When I finished, Mama was quiet for a long moment.
“I’m in shock,” she said finally. “Complete and utter shock.”
“Me too. And I’m scared, Mama.” I sank onto the couch, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. “She thinks I abandoned her. She doesn’t even know me anymore. I don’t know her.”
“You’re her father. She’ll remember you.”
“Will she? Or will she just see the man who let her mother take her away and didn’t fight hard enough to get her back?”
“But that’s not true. You fought until you had nothing left.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“It was everything you had.” Mama’s voice was fierce. “And now you have a second chance. Don’t waste it being afraid.”
She was right. I’d spent every dime, every ounce of strength, every night awake at the kitchen table drafting one more letter to a lawyer who never called back. I’d had nothing left when I sold my app.
“I’m living in a studio apartment, Mama. I don’t even have a room for her.”
“Then you’ll find a place to rent. I’ll help you. Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll figure this out.”
I exhaled slowly, some of the panic draining from my chest. Mama always had that effect—steady hands in a storm. Still, one thought wouldn’t let go.
“What if she hates me?”
“If she does, you’ll just stay steady. Love her anyway. Show up, every day, until she can’t help but see who you really are.”
I closed my eyes. “Nicole says she has behavior issues. Sullen. Uncommunicative. I’m afraid of what she’s been through. Nicole’s such a narcissist, I can only imagine the damage.”
“Her mother just sold her so she could remarry,” Mama said quietly. “So I think we have a pretty good idea.”
By six o’clock, I’d pulled myself together enough to shower, change, and pack the picnic I’d promised Lila: French bread from the bakery, Brie and aged Gouda, fresh figs, grapes, and a bottle of rosé chilling in a small cooler. And a blanket.
Going through the motions helped—kept my hands busy, kept my mind from spinning out.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about Margot. About the papers I’d sign tomorrow. About the fact that, in one week, I’d have a daughter living with me who thought I’d abandoned her.
I checked my reflection in the small mirror by the door. I looked tired. Stressed. But Lila would understand. I’d tell her. I had to. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
At six-twenty, I grabbed the picnic basket and headed downstairs. The evening air was warm but soft, touched by salt and the faintest hint of jasmine. Perfect for a beach picnic.
Using GPS, I drove out to Lila’s cottage, my stomach churning. What if this changed everything? What if she rejected me?
Her house was a small cedar-shingled cottage with blue shutters, a wild garden out front full of lavender and roses, and a narrow stone path winding toward the front door. It looked like something out of a fairy tale.
I knocked.
The door flew open, and a teenage girl with big brown eyes and a ponytail stood there, grinning.
“Hi, Vance,” she said. “I’m Mia. Come in.”
“Nice to meet you.” I stepped inside, taking in the beautifully decorated home—elegant but lived-in, the kind of space that made you exhale.
“Mom’s almost ready. She’s fiddling with her hair.” Mia rolled her eyes affectionately. “Want something to drink?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
She studied me with the kind of directness only teenagers could pull off. “You look just like your photos.”
