Chapter 10
No coat despite the January cold.
Just Vincent.
For most of my marriage, seeing him unexpectedly would have sent a spark through me.
That night, I felt tired.
Lily had fed forty minutes earlier.
My hair was tied badly at the back of my head.
I wore an old gray sweater and soft pants.
There was spit-up on my shoulder.
I had never looked less like Mrs. Vincent Moretti.
I had never felt more like myself.
He knocked again.
"Emily."
I opened the inside door but left the storm door locked.
His eyes found my face.
Then dropped instinctively toward my body, as if only then remembering what had happened while he was away.
"You shouldn't have come here."
His voice was quiet.
"I needed to see you."
"You need to call Frances."
"I don't want to call Frances."
"That's not my problem."
His jaw flexed.
The Vincent I knew would have hated this.
Standing on a small porch while his wife spoke to him through a locked door.
No one waiting to obey him.
No advantage money could buy.
"Emily, let me in."
"No."
The word came easily.
His expression changed.
Maybe because I had never used it like that before.
Not angrily.
Not dramatically.
Just finally.
"Please."
I almost opened the door.
Not because I wanted him back.
Because muscle memory is powerful.
For years, when Vincent softened his voice, I softened too.
Then Lily cried upstairs.
His entire body stilled.
That sound.
His daughter's voice.
He looked past me toward the staircase.
"Is that her?"
I stared at him.
Something in my chest twisted.
He had missed her first cry.
Her first feeding.
The first night she slept against my heart.
He had missed the moment she wrapped her fingers around mine.
And yet he was her father.
My anger at him did not erase that.
"Wait here."
I went upstairs.
When I returned, Lily was against my chest wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
Vincent looked at her and stopped breathing.
I had seen fear in his face before.
Anger.
Control.
Calculation.
I had never seen wonder.
"Emily."
His voice broke on my name.
I unlocked the storm door.
"Five minutes."
He stepped inside.
For once, Vincent Moretti didn't inspect the room.
Didn't notice the modest furniture or narrow hallway.
He saw only Lily.
"Can I?"
I hesitated.
Then placed her carefully in his arms.
His hands looked enormous around her.