Chapter 10 - EMMA REACHED FOR ME THE FIRST TIME SHE SAW ME AGAIN
Emma was almost eleven months old when I saw her again.
I did not ask.
Adrian did not arrange it secretly.
Dante called my lawyer.
My lawyer called me.
“Emma’s pediatric therapist believes familiar safe people from before the incident can be reintroduced if appropriate.”
I stared.
“Familiar?”
“You worked in the house seven months.”
“I barely interacted with her.”
“You apparently sang while cleaning the nursery hall.”
I went still.
“What?”
“Karen mentioned it in testimony.”
I had.
Quietly.
Old songs Mom used to sing.
Emma sometimes babbled from her crib.
I never thought she noticed.
Babies notice.
Of course.
“Adrian is asking whether you would be comfortable with a supervised visit.”
I thought about the dumpster.
Blue fingers.
Cold skin.
Her tiny heartbeat beneath my fingers.
My coat wrapped around her.
“Where?”
“Pediatric therapy center.”
Not mansion.
Good.
“Yes.”
Emma sat on a padded floor wearing pink overalls.
Healthy.
Warm.
Round cheeks.
Dark hair.
No memory I could see of the freezing night.
Adrian sat several feet away.
Therapist beside him.
I entered.
Emma looked at me.
Nothing.
Relief and disappointment arrived together.
Then I sat.
The therapist gave me a toy.
“Just play.”
I rolled a wooden ball.
Emma watched.
I rolled it again.
She crawled toward it.
Picked it up.
Then crawled toward me.
My throat tightened.
She stopped against my knee.
Looked up.
Touched my sweater.
Then lifted both arms.
The therapist smiled.
“Would you like to pick her up?”
I looked at Adrian.
He said nothing.
Good.
My decision.
I lifted Emma.
Warm.
Heavy.
Alive.
She touched my face.
Then laughed.
I broke.
Not dramatically.
Tears simply came.
Emma grabbed my hair.
“Ow.”
Adrian almost laughed.
I looked at him.
“Your daughter is violent.”
“Apparently.”
The joke felt dangerous.
Then we both remembered.
His face changed.
“I’m sorry.”
I appreciated that he did not pretend.
Emma babbled.
I held her.
For several minutes, the room felt separate from everything else.
No mafia.
No courts.
No Karen.
No Vincent.
Just a baby.
Then Emma leaned against my chest.
Exactly where I had pressed her that night.
My body remembered before my mind did.
Cold.
Panic.
Running.
I started shaking.
The therapist noticed.
“Claire?”
“I need…”
I handed Emma gently back.
Adrian moved.
Then stopped himself.
He did not touch me.
Good.
I stood.
Breathed.
The therapist guided me.
Trauma.
I hated the word.
It was still true.
Afterward, outside, Adrian remained several feet away.
“I should not have asked.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I wanted to see her.”
“But?”
“It was harder than I expected.”
He nodded.
“I still wake up thinking she’s cold.”
That surprised me.
“You didn’t find her.”
“No.”
“But I touched her when you brought her in.”
His voice broke.
“She felt dead.”
I looked at him.
For the first time, I saw the father before the crime boss.
That did not erase what he did.
But it existed.
“I thought I had already lost Lucia.”
Emma’s mother.
“I thought I was losing Emma too.”
“I know.”
“I lost control.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“I am learning that control was never what I needed.”
That sounded like therapy.
I said so.
He almost smiled.
“I have a therapist.”
I stared.
“You?”
“Apparently.”
“Does he know what you do?”
“Yes.”
“Still sees you?”
“High rates.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
Adrian smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Emma’s first birthday is next month.”
“Yes.”
“The trust review happens.”
I tensed.
“Vincent?”
“Gone from control.”
“Good.”
“Independent trustees.”
“Good.”
“There will be a small party.”
I waited.
“I would like you there.”
That felt different from dinner.
Family territory.
Emma’s life.
My history with the house.
“I don’t know.”
“You can say no.”
“I know.”
“Think about it.”
I did.
Maya told me to go.
Again.
“You are becoming annoyingly invested.”
“I like the baby.”
“You’ve never met her.”
“I like the idea of baby cake.”
Valid.
We went together.
Emma’s first birthday took place in a garden behind the estate.
Not the patio where guards had surrounded me.
Farther east.
Small.
Twenty people.
No press.
Santos came briefly because Emma apparently adored her badge.
Dante.
A few family members not implicated in Vincent’s mess.
Staff.
Maya, walking slowly but without help.
When Adrian saw her, he looked genuinely happy.
“Maya.”
She stared.
“You’re the slapper.”
I nearly died.
Adrian went still.
“Yes.”
Maya nodded.
“Good. We understand each other.”
Then walked away.
I covered my face.
Adrian whispered:
“She is terrifying.”
“Yes.”
Emma destroyed her cake.
Frosting everywhere.
At one point, she crawled toward me and slapped both frosting-covered hands onto my knees.
Maya laughed.
“Family tradition.”
“Too soon.”
Adrian heard.
He looked mortified.
Then laughed too.
That mattered.
Not minimizing.
Acknowledging.
At sunset, Adrian approached.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Emma invited me.”
“She cannot speak.”
“She has clear opinions.”
“True.”
We stood.
No romantic music.
No accidental touching.
Then he said:
“I am closing three parts of my organization.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Operations that keep creating enemies around Emma.”
I knew better than to ask details.
“Legal businesses?”
“Remain.”
“And the other side?”
“Reduced.”
“Can you just leave?”
“No.”
Honest.
“But I can stop expanding it.”
That mattered.
“For Emma?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“And because Vincent built his plan around what kind of man I was.”
I thought about that.
“Do not change because you want me to like you.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“I started before our dinner.”
“Good.”
Then he asked:
“Can I see you again?”
Maya was watching from ten feet away.
Pretending not to.
I sighed.
“Coffee.”
Adrian’s eyebrows lifted.
“That is a yes?”
“Coffee.”
“Public.”
“Yes.”
“No guards at table.”
“Yes.”
“No expensive gifts.”
“Yes.”
“No investigating everyone who says hello to me.”
He hesitated.
“Adrian.”
“I’ll try.”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“Yes.”
I smiled despite myself.
Not forgiveness.
Not love.
Not yet.
May you like
Just coffee.
Sometimes a happy ending starts small enough to fit inside a paper cup.
