“For when I’m there.”
Another pause.
Then her voice softened.
“Ella, being with your dad isn’t something you buy.”
My daughter looked at me.
“Both houses?”
Miriam answered.
“Both houses.”
Ella leaned against my arm.
Only then did she begin crying.
Miriam came over.
I did not ask her to wait until the next day.
I did not make the evening another dispute about which parent had control of the schedule.
Ella wanted her.
That was enough.
When she arrived, she hugged our daughter, then looked at me over the child’s head.
There was anger in her face.
I understood.
I deserved some of it.
We waited until Ella settled with Nadine in the reading corner.
Then Miriam and I spoke near the window.
“What happened?”
I told her.
The amounts.
The paper.
The box.
The sentence about owing after a hug I had given freely.
Miriam looked toward the chair where Ella sat.
“She asked me last week whether you were having trouble at work.”
I stared.
“What did you say?”
“That I didn’t think so. She said people needed to be careful with your time.”
I remembered telling Seraphina, during a particularly difficult week, that every interruption made the day longer.
I remembered complaining about how many people wanted something.
Words spoken carelessly.
Not permission.
But words someone had been willing to carry to a child.
Miriam folded her arms.
“You should have called me sooner.”
“I found out tonight.”
“I mean before tonight, Dominic. When she started asking less.”
I looked at Ella.
Her mother was right.
I had noticed the quiet.
Then I had called it growing up.
Seraphina waited in the study.
I went in only after Miriam and Nadine were with Ella upstairs.
My wife stood beside the desk.
