Chapter 91 #9: Nod If You Understand
Vincent’s chair stays pushed back an inch from the table, the faint scrape still in my mind even as the elevator doors close behind me the next morning. His face when David made that condition stays with me too: the quick flash of possession in his eyes, the way his fingers tightened around mine under the table until my knuckles ached. He didn’t mention it again after we left the Four Seasons. He just drove us home with the radio off, silence heavy between us.
The moment we stepped into the apartment, he turned me around against the front door, lifted my dress up, and slid into me, hard, like he needed to prove who I belong to now.
I let him.
I always let him when he needs it.
But I didn’t mention the heat that settled low in my stomach when David said 'sole point of contact', or how my pulse jumped as though my body still remembered what that used to mean in empty conference rooms late at night.
I didn’t tell him how all the wetness he found on my core that night came from calling David ‘sir' in the conference room just once during that meeting. Just once and it was enough to evoke the most dangerous memories.
I push the memory aside as the car stops outside Lucy’s school. Today isn’t for old ghosts. Today is for sugar, chaos, and pastel balloons.
Lucy jumps out of the backseat the second the door opens, her bright yellow dress swirling behind her, backpack swinging. “Mommy, can we bring the glitter slime home after? Please? I’ll clean it up. I promise.”
“You said that about the kinetic sand last month,” I remind her, catching her hand before she runs to the playground gate. “And my living room still looks like a disaster.”
She grins, all teeth. “But it was a pretty disaster.”
“Pretty doesn’t vacuum easily.” I fix the strap of her dress and smooth a loose curl. “Be good today. No getting into trouble, understood?”
Her eyes go wide and innocent. “I never get into trouble.”
“Uh-huh.” I kiss the top of her head. “Go have fun. I’ll be at the picnic tables with the other moms.”
She’s already running.
The birthday party is loud and busy by the time I reach the grass: bounce house, face painting, a table loaded with cupcakes and fruit. The playground is full of five-year-olds screaming like they’re in battle.
I see the group of mothers under the shaded picnic area with their pastel sundresses, big sunglasses, and iced coffees in their hands. They notice me right away. I never quite match: black jeans instead of linen, heels instead of flats, lipstick too red for a Saturday morning. I don’t mind. I’ve never minded the whispers.
“Nora,” Melissa calls, the clear leader of the group. Blonde, always tanned, voice loud enough to carry. “We wondered if you’d show up. Lucy looks adorable, by the way.”
“Thank you.” I force a smile. “She picked the dress. Said yellow makes her feel like the sun.”
“How sweet.” Melissa’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Though I’m surprised you let her wear something so bright. Most of us try to keep the sugar rush on the clothes, not the personality.”
The other women laugh, small and polite.
I tilt my head. “Bright is fine. Dull is forgettable. I’d rather she be remembered.”
Silence for a second. Melissa recovers. “Well. Confidence is important. Even at four.”
“Especially at four,” I say gently. “The world starts trying to dim them early. I’d rather give her a spotlight than a dimmer switch.”
Claire – maybe that’s her name – sips her coffee. “You’re very… modern. It must be tiring, keeping up with everything. The company, the travel, the intensity.”
I shrug. “Let's just I like to stay focused.”
I excuse myself and move toward the playground edge where I can watch Lucy climb the jungle gym without fear. She’s laughing, hair flying, already covered in wood chips and grass stains. Perfect.
For a moment the noise fades, and my mind goes back to last night.
Sole professional point of contact.
What he really meant: I want you alone in a room again. I want your full attention. I want to see you pretend you don’t remember how it felt when I bent you over my desk, pulled your head back with my fingers in your hair, and made you feel so good we left a puddle on the floor.
I remember. Every second.
A scream cuts through the thought and I look up fast.
A boy with red hair and a Spider-Man shirt sits on the mulch, holding his arm and crying. Lucy stands a few feet away with her hands on her hips and her chin out.
The mothers rush over. I get there first.
“What happened?” I ask, kneeling beside Lucy.
She looks at me, eyes big but dry. “He pulled my hair hard. Because I was winning the race up the slide.”
The boy’s mother, a tall, obnoxious looking blonde, kneels by her son. “Sweetheart, tell Mommy what happened.”
Another mother says, “He says she bit him.”
The boy nods through tears. “She bit me on my arm!”
Lucy shakes her head. “He pulled my ponytail so hard my head snapped back. I kept telling him to stop and he didn’t.”
“That’s a lie!” the boy shouts.
“It’s not!” Lucy shouts back.
The mother’s face turns red. “Young lady, you do not bite other children.”
Lucy looks at me. “Mommy, he hurt me first.”
I touch her shoulder. “I heard you, baby.”
The mother stands, voice rising. “This is unacceptable. Biting is never okay. I’m talking to the teacher about this.”
I stand slowly, keeping myself between Lucy and the woman. “Let’s all calm down. Kids fight. It happens.”
“Not like this,” the mother snaps. “This is aggression.”
Lucy’s chin shakes. “But he started it!”
The woman turns to Lucy. “Stop lying you little–“
Her hand moves before she finishes. I catch her wrist mid-air, my fingers closing tight. I twist just enough to make it hurt, but not enough to break. Yet.
The woman gasps as lean in, my voice low. “If you ever raise your hand to my daughter again, I will make sure you need surgery just to hold a coffee cup. Nod if you understand.”
She nods fast and I let go. She stumbles back, holding her wrist, eyes wide.
“We’re leaving.” I say, picking my daughter up.
Lucy wraps her legs around me, and buries her face in my neck. “Mommy, am I in trouble?”
I kiss her temple as I walk to the gate. “Are you telling the truth? Did he pull your hair first?”
She holds up her pinky. “Pinkie swear.”
I hook mine around hers. “Then you’re not in trouble. I will never punish you for defending yourself against someone who hurts you. Especially boys who think they can touch you just because you’re better than them.”
She nods against my shoulder and we don’t talk again until we’re in the car.
Vincent is in the foyer when we walk in, his tie hanging loose, sleeves rolled up. He looks relaxed until he sees my face.
“What happened?” he asks right away.
I set Lucy down. “Go wash your hands and face, baby. Then you can have the glitter slime we brought home.”
She runs off.
Vincent waits until her footsteps fade. “Talk to me.”
I exhale. “One of the boys pulled her hair because she was winning. She bit him. Then his mother tried to hit her and I stopped her.”
Vincent’s face darkens. “She tried to hit our daughter?”
“Yes.”
“What in the world gave her the right to–“ he pauses midsentence and fixes his gaze on mine. “What do you mean by you stopped her?”
“I handled it,” I say with a shrug.
He studies me for a long moment. “You’re going to make her violent if you keep encouraging this.”
I tilt my head. “Encouraging?”
“You just taught her that biting is okay. That violence solves things.”
“She defended herself against someone who hurt her first. That’s not violence. That’s establishing boundaries.”
Vincent runs a hand through his hair. “She’s four, Nora. She needs to learn to walk away and tell a teacher. Not to act like she’s in a street fight.”
My pulse jumps. “Like what?”
He hesitates.
“Say it,” I tell him quietly.
“Listen, I just don’t think teaching her that this is ok will be good for her in the long run. Especially when she sees you do it too. For heaven's sakes, Nora... harassing a parent?!” He fully turns to me, “What the hell were you thinking?!”
“I was protecting our child!”
“And I fully support that,” he says softly, “But I think you’re smart enough to protect her without teaching her that violence is ok.”
I let out a sigh, realising he has a point. I step closer, put my hands on his chest, and feel his heartbeat under the shirt. “You’re right. I'm sorry.”
He exhales, tension leaving him at my touch. “I just want her safe.”
“She is safe.” I begin sliding my hands down his chest slowly. “Because she has me. And I will never let anyone hurt her. Not ever.”
His breath catches when my fingers reach his belt.
I hold his gaze as I sink to my knees and the zipper begins to come down. His hand gently goes to my hair.
I look up at him and smile, as I whisper, “Let me remind you how well I take care of the people I love.”