"I know, you're going to say I'm the one who wants her to stay," she interrupted, using a tone too mature for a six-year-old. "But you're happy too."
I froze.
"You smiled so many times today," she said, holding up her fingers to count. "Way more than usual."
Her fingers showed about two centimeters.
"Did I?"
"Yes!" She nodded hard. "I counted."
I didn't speak. The car crossed the Manhattan Bridge, sunset shining from the opposite side, dyeing the whole river orange-red.
"Daddy," Juliet's voice came from behind, much softer now, "will Vivi always stay with us?"
I was silent for a long time.
"Yes," I said.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She hummed acknowledgment, buried her face in her rabbit, and said nothing more.
Memories flooded back like a tide.
That night I'd drunk a lot. When I pushed open her door, she lay in bed, glanced at me in the darkness like looking at a wall.
I couldn't stand that look. So I forced her. Her nails digging into my back, her biting her lip to keep silent, her tears sliding from the corners of her eyes into her hair—these things carved into my brain like knives. Five years, and they'd never faded.
My arrogance and coldness drove her away.
I pushed her far away, using family rules, using Bianca's presence, using my silence and indifference. I told myself it was for her own good, for the family.
So she left, carrying all the wounds I'd given her.
Maybe it would be best if I didn't appear. Maybe I should let her quietly finish these few months of ballet teaching, then quietly leave, return to the new life she'd barely built. Juliet needed a mother, I needed a wife, but she didn't need us.
These thoughts spun through my head countless times. I almost convinced myself.
But I couldn't do it.
Fuck.
I couldn't fucking do it.
Five years. I thought I could forget her. I told myself she was just a woman who'd signed a contract. She took the money, had the child, then left. That was part of the deal. Nothing to miss.
But every sleepless night, every time I saw Juliet's green eyes, every time I smelled jasmine, I thought of her.
Thought of how she felt in my arms.
Thought of that broken sound when she called my name.
Thought of all those things in her eyes I never had time to understand.
Five years of longing, like a vine growing in darkness, silently occupying my chest, winding around every rib, piercing every inch of skin until even breathing hurt.
