Chapter 23
“Owen just finished eating,” she said.
I nodded.
“May I hold him?”
She studied my face before answering.
“Yes.”
I washed my hands in the nearby bathroom, then returned.
Corinne placed our son in my arms.
He was warm and impossibly light. His eyes remained closed, his small fingers curled against my shirt.
I had held him before.
But never like this.
Not while understanding that every moment was something I had been trusted with rather than entitled to.
“Hi, Owen,” I whispered.
His mouth moved in a sleepy frown.
Corinne sat across from me.
“How is he sleeping?”
“Better. He usually wakes once.”
“Has he been to the pediatrician?”
“Yes. He had his checkup last week.”
“Is he gaining weight?”
“He is.”
I nodded.
The questions were ordinary, but my answers felt like a report on a life I had failed to witness.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Corinne looked at me.
“I know.”
“No. I mean—I know I’ve said it before, but I’m beginning to understand how little the word has meant when I used it.”
She folded her hands.
“What do you understand now?”
“That I treated marriage like a place I could return to whenever I was finished elsewhere. I expected you to keep it intact while I decided what I wanted.”
Her expression tightened slightly.
“I did keep it intact.”
“Yes.”
“For longer than I should have.”
“I know.”
She looked toward Owen.
“He needs a father who shows up consistently. Not someone who appears whenever guilt becomes uncomfortable.”
“I agree.”
“What does that mean in practice?”
“I’ll follow the schedule you and Miriam establish. I’ll be available for appointments. I’ll call when I say I will. I’ll tell you the truth even when it makes me look worse.”
“And if I don’t come back?”
“I’ll still do it.”
She held my gaze.
That was the answer she had been waiting for.
We sat in silence while Owen slept.
After a while, I said, “Miriam told me you wanted the trust placed under independent management.”
“Yes.”
“I agreed.”
“I heard.”
“I also gave her the documents Tessa found.”
Corinne’s expression changed at the name, though she did not look away.
“Does she know where you are?”
“No.”
“Did you speak with her?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still seeing her?”
“No.”
She glanced down.
“I didn’t ask because I wanted to know whether you had chosen me.”
“I didn’t choose between you. I ended something I should never have started.”