Not every day at first. I told myself I didn’t want to intrude. I told myself I didn’t want to be that man, hovering, inserting myself where I had no right anymore. But by the third day, restraint became harder than distance.
The phone rang twice before he picked up.
“Adrian,” he said warmly. “Good morning, son.”
The word hit me in the chest every time. I never asked him not to call me that. But I couldn’t shake the guilt that followed immediately after, the thought that I had no right to still be addressed that way after what I’d done to his daughter.
“Morning, Sir,” I replied, my voice steady even as something inside me tightened.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m alright,” I said, because anything else felt like asking for comfort I didn’t deserve. “I just wanted to check in. How are Elena and Haille?”
“They’re good,” he answered easily. “Haille’s been full of energy since she got here. Barely naps. Elena’s been enjoying her time here.”
I closed my eyes briefly at that. It was everything I wanted for her, and everything that confirmed she needed distance from me to get it.
“That’s good,” I said quietly.
There was a short pause before I added, more carefully, “If it’s not too much trouble... would you mind sending me a photo of Haille sometimes? Just so I know she’s okay.”
Sometimeswas a lie. I wanted them every day. Saying Haille was easier than admitting how badly I wanted to see Elena. I wanted proof of her existence in my life, something tangible I could hold onto without crossing any lines.
Her father chuckled softly. “Of course. I was planning to, actually.”
Relief hit me harder than I expected.
And he did send them. Every day.
Haille at the park, her dress riding up as she ran, curls wild and untamed. Haille asleep on the couch, one leg thrown over a pillow. Haille at the beach, feet buried in sand, holding a shell like it was treasure, Elena bent close beside her, her smile caught mid-laugh.
I saved every single one.
Sometimes I stared at those photos longer than I should have, zooming in without realizing it, memorizing details as if they might disappear if I didn’t look closely enough. Other times, I forced myself to lock my phone and put it away, reminding myself that wanting more didn’t mean I was allowed to take it.
Control had always come easily to me. Restraint hadn’t.
It was humbling to realize how much of my confidence had been built on the assumption that my presence was welcome, even necessary. Now, I had to learn how to stay in my place. How to care without reaching. How to love without gripping.
On the tenth day, Avery called me.
“Lunch,” she said, not asking. “You and me. You’ve been ghosting.”
“I haven’t,” I replied. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Yeah,” she scoffed. “Busy being stupidly alone. I’ll pick you up in twenty.”
She did exactly that.
We sat at a small place near my office, something casual. She ordered for both of us without asking, like she always did when she was worried and pretending not to be.
“You’re eating,” she said flatly, sliding the plate toward me. “No arguments.”
“I was going to,” I muttered.
She watched me for a moment, eyes sharp but concerned. “You look... contained.”
I snorted quietly. “That’s one way to put it.”
