Alex
Thirty-three
I stand in Eloise’s doorway another moment, watching her sleep. Her Hello Kitty is tucked beneath one arm, her blanket twisted around her legs. The nightlight casts a soft glow across her room, and for the first time all day, she looks completely peaceful.
I leave her door cracked the way she likes and my attention drifts back to my phone in my pocket, still silent.
Exhaustion weights my shoulders as I head down the hall. Tomorrow will come early. Eloise never sleeps late, and neither do I. It will be Friday, but it’s still a work day. At this point, a few uninterrupted hours of sleep sounds like a gift.
A sliver of light spills from beneath my bedroom door as I approach.
I don’t remember leaving a lamp on.
For a second, I assume my mother has gone in there looking for something. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’s done today. The thought irritates me enough that I reach for the handle already prepared for an argument.
The door swings open, and the sight that greets me stops me cold.
Anastasia is sitting on my bed, her hands folded in her lap. For a moment, all I can do is stare. She isn’t sleeping. She isn’t passing through.
She’s waiting for me.
Tension infuses every muscle in my body as the exhaustion I’ve been carrying all day evaporates. Any expectation of sleep disappears with it. Anastasia didn’t come here by accident, and the look on her face tells me she’s not leaving until she says whatever she came to say.
“There you are,” she says quietly. “I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep somewhere else.”
My jaw tightens. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
She waves the objection away before I’ve fully finished speaking. “Alex, come on. It’s just us.”
Anastasia pats the empty space beside her on the mattress. The movement is casual, as if she can just slide backward into a life she abandoned. “We need to talk,” she says. “Privately.”
I don’t move. “Like you’ve been doing with my mother?” I ask. “Whatever you and she have been plotting, it changes nothing.”
“Alex—”
“No.” I cut her off before she can build momentum. “I’m not interested.”
Anastasia studies me for a moment before standing. She takes a few slow steps in my direction. “We were married.”
I exhale through my nose. “But now we’re not. I don’t know what you think you’re doing. Eloise is confused enough already.”
Anastasia’s expression falters. “I came back. I’m ready for us to be a family again.”
“Family?” I scoff. “We haven’t had a conversation in years. You aren’t thinking about what Eloise needs.”
“Of course I am.”
“If you were thinking about Eloise, you’d understand what this is doing to her.”
Anastasia opens her mouth.
“She has no memory of you. Zero. She’s built a life around that reality. Now you’re here for a few hours and suddenly she has a mother again? Do you really think that’s how it works?”
Anastasia folds her arms across her chest. “I just wanted to see my daughter.”
I shake my head. “And that’s exactly the problem.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you showed up thinking about what you wanted. You didn’t think about the consequences. You didn’t think about how she’d react. You didn’t think about what happens after you leave.”
For several seconds, Anastasia says nothing. She stands near the foot of the bed, her arms wrapped around herself. When she finally speaks, her voice sounds quieter. “You think I never thought about her?”
I don’t answer.
She lowers her gaze to the floor and releases a slow breath. “I think about you both every single day.” The words aren’t defensive, but they sound tired. “I wasn’t happy here, Alex.”
“You made that clear.”
“I felt trapped,” she continues. “Every day was the same. Every conversation was the same. I kept telling myself things would get better, but they didn’t.” She pauses and swallows. “I thought leaving would fix everything.” She looks away. “But eventually that feeling wore off.”
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. This isn’t a problem I can fix either.
Anastasia walks toward the dresser and rests her fingertips against the wood. “Then I started waiting.” She glances over her shoulder. “I thought you’d come after me. I thought you’d fight for us.” Her voice goes quiet. “I thought you’d show up at my door and tell me I was making a mistake.”
I shake my head. She ghosted me.
“After a while, I wasn’t happy in Toronto, either.” She folds her arms tightly. “I dated. I worked for my father. I kept moving forward because that’s what people do.” Her eyes meet mine. “But mostly I drifted.”
I breathe in and out, trying not to react.
“I talked with your mom at a fundraiser a few months ago, and I realized what I was missing. I still love you, Alex.” Her voice barely rises above a whisper. “I never stopped.”
I remain silent. That cannot possibly be true. I don’t think she ever loved me. I’m not sure she knows how to think beyond herself.
Anastasia’s eyes glisten beneath the lamplight. “I thought maybe I’d waited too long.”
“Anastasia.” I cut across her words before she can continue. “There’s nothing between us. I don’t know if what we had was ever real.”
Anastasia blinks. “What?”
I hold her gaze. “I’ve moved on.”
For several seconds neither of us speaks. Anastasia turns toward the window. The movement feels protective, as though she’s trying to shield herself from something she never expected to hear. “I thought there might still be something.”
“There isn’t.”
“We should at least try for Eloise’s sake.”
I narrowly avoid gasping out loud. What is she thinking? “I don’t think so. I welcome you to develop a relationship with your daughter. But that should be your focus, and it’s going to take some time.”
Anastasia closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them again, they’re filled with fire. “So that’s it?”
“If you want a relationship with Eloise, that’s fine, but there’s a process,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “You don’t get to walk back into her life and expect us all to acquiesce because it suddenly suits you.”
Her eyes narrow. “A process?”
“Yes. You need your lawyer. If you’re serious about partial custody or visitation, then you do this properly.” I square my shoulders. “You need to show some consistency. You need to prove you intend to stay.”
“You’re making me sound like some kind of danger to her,” she says.
“I’m saying Eloise needs stability.” My hands ball into fists for a moment, but my voice stays even.
“She needs adults who show up when they say they will. She needs people she can trust. She doesn’t need you disappearing on her again, nor does she need you acting like being absent for the first seven years of her life doesn’t matter. ”
“That isn’t fair.”
I can feel the rage simmering inside me again. Fair stopped mattering the day Eloise began asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. What isn’t fair is every time I’ve had to explain Anastasia’s absence without making Eloise feel unwanted.
“You haven’t had contact with her since you left,” I remind her.
Anastasia turns back to me. “That’s not true. You sent things.”
“Yes, I sent you updates, shared everything I thought you should know.” I shake my head. “I gave you plenty of opportunities to participate.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “I read them.”
“But you didn’t respond.”
She looks down, and for a second, I think she might own it. Then her shoulders lift, and I see the defense forming before she says a word. “You don’t know what was happening in my life, Alex. You don’t know how hard it was.”
“I’m not debating the choices you made or your life in Toronto,” I say. “I’m talking about Eloise.”
Her eyes flash. “She’s my daughter.”
“Yes,” I agree. That truth makes this harder, not easier.
“She is. Which means you don’t get to treat her like something you can just show interest in occasionally, when you’re lonely or regretful.
If you want to be in her life, then you show up and prove it with consistency, not emotion, and not just when it suits you. ”
Anastasia holds my gaze, but says nothing.
“I won’t let her get hurt again,” I tell her.
She is a little girl. My little girl. And it’s my job to protect her and care for her, just like I always have. Everything else feels upside down right now, but I know what matters. I know who needs me steady, even when everything else feels ready to split apart. I know who I’m fighting for.
Anastasia stares at me for a long moment, but the fight seems to have left her.
“I need to sleep,” I tell her. “The morning comes early around here. You should get some rest as well.” I make a point of shifting so she has a clear path to the door.
For a moment I think she’s going to stage some sort of coup, hold my room hostage, but then she gathers her dignity and moves past me, nearly knocking me over in the process.
I follow her to the doorway and watch until I’m certain she’s gone into the guest room and closed the door.