Almost convinces me that I can get through losing Finn.
Then Pear jumps onto the stool beside Chloe and she strokes the kitten’s back.
“Finn used to do this,” she says quietly.
I stop with my hand on the spoon, stirring the pot of pasta sauce Chrissy left behind. “Do what, pumpkin?”
“Pet the kitties when she was thinking.”
My throat goes tight. “Are you thinking?”
“Yeah.”
“About what?”
“About Finn.”
Fuck me.
“Yeah?”
Chloe nods, eyes on Pear. “She’d squish her mouth up”—a little crease forms between her brows, mimicking Finn almost exactly—“like this.”
I almost laugh.
Almost.
Because it’s so damned accurate. But…it hurts too fucking much.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
The question is so soft I barely hear it.
I’m at her side in two strides. “No,” I say firmly. I cup her face in my hands, tilting her head up so I can meet her gaze. “Absolutely not.Never.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Then why did Finn go?”
I open my mouth. Close it.
Because what am I supposed to say?
I’m trying to protect her, so I told Finn to go?
Maybe.
But she speaks first. “Is it complicated?”
“What?”
“Finn said that sometimes being a grownup is complicated.”
I freeze, suddenly wanting to laugh. Then smooth back her hair. “Yeah, baby, it’s complicated.”
Boy, is this complicated.
