He was not a monster in the fairy-tale sense.
He was worse in an ordinary way.
A man who believed love should wait quietly while ego took up the room.
“No,” I said. “I wanted you to answer your phone.”
That landed.
His face changed, just for a second.
Then anger covered it.
“You’ll need me eventually.”
I looked past him to where Daniel waited by the elevators, arms crossed. To Priya beside me. To Eli at the far end of the hall, not intruding, simply there because I had asked him to drive us.
“No,” I said. “I needed you then.”
I walked away.
Months passed.
Lily grew from a furious red newborn into a round-cheeked baby with solemn eyes and a talent for spitting pacifiers at impressive distance. She smiled first at Daniel, which he treated as a legal victory. She laughed first at Eli when he sneezed while changing a lightbulb. She slept through the night once at four months and then, apparently realizing she had given us hope, never repeated it for six weeks.
