Not even close.
But I knew I had to find a balance inside this new reality.
And the truth was, against every instinct I had—some part of me wanted to believe that the way he was trying… mattered.
That we might be moving in the right direction.
***
“This one, Mommy!”
Clara pointed excitedly at a book from the stack—one of her favorites, bright and colorful, full of fairy-tale illustrations.
We were sitting on the grass in the garden, a late-afternoon picnic thrown together with whatever we had—juice boxes, fruit, cookies. Clara curled into my side, her small warm head resting against my arm as I opened the book.
Her voice chimed in as I read, finishing familiar sentences, giggling at her favorite parts like she’d never heard them before.
Slowly, she was starting to feel safer in this strange, luxurious place we were calling home—for now.
The transition hadn’t been easy. I knew that better than anyone.
But these moments… these moments held a cautious kind of hope.
As I read, my thoughts drifted back to the last few weeks—to Clara and Enrico, always brief, always threaded with a delicate tension.
Since our conversation, he’d been trying to approach her with care.
The routine between the three of us had started to form, fragile but real.
Enrico kept his distance on purpose—far enough not to scare her, close enough for her to notice him. Close enough for her to see his effort.
Small gestures marked him: appearing in the garden around the same time we were outside, offering little gifts sometimes, asking how her day was.
Clara rarely answered directly. She stayed wary, cautious.
But she no longer hid behind my legs like she used to.
Sometimes she watched him with open curiosity, like she was quietly taking measurements of who he really was. Other times she simply allowed him to exist nearby without panic.
To most people, those changes would be invisible.
To me, they were everything.
It meant my daughter was beginning to believe—just barely—that the man she still didn’t know was her father might not be a threat.
“Mommy,” Clara asked suddenly, interrupting my thoughts with innocent gravity. “Why doesn’t the princess live with the prince at the beginning?”
I smiled, smoothing her hair as I searched for the right answer.
“Because sometimes they have to learn to trust each other first,” I said gently. “Sometimes they need time to understand they can be happy together.”
Clara frowned, thinking hard.
“Like you and Uncle Enrico?” she asked with the blunt, unfiltered truth only a child could deliver.
My heart kicked.
I looked away for a fraction of a second, forcing control over the emotion his name still caused in me.
