The phone rings once before a man with a clipped voice says, “It isn’t your allocated day.”
“I know,” I answer, nodding. “But the deposit was bigger this time. Double what I paid last week. That should earn me more time, shouldn’t it?”
There’s a pause. A lengthy one. Then a sigh.
“Please. I promise I’ll make it quick.”
His sigh this time is relief rather than frustration. “Fine.”
When the line clicks, I drag my phone away from my ear and then accept his FaceTime request. The background of his slow walk is asgrand as always. Marble floors, antique-lined hallways, and furniture unsuitable for a child.
Then I hear it: soft, hesitant breathing.
“Come, Gabriele.”
I hate the snappy command of his tone, but it’s all forgotten when the cutest freckle-blemished cheeks fill my phone screen.
He’s gotten so big since the last time I saw him.
Too big.
My heart painfully squeezes as I trace the outline of his adorable face.
“Hi,” I whisper, tears welling. “Hey, sweetheart.”
His brows join before he shyly whispers, “H-hi.”
As he searches for answers for the black smears streaking my cheeks from the baboon orchestrating his every move from the other side, I take in all his perfect features. His dimpled cheeks, murky blue eyes, and messy blond hair sticking up in the back.
Gabriele is playing in a boyish room full of planes, trucks, and trains, and if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost smell the faint aroma of the crayons and laundry detergent I imagine he smells like.
“Is that a new plane?” I ask after noticing what he’s clutching.
Blond locks spill across his forehead when he bobs his chin.
“I bet it’s a fast plane. It looks fast.”
Again, he nods.
A giggle erupts from my lips when he zooms the plane past the camera.
“Wow. That issofast.”
He smiles, but it isn’t genuine. He’s confused, and that bothers me the most.
“I know this is hard, Gabriele, but I’m doing everything I can to get to see you. It shouldn’t be too much longer.” My response confuses him more, and it instigates a severe bout of recklessness. “It’s Mommy, Gabriele. I’m your mom?—”
The phone is ripped away so fast that it whooshes in my ears.
“You know the rules,” Edoardo snaps, glaring down at me.
He isn’t the man I thought I’d have children with. He’s heartless and cold, ugly by greed.
“I’m sorry.” My limbs turn to Jell-O as the footage moves away from my son. “I haven’t slept, and my mind slipped. I won’t do it again. I promise. Just another minute. Please, Edoardo.”
“No.” His voice is flat and final.
“Please—”
