tell her about baseball.”
Daniel opened his mouth.
Again, Noah was right in the most irritating possible way.
Daniel had told Margaret not to contact Sophie, not to visit the house, not to approach the school, and not to use Claire to deliver messages.
He had never spoken specifically about Noah’s games.
He had simply assumed estrangement would spread to every place.
Noah bounced the ball.
“She looked sad.”
“That doesn’t mean you owe her anything.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Daniel watched him.
“Do you want to talk to her?”
Noah shrugged.
“Maybe.”
So Daniel called Margaret.
They met in a coffee shop.
Not the house.
Not a lawyer’s office.
Somewhere public enough that both of them would behave.
Margaret arrived wearing a navy coat and the gold necklace she had worn at Sophie’s birthday.
Daniel noticed it immediately and resented the necklace for existing unchanged.
She sat across from him.
“You look tired.”
“Don’t.”
Her lips pressed together.
“Fine.”
“You went to Noah’s game.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have attended his games since he was six.”
“You knew we weren’t speaking.”
“You and I weren’t.”
“You had no contact with the kids.”
“With Sophie.”
Daniel stared at her.
Margaret looked down.
“That sounded worse than I intended.”
“It usually does when you say the quiet part.”
She folded her hands.
“I miss him.”
“He misses you too.”
Her face changed.
Daniel disliked how quickly pity entered him.
He pushed it away.
“He may want contact.”
Margaret inhaled.
“That is not permission.”
“I know.”
“If he sees you, it happens with me aware of it.”
“Daniel, I am not dangerous to Noah.”
“This is not a negotiation about whether you consider yourself dangerous.”
Her fingers tightened.
“Fine.”
“And Sophie wants no contact.”
Margaret’s eyes lowered.
“For how long?”
“As long as she needs.”
“She is eight. You cannot give a child permanent authority over family relationships.”
“I can give her authority over whether she sits in a room with someone who deliberately frightened her.”
“I apologized.”
“You mailed a card.”
“You refused to let me see her.”
“Correct.”
Margaret’s composure slipped.
“What do you want from me?”
Daniel thought about that.
For months he had wanted a confession.
An admission that he had been right.
An explanation ugly enough to justify his anger.
None of those things would restore the birthday.
“I want you to stop trying to get back what you had.”
Margaret stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“You keep apologizing as if the apology is the first step back to normal.”
“What else would it be?”
“An apology.”
Her eyes filled, though no tears fell.
“That is cruel.”
“No.”
“You know what Sophie means to me.”
“I know what you did to her.”
“I made a terrible mistake.”
“You made several decisions.”
Margaret looked toward the window.
Cars passed behind her reflection.
“I thought Ben had been denied a chance.”
“You gave him her schedule.”
May you like
“I know.”
“You planned for him to approach her.”
