Chapter 6 - THE FIRST TIME MY DAUGHTER CALLED ME ADRIAN
Sofia learned my name before she learned who I was.
That seemed fair.
Evelyn would not let me introduce myself as their father.
Not yet.
She told the twins I was “an old family friend from Chicago.”
I hated it.
I accepted it.
The first afternoon, Leo ignored me completely.
Sofia asked thirty questions.
“Do you have a dog?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I travel.”
“Mama says that’s not a reason.”
“Your mama is usually right.”
Evelyn glanced over.
“Usually?”
I corrected myself.
“Always.”
Sofia approved.
Then she asked:
“Are you married?”
Marcus choked on his coffee.
“No.”
“Why?”
Evelyn intervened.
“Sofia.”
“What?”
“People don’t have to answer everything.”
I looked at my daughter.
“I was married once.”
“Did you like her?”
My eyes moved to Evelyn.
“Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you married?”
Because I trusted photographs over the woman I loved.
Because I chose meetings over doctor appointments.
Because I let my mother decide what truths reached me.
Because by the time I understood what mattered, I had already signed papers ending it.
Instead, I said:
“I made some bad choices.”
Sofia considered that.
“Mama says saying sorry doesn’t fix choices.”
Evelyn went still.
I almost laughed.
“Your mama is right about that too.”
Later, Leo’s wooden train broke.
He brought it to me without speaking.
I repaired the wheel.
He sat beside me afterward.
Not touching.
Close enough.
It was the best thing that had happened to me in three years.
Then he asked:
“Are you the Adrian Mama cries about?”
The room went silent.
Evelyn’s face lost color.
I had no answer.
Leo looked at his mother.
“You said his name when you were sad.”
Children hear everything adults believe they hide.
Evelyn knelt.
“Sweetheart—”
“Did he make you sad?”
Leo looked at me.
I could have protected myself.
I didn’t.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t listen when I should have.”
He nodded slowly.
Then:
“Don’t do it again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
He held out his train.
“Okay.”
That was apparently my probation.
That night, Marcus brought documents from the twins’ birth hospital.
Not DNA.
Something better.
Evelyn’s original admission paperwork.
Emergency C-section.
Father listed:
ADRIAN MORETTI.
Contact number:
My personal Chicago line.
The hospital had called it twice.
Both calls lasted under thirty seconds.
“Who answered?” I asked.
Marcus had already checked the phone logs.
My mother’s private secretary.
Both times.
Then he showed me one more record.
A voicemail transcription preserved by the carrier because of a legal hold.
NURSE:
Mr. Moretti, Ms. Carter has delivered twins prematurely. She has requested you be notified.
The reply:
May you like
Mr. Moretti does not wish to be contacted regarding Ms. Carter or the infants.
My children entered the world believing I had rejected them before they even left the NICU.
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