We stand there for a moment without speaking, and the way he holds my gaze makes me melt.
I feel like I'm being sucked into his orbit and this time, it's not about sex or how his body attracts me.
It's like I'm sensing his heart under all the sludge I hate.
Then Sofia runs back over and tugs on Dante's hand.
"Will you help me name my doll?" she asks.
"Of course."
He's torn away from the moment, but he glances over his shoulder at me a few times as she tugs him away, and I smile at the sight.
They walk to the table together and sit down.
Sofia chatters about possible names while Dante listens and offers suggestions.
I watch them and feel my walls cracking just a little bit more.
He's genuinely trying to be a father to her, and it's working.
Sofia is falling in love with him, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I don't even know if I want to anymore.
Marta and I finish making the saffron buns and put them in the oven to bake.
The kitchen fills with the smells of butter and saffron.
Sofia insists on lighting the candles on her tray once the buns are done.
We gather around the table and sing a traditional song while the candles flicker.
It feels like a real family moment.
It feels like something we could do every year if we stayed.
That's a little scary to me.
By evening, Sofia is exhausted from the excitement of the day.
I take her upstairs to get ready for bed.
She brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas, then climbs under the covers with her new doll tucked beside her.
But her face is screwed up into a pout as she stares at the doorway where I’ve left the door ajar.
"What is it,Piccola?" I ask her, smoothing away the crevices in her forehead with my thumb.
"Can Dante read me a story tonight?" she asks.
I hesitate. "He might be busy."
"Please, Mama? He said he's my father. I think he can read to me."
Her eyes are saucers as she stares up at me in a pout, and I can't possibly refuse her.
I don’t want to say yes.
