Chapter 12 - MARISOL FINALLY TOOK THE WEEKEND OFF
The first weekend Marisol took off, I panicked more than the girls.
She left Friday afternoon.
“Monday,” she said.
Sofia waved.
Valeria barely looked up from homework.
Healthy.
I stared after Marisol’s car.
Then Valeria said:
“Dad, you’re being weird.”
Apparently attachment problems can belong to billionaires too.
Friday dinner:
Burned chicken.
Saturday breakfast:
Pancakes shaped like damaged continents.
Saturday afternoon:
We went to Elena’s grave.
The girls had not been in months.
Sofia carried the stuffed rabbit.
Valeria carried flowers.
No security detail at the stone.
Just us.
Then Valeria said:
“Mom would hate Chloe.”
I paused.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
“I know what your mother valued.”
I looked at both girls.
“But I don’t get to use her memory to win arguments.”
Dr. Morris would have been proud.
Sofia placed the rabbit beside the headstone.
Only for a minute.
Then took it back.
Good.
On Sunday, we made cookies.
Terrible.
Monday morning, Marisol returned.
The girls hugged her.
Then went back to breakfast.
She looked at me.
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
“Good.”
Then she handed me a university brochure.
“What’s this?”
“I’m applying.”
She had started community-college courses years earlier.
Her long-term goal:
Family counseling support and child-development administration.
Not therapy.
Program management.
She wanted a degree.
I immediately said:
“I’ll pay.”
She gave me a look.
Of course.
“Sorry.”
“Employment education benefit.”
Fair.
My family office already had tuition reimbursement for corporate employees.
Household staff had been excluded.
Why?
No good reason.
We created the same benefit for long-term domestic employees across my staffed properties.
Not named after Marisol.
No charity.
Employment policy.
She applied.
Earned admission.
Used the benefit.
Then she told me something else.
“I don’t want to work in your house forever.”
This time, I did not feel abandoned.
“What do you want?”
“To help families manage caregivers better.”
I laughed.
“Is that a real job?”
“It should be.”
She had a point.
Then Valeria appeared in the doorway.
“You’re leaving?”
“Not now.”
“When?”
“Someday.”
My daughter looked at me.
I did not rescue the moment.
Marisol said:
“People can love you and still have their own life.”
Valeria swallowed.
Then nodded.
Another lesson Chloe had never understood.
Then Marisol added:
“And your father is supposed to be doing most of the parenting anyway.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Valeria smiled.
“She’s right.”
May you like
Betrayed in my own kitchen.
Wonderful.
