Gratitude.
Maybe even the faintest trace of respect for the way I’d handled it.
Valentina drew in a breath and stood, resting her hand on Clara’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you take Enrico to the kitchen?” she suggested gently. “I think he’d like to have breakfast with us.”
Clara nodded shyly… then extended her small hand toward me.
My heart hammered louder than my own breathing as I stared at that little hand—small, trusting—feeling out of place, unsteady, utterly outside my comfort zone.
But I reached out anyway.
Her fingers closed around mine with quiet confidence, and she tugged me toward the kitchen, where a table was already set—cut fruit, fresh bread, and the pleasant scent of freshly brewed coffee.
As we walked, I glanced back and caught Valentina’s serious gaze—still tense, still uncertain whether letting me close was the right decision.
The truth was…
I didn’t know what I was doing either.
I didn’t know the purpose of this visit beyond the obvious, or how I was supposed to fit this new role into my life.
All I knew was that holding my daughter’s hand for the first time threatened to shatter every barrier I’d built over the past five years.
We sat at the table. Clara took the chair beside me while Valentina poured coffee with movements that looked almost automatic. I watched her discreetly, discomfort curling in my chest at how much I suddenly depended on her patience—her cooperation—in this moment.
Clara looked at me with bright eyes as she chewed a piece of bread.
“Are you going to come back more?” she asked innocently, and something tightened in my chest.
Valentina froze, waiting.
That answer mattered—not just to my daughter, but to her mother too.
I inhaled and looked directly into those gray eyes that disarmed me more than any boardroom ever could.
“If you want me to come back, Clara,” I said, “then I will.”
Her face lit up—radiant, trusting, pure happiness.
“Then you’re going to come back,” she declared simply. “Because I want you to.”
Something broke in me.
Something I’d kept intact my entire adult life.
I looked at Valentina and saw surprise on her face—mixed with something deeper, more complex than I could name.
She looked away quickly, returning to the coffee as if nothing had happened.
But I’d seen it.
Relief.
The rest of breakfast passed in quiet. I had no idea how to make light conversation with a child, so I did the only thing I could do:
I watched Clara.
