Sophia nodded.
“I’m glad you had her.”
The answer surprised him.
No jealousy.
No attempt to make their old love larger than his marriage.
Just gratitude that someone had loved him when Sophia was gone.
That mattered.
“Thank you.”
Silence.
Then Lily destroyed it.
“Daddy talks about you sometimes.”
Ethan nearly inhaled coffee he was not drinking.
“Lily.”
Sophia’s eyes widened.
“He does?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Lily.”
She grinned.
“When?”
Sophia asked.
Ethan looked betrayed.
“You’re encouraging this.”
“Absolutely.”
Lily thought carefully.
“Once when we drove past that old coffee place.”
Ethan remembered.
A tiny café near the college district.
Sophia and Ethan’s place.
Closed now.
Lily continued:
“And when we found that picture.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“What picture?”
Sophia asked quietly.
Lily looked toward him.
“You said I couldn’t tell Aunt Melissa.”
“Not Sophia.”
“Same category.”
“No.”
Sophia was smiling now.
Ethan surrendered.
“Old photograph.”
“Of what?”
“Us.”
Sophia’s smile faded.
“You kept one?”
“One.”
She stared.
“Why?”
He laughed bitterly.
“I don’t know.”
That was a lie.
They both knew.
Sophia slowly extended one hand across the table.
Not demanding.
Not touching.
Just leaving it there.
Ethan looked at it.
Ten years earlier, he would have taken it instantly.
Tonight he hesitated.
Then Lily whispered around a mouthful of pancakes:
“Daddy.”
He looked toward her.
She raised one eyebrow.
Eight years old and already judging his emotional cowardice.
Ethan placed his hand over Sophia’s.
Her fingers trembled.
So did his.
Neither pretended otherwise.
Outside, the storm began weakening.
For the first time all evening, Ethan wondered whether some stories did not end when people believed they had.
Sometimes they simply stopped being written for a while.
But second chances were not simple.
Sophia discovered that the following morning.
At 8:03 a.m., Ethan opened Cole Automotive.
At 8:19, a black luxury SUV pulled into the lot.
Ethan knew before the door opened that trouble had arrived.
An older man stepped out.
Silver hair.
Tailored charcoal coat.
Perfect posture.
Charles Laurent.
Sophia’s father.
Ten years older.
Just as cold.
Ethan stood inside the open garage bay holding a torque wrench.
Charles approached.
“Ethan.”
Ethan almost laughed.
“You remember my name.”
“I remember everything relevant to my daughter.”
“There’s your first mistake.”
Charles’s face barely moved.
“I understand Sophia encountered you yesterday.”
“She encountered a broken hose.”
“I repaired it.”
“That’s all.”
Charles looked toward the garage.
Three employees worked nearby.
Modest building.