Fourteen #2
Heat rises in my cheeks. Before I can respond, they bend closer to Amelia, voices bubbling with delight as they gush over her turning one. Rebecca claps her hands lightly, as if even she can’t believe it. “One already! It feels like only yesterday Matteo was that small.”
I can’t help but laugh, the warmth of their affection wrapping around me like a blanket in the chaos of the party.
Rebecca straightens, her eyes twinkling. “We’d love to have you for dinner one Sunday night. We host every week, and you’re welcome any time you’re free.”
The invitation lands heavier than they realize, stirring something I hadn’t expected—an ache for family, for belonging. I tuck the moment away, smiling as I thank them.
The temperature drops. The air shifts. Like a cloud blocking the sun. Until everything shifts.
“Willow,” Rebbeca says. “She’s only two hours late.” She exchanges a look with Henry and I know she doesn’t approve.
Willow’s not alone. She’s dragging along a friend, and she’s dressed like she’s headed to a rooftop bar, not her daughter’s birthday. A micro-mini dress clings to her, stilettos stabbing the grass, cleavage front and center. People are polite. Barely.
But it’s clear she’s not getting the attention she came for.
She beelines for Amelia, who’s sitting peacefully on a padded play mat with a few toddlers and a bucket of blocks. Without warning, Willow scoops her up.
The scream is instant. Piercing. Frightened.
Amelia twists in her arms, searching the crowd. “No! No! No!” Her eyes lock on Trixie, who’s already in motion. She pushes away from Willow, arms open. “Bye, bye, bye.” It takes effort, but eventually, she coaxes Amelia free. The little girl buries her face in Trixie’s neck and clings.
The tent falls into uneasy silence.
“I don’t know what you’ve done to my daughter, but she hates me!” Willow snaps, her voice shrill.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Trixie says calmly. “You just startled her.”
Conversations slowly resume, but the tension lingers like smoke.
“She hasn’t seen you all week,” Trixie adds gently. “We don’t speak badly about you. But she needs time to feel safe. It’s her age.”
Willow storms off, heels sinking into the grass, and zeroes in on Matteo. Her voice lifts, clearly meant for an audience. “I’ve never seen such an over-the-top party for a baby who won’t even remember it.”
Cool as ever, Matteo steps beside her. “It is over the top. But she’s my daughter. I missed the first eight months of her life. I wanted to introduce her to everyone. I wanted to make up for what I lost.”
Willow bristles, not missing the dig. “Maybe if it hadn’t been a slam, bam, thank you ma’am, you’d have known sooner.”
Matteo doesn’t flinch. “We met in a club, Willow. One night. In a bathroom stall. What did you expect?”
Ciro appears out of nowhere and gently steers Willow and her friend away.
She goes without protest, shifting her attention toward him, flirtation on tap.
Her loyalty to Matteo has an expiration date.
She’ll move on to her next mark. Me? I’m not so sure I can handle dealing with Willow.
I’ve known women like her all my life—calculated, transactional. She’ll find her next mark soon enough.
Rebecca looks at me. “I know it’s a lot right now, but I think it’s worth it.”
She and Henry say their goodbyes, and I cross to Trixie and barely kneel before Amelia throws her arms toward me. Without thinking, I scoop her up.
“Happy birthday, beautiful girl,” I whisper. “Is Daddy spoiling you today? Did you get a special breakfast?”
Trixie grins. “Crepes with fruit spread and a little Nutella.”
I gasp dramatically. “No way! That beats my boring Greek yogurt with honey and strawberries.” I tickle her belly, and she giggles. Her laugh is sunlight in stereo—bright, wild, contagious. Then she leans forward, forehead pressed to mine, and plants a wet kiss on my cheek.
I’m undone.
Matteo’s hand brushes the small of my back, warm and steady, as he joins us, his laugh blending with Amelia’s. For a moment, everything feels simple. Good.
People line up for photos with the birthday girl, and I step aside to give them space. Matteo wants to show her off. I don’t blame him.
Willow doesn’t get a turn. And Matteo’s brothers—bless them—rotate in and out of the group like a protective shield, ensuring I’m never left alone.
A passing server offers a tray of frozen red drinks. “Strawberry daiquiri? The birthday girl’s a fan of strawberries.”
“How could I resist?” I smile and accept the icy glass.
As I sip, I catch sight of the party planner prepping the cake. That’s when Willow slinks over.
“Obviously, you’ve been spending time with my daughter,” she says, voice sharp as glass.
I meet her gaze calmly. I could point out how little time she’s spent with Amelia. I could ask why she vanished in the first place. But I don’t. That would feed her.
My pulse spikes, but my smile stays in place. She’s picking a fight, and I won’t give her the satisfaction. “Not much,” I say simply. “Just a little. She’s a sweet girl. Beautiful.”
Willow snorts. “You know I’ll always be her mother.”
I blink. “Of course. No one’s trying to replace you. Certainly not me.”
But the words I don’t say burn behind my teeth.
If you’re her mother, why did you leave?
If you’re her mother, why aren’t you here now? Really here?
If you’re her mother, why are you trying so hard to convince me?
Willow folds her arms, her eyes scanning mine. “You might be in his life today, but I’ll make sure you’re not in it tomorrow.”
I breathe deep. She wants a reaction. She’s not getting one.
“If that helps you feel more secure about your place in Amelia’s life,” I say evenly, “then I hope it brings you peace. Matteo and I are just friends.”
Willow scoffs. “Sure. I bet he bought you that Dior dress. And those diamonds.”
I smile, slow and unbothered. She thinks I’m some designer-dressed arm candy, exactly the role she wants. But she has no idea.
I’ve never needed Matteo’s money.
“Excuse me,” I say as I catch Matteo’s eye across the tent. His jaw is tight. He’s seen enough.
She grabs me by the arm. “If you stay in his life, Amelia won’t.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. Too many people and I’d make a scene, and this is a day all about Amelia.
I walk toward the gift table. The doll and stroller I brought are already half-buried beneath an avalanche of pastel wrapping paper and ribbon towers.
“Everything okay?” Matteo asks, appearing beside me.
“Of course. Don’t be mad at Willow,” I say lightly. “She’s trying to figure out where she fits. It makes sense. I’m not threatened.”
“What did she say to you?”
I could tell him. Could unload every petty, pointed jab. But I don’t want to be another source of chaos in his life.
“Nothing important.”
He studies me, like he knows I’m holding back. Then he reaches for my hand. “It’s time for the cake.”
He leads me to the front. Attention shifts toward us, a ripple of curious stares. Once he’s fully engaged with the crowd, I slip quietly back.
Amelia’s been changed, out of lace and into a cozy pink onesie. Barefoot and beaming, she’s placed in a highchair before her very own cake, small and perfectly frosted. A crown of pink and gold rests on her curls.
Matteo steps forward. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate my daughter. Today is special, not just because of Amelia, but because she shares this birthday with my mother, who would have been seventy-two today.”
Polite applause follows. But I know what this moment costs him.
He starts the song. Happy birthday to you …
And Willow, of course, is glued to his arm, striking poses like they’re a happy little family. From the outside, it might even look like they are.
But I know better.
Watching them, something twists inside me. My mother was never around. I used to wish she’d move back. Maybe I still do. And I wonder, for the first time, if staying here is selfish. If holding onto this…to him…is really what’s best for them.
The song ends, and Amelia digs into her cake like a tiny wild thing, frosting in her hair, on her eyelashes, across her nose. She’s pure joy. Unfiltered.
Willow looks horrified.
The photographer keeps snapping. Willow keeps posing, duck face and all. I’ll never understand why some women think that is attractive.
Amelia starts to fade. Trixie sweeps in like magic, lifting her effortlessly for a bath and a nap.
And I know it’s time.
I catch Richard’s eye, give him a small nod, and we slip out the back. No goodbyes. No fuss. Just gone.
So much happened today.
I love them. That’s the truth I can’t outrun. But love doesn’t always mean you stay. And I’m still not sure if doing what’s right for me…is what’s right for them.