Chapter 10 The Space Between
The week after the farmer’s market passed in a blur of wedding plans and sleepless nights.
I threw myself into Isabelle’s floral arrangements, the seating chart, the endless back-and-forth with caterers. Work was safe. Work did not ask why I flinched every time my phone buzzed with Damian’s name. Work did not remind me of gray eyes and quiet daughters who saw too much.
But the texts kept coming.
Not about the wedding. About the girls. About Leo’s new fascination with swings and Max’s demand for a playground at home. Damian sent photos: Leo grinning from a swing set, Max covered in mud, both boys holding up crayon drawings of what he called “the strawberry lady.” I saved them without meaning to. Each image was a thread pulling me closer to a truth I was not ready to face.
Thursday afternoon, I was alone in my office reviewing a vendor contract when the door chimed. I looked up, expecting a client or a delivery.
Damian stepped inside.
He was out of breath, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked nothing like the man who had dismissed me from his office five years ago. He looked human. Vulnerable. Dangerous in an entirely different way.
I stood, my heart already racing. “Is something wrong with the wedding?”
“No.” He closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the small space. “I wanted to talk. About the other day. At the market.”
I gripped the edge of my desk, my knuckles white. “What about it?”
He moved closer, stopping on the other side of my desk, close enough that I could see the faint shadows under his eyes. “Your daughter, Rose. She said she’s never met her father.”
I said nothing. My throat was too tight for words.
“I’ve been thinking about it all week.” His voice was quiet, careful. “The way she looked at me. The way Leo and Max looked at her. There’s something I can’t explain.”
“Children look at strangers all the time.”
“Not like that.” He studied me, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. “You told me once that I was not the monster you made me out to be. You said that the day we first met.”
My blood ran cold. “I never said that.”
“Not in words.” He leaned against the desk, close enough that I could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the small scar near his jaw I had forgotten about. “But you look at me like you know me. Like you’ve known me for a very long time.”
I forced myself to breathe. “I’ve done my research on clients. It’s part of the job.”
“Is that why you flinch when I say your name? Why your hands shake when I walk into a room?” He tilted his head, and something flickered in his expression. “Ava, I’ve made a career out of reading people. And you are the hardest person I’ve ever tried to understand.”
I wanted to run. I wanted to tell him the truth. I did neither.
“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” I said.
“Or maybe I’m not trying hard enough.” He was quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving mine. “When I look at Rose, I feel something I can’t explain. A pull. A connection. The same way I feel when I look at my boys.”
My vision blurred. I blinked the tears away, willing them not to fall.
“Children have that effect,” I managed.
“Do they?” He moved around the desk, standing beside me now, so close I could smell his cologne. “Or is there something I should know?”
The door chimed.
We both turned. A woman stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. Rosa.
“Ava,” she said slowly, her gaze moving between us with sharp understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Damian stepped back, his expression smoothing into something unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I remembered from before. “I should go.” He looked at me, and for a moment, the mask slipped completely. I saw confusion there. And something else. Something that looked like hope. “We’ll talk again soon.”
He walked out, and the door closed behind him.
Rosa waited until his footsteps faded. Then she locked the door and turned to me. “What was that?”
I sank into my chair, my legs no longer able to hold me. “He’s asking questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“The kind I can’t answer.” I pressed my palms to my eyes. “He sees it, Rosa. He feels it. He knows something is wrong.”
“Then you need to tell him. Before he figures it out on his own.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t hide forever.” She sat across from me, her voice gentle but firm. “He has twins. He’s raising them alone. He’s not the man who threw you out. You see that. You’ve been seeing it for weeks.”
I looked up. “What if I tell him and he takes them? What if he decides he wants custody? He has money, power, lawyers. I have nothing.”
“You have his children. And he has children who look exactly like yours.” She took my hand. “Ava, he’s going to find out. The only choice is whether he hears it from you or from someone else.”
I stared at the drawing still pinned to my bulletin board. Leo’s triceratops. Leo, who had Damian’s smile. Max, who had his stubbornness. And my girls, who had his eyes.
“I need more time,” I whispered.
“Time won’t make it easier.”
That night, I lay in bed with the girls asleep beside me. Lily’s hand was curled around my thumb. Rose’s breathing was soft and even. My phone glowed on the nightstand. A text from Damian.
I didn’t mean to push today. It’s just… when I’m with you, I feel like I’m forgetting something important. Like I’ve been asleep and I’m finally waking up.
I read the message three times. My finger hovered over the keyboard. My heart pounded so loud I was sure it would wake the girls.
You’re not forgetting, I wanted to type. You just never knew.
Instead, I wrote: Some things take time to remember.
His reply came immediately. What do you mean?
I stared at the screen. This was the moment. I could tell him. I could type the words and let the truth fall where it may.
But my daughters’ faces floated in my mind. Their trust. Their love. Their fragile world built on the foundation I had constructed without him.
I don’t know, I lied. Goodnight, Damian.
Goodnight, Ava. Sleep well.
I set the phone down and closed my eyes. Rosa was right. Time would not make it easier. Every day I waited was another day of lies.
But the truth was a door I could not close once opened. And I was not sure I was ready to walk through.