Chapter 17
I almost defended myself.
Then stopped.
She noticed.
“I’m trying,” I said.
“I know.”
It was the gentlest thing she had said.
It gave me hope.
That was dangerous.
So she killed it immediately.
“I’m still leaving you.”
I stared at her.
“We can’t—”
“Don’t.”
“Clara.”
“No.”
Her voice remained calm.
“I did not agree to this meeting so you could turn holding Noah into evidence that we should stay married.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were about to.”
I looked down.
She was right.
“I love you.”
“I believe you.”
That shocked me more than anger would have.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“That’s what makes this terrible.”
She leaned forward.
“I believe you love me. I also believe you have spent years loving your ambition more every time the two things competed.”
I could not answer.
“And I don’t know if your guilt right now is love, fear, humiliation, or the shock of finally losing something you cannot replace.”
“It’s love.”
“Maybe.”
Her voice broke.
“But I am not going back to find out.”
Noah made a small restless sound.
Instinctively, I adjusted him.
Clara noticed.
I noticed her noticing.
For one second, the room held something fragile between us.
Not reconciliation.
Possibility.
Not for marriage.
For fatherhood.
“You can see him again on Saturday,” she said.
My throat tightened.
“Thank you.”
“If you’re late, we leave.”
“I won’t be late.”
“If work calls—”
“I won’t answer.”
She looked at me.
“Don’t say things dramatically, Ethan. Just do them.”
So I did.
Saturday, I arrived early.
The Saturday after that too.
And the one after that.
I learned how Noah liked to be held when he was tired.
I learned the difference between the cry that meant hungry and the one that meant bored.
I learned that he hated cold wipes.
I learned to pack an extra shirt because babies do not care whether a shirt costs three hundred pounds.
I learned his doctor’s name.
His feeding schedule.
His favorite soft toy.
I learned how much of fatherhood was repetition.
Feed.
Burp.
Change.
Rock.
Walk.
Wait.
Begin again.
Nobody applauded.
That was the point.
Meanwhile, Cole Urban kept shrinking.
One development was postponed.
Another required a new partner.
The board replaced me permanently.
My ownership remained valuable enough that I would never become poor.
That almost made the collapse worse.
I could not dramatize myself into a victim.