“No,” I say softly. “Not yet.”
She nods again. Then, after another beat, asks, “Did he not want me before?”
God. My baby. I close my eyes, just for a second. “It wasn’t about you, baby. It was never about you.”
Her voice is small. “But it feels like it was.”
I slide off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions beside her, pulling her into my side. She comes easily, curling into me. “He didn’t know how to be what weneed,” I say into her hair. “That’s not your fault. You’re so easy to love, Maya. The easiest. He just wasn’t ready to be the kind of person you deserve.”
“Are you sure I want to meet him?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “And you don’t have to. But he asked for a chance to meet you, and I wanted to ask you how you felt before I said yes.”
She’s quiet again. Her fingers fidget with the sleeve of my shirt. “Will you come too?”
I smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my chest. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”
She exhales, a little sigh of relief, and rests her head on my arm. For a long moment, we just sit there in the soft quiet of the living room. The TV hums faintly in the background, a cartoon menu looping with cheerful music no one’s paying any attention to.
Maya traces her finger along the seam of a throw pillow. “What if I don’t like him?”
I run a hand down her back in slow, even strokes. “Then that’s okay.”
She tilts her head to look up at me. “But he’s my dad.”
I smooth her hair back. “He’s your dad by blood, yes. But being a dad is about showing up—and he hasn’t done that. You don’t owe him anything. Meeting him doesn’t mean you have to feel anything. You just have to be honest with yourself.”
She nods slowly, but I can see her chewing on it, the way she does with big thoughts.
“Will it be weird?” she asks.
I laugh softly. “Probably.”
That earns me a tiny smile, and I hold on to it like oxygen.
“We’re going to meet somewhere public,” I continue. “Somewhere that feels safe. I told him I didn’t want it to be ina house or anything too private. I wanted you to feel comfortable.”
She’s quiet again. “Do I have to hug him?”
“Absolutely not,” I say, firm and immediate. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Not now. Not ever.”
Her shoulders relax a little. “Will he look like me?”
That one catches me off guard. I picture Nico—sharp jawline, confident smile.
“A little,” I say. “Your eyes are like his. But the rest of you? That’s all me. My little twin.”
She hums, filing that away. “I have questions,” she says. “If I meet him.”
“That’s good. Ask whatever you want.”
She looks at me seriously. “Even hard ones?”
I nod. “Especially hard ones.”
She leans her head back on my arm again. “Okay.”
And just like that, the decision is made. Not because she’s excited. Not because she wants it. But because she’s brave enough to face it, even if it scares her.
