Chapter 13 - The Boy at the Window
While the adults fought over documents, Leo learned to stand beside a table again.
That became my world.
Not courtrooms.
Not board votes.
Not millions.
A four-year-old boy standing beside a kitchen chair.
Dr. Keller introduced a trauma specialist named Grace Holloway.
Grace never forced him to talk.
She played.
Sat on the floor.
Let him choose where she sat.
One afternoon, she put two plates on the table.
One on the chair.
One on the floor.
“You choose.”
Leo stared at them.
Then looked at me.
I said nothing.
Slowly, he pointed at the chair.
Grace smiled.
“Okay.”
He climbed up.
His legs trembled.
I had to turn toward the window so he would not see me cry.
He ate three apple slices sitting at the table.
That night, he slept for six hours.
The longest since I returned.
Three days later, he asked about Dominic.
“Daddy coming?”
My heart stopped.
Children do not erase love simply because adults fail them.
“Do you want to see Daddy?”
Leo looked frightened.
Then nodded.
Supervised visitation happened at Grace’s office.
Dominic entered without a suit.
No phone.
No mother.
No Brooke.
He knelt.
Leo backed away.
Dominic did not move closer.
“I’m sorry, buddy.”
Leo stared.
Dominic’s voice cracked.
“I should have protected you.”
Leo said nothing.
“I should have stopped Grandma.”
Nothing.
“I should have stopped Brooke.”
Leo finally spoke.
“Why didn’t you?”
Dominic closed his eyes.
There are questions four-year-olds should never have to ask.
“I was selfish.”
Leo frowned.
Dominic continued.
“I cared about the wrong things.”
“Work?”
“Yes.”
“Liam?”
Dominic swallowed.
“I thought Liam was my son.”
Leo’s eyes dropped.
“I’m your son.”
Dominic started crying.
“Yes.”
“You are.”
The session ended after fifteen minutes.
Outside, Dominic looked at me.
“I don’t deserve another chance.”
I said nothing.
“But if he ever gives me one…”
I interrupted.
“That will be his choice.”
“Not yours.”
“Not mine.”
“And certainly not Victoria’s.”
Dominic nodded.
Then Grace called me back inside.
Leo was drawing.
Three stick figures.
Me.
Him.
And someone else.
“Who is that?” I asked.
He pointed.
“Maria.”
The former housekeeper.
Then he drew a square beneath her feet.
A basement.
Inside the square, he drew another person.
A woman with long hair.
Brooke.
In her hand, he drew something black.
“What is that?”
Leo whispered.
“Mommy phone.”
My old phone.
May you like
The one I lost before leaving for Singapore.
Brooke had it.
