“How do I know that’s true?”
“You don’t. Not yet. You just have to watch and see.” He set the glass back down. “But I’m asking you to give me the chance to prove it. Not for my sake. For hers.”
Fiona was quiet. Then she laughed—a small, exhausted sound.
“She showed me so many things,” she said. “Stella. At the festival. Techniques she’s learned. She knew so much.”
“That sounds like her.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m supposed to be the teacher. I have twenty-five years of experience. And my sixteen-year-old daughter showed me how she gets her shots.” Fiona shook her head. “She’s already ahead of me in some ways. The storytelling. The emotional intelligence. Mr. Reeves called it ‘documentary photography with emotional intelligence.’”
“That’s a good description.”
“It’s a perfect description. And I had nothing to do with it.” Her voice cracked. “She built that here. With you. With Margo. With people who actually paid attention.”
“You’re paying attention now.”
“Is it too late?”
Tyler considered the question. The easy answer wasno, of course not, it’s never too late. But easy answers weren’t what Fiona needed.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I know she wants you in her life. She showed you her work today. She didn’t have to do that. She chose to.”
“She drove me there. In the car she learned to drive without me knowing.” Fiona almost smiled. “She’s very competent. I gripped the door handle the entire way and she didn’t crash once.”
“That’s more than I can say.”
“She crashed?”
“Into a trash can. Very slowly. The trash can was fine. Her pride was wounded for about six hours.”
Fiona laughed—something more loose and easy.
“I want to sign the papers,” she said.
Tyler’s breath caught. “You do?”
“Not because you threatened me. Not because I’ve given up.” She turned to look at him directly. “Because she’s happy. Because she’s thriving. Because that school has a photography teacher who sees what I should have seen years ago.” Her voice wobbled but held. “And because you’re right—I raised her to know her own mind. I can’t punish her for using it.”
Tyler didn’t know what to say. He’d prepared for more fighting. More resistance. Not this.
“Thank you,” he managed.
“Don’t thank me yet. I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
“Video calls. Weekly. Not optional.”
“Done.”
“Holidays. She comes to Sydney for Christmas, at least part of it.”
“We can work that out.”
“And I want updates. Real ones. Not just ‘she’s fine.’ I want to know about her classes, her friends, her photography. I want to know if she’s struggling. I want to know if she’s happy.”
“I can do that.”
