Chapter 5
Hector
I watched Sarah disappear down the street, her shoulders rigid with anger, and told myself I didn’t care.
I’d only come to Aurelio’s for a quick takeout order.
Something for Lily since she’d barely touched dinner.
The odds of running into Sarah at her second job should have been astronomical.
Manhattan had thousands of restaurants. But there she was, and there was her boss—and I’d stepped in before my brain could stop me.
I ran my hand through my hair and turned back toward the restaurant.
Through the window, I could see the manager who had gotten his hands on her emerging with a box of his belongings, face still mottled with rage.
The staff clustered near the bar, whispering and pointing.
By morning, this would be the story everyone told.
The night Hector Valdez bought a restaurant because a waitress gave away leftovers.
I was still furious, recalling the way he’d violently yanked her.
I’d been sitting in the corner booth for five minutes before the incident, waiting for my order and trying not to notice Sarah talking to that woman. But I noticed anyway.
She’d been a wreck during Lily’s session this morning—distracted, unfocused, making mistakes she didn’t usually make.
I should have fired her then. I would have fired anyone else.
But Lily had smiled when Sarah walked in. So I’d said nothing and watched from my office, noting every error and telling myself tomorrow I’d address it.
Then I’d seen her here, looking even worse. Her problems weren’t my concern. Until that manager grabbed her arm. Until I’d watched him drag her across the dining room like she was property.
And I’d moved.
Bought the restaurant, fired the manager, extracted Sarah from the situation. It was the practical solution. The logical one. Sarah was Lily’s therapist. I couldn’t have her traumatized or unemployed or spiraling into whatever crisis was making her hands shake.
That’s what I told myself as I watched her disappear into the night.
For a moment, the memory of her looking at me like I’d done something good lingered—right before I’d made it clear I only cared about Lily.
My phone buzzed. Robert, confirming the restaurant purchase had been finalized.
I headed home, the penthouse quiet when I arrived. Mrs. Pearson met me in the entryway, already in her robe, clearly awake despite the late hour.
“She’s asleep,” she said before I could ask.
“Thank you.”
She studied me with a warm look. After fifteen years of employment, I considered her family. Joana had too, before her death.
“Long night?”
“You could say that.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly but she said nothing. Just nodded and headed toward her quarters.
I made my way to Lily’s room, pushing open the door as quietly as possible. She was curled on her side, arms wrapped around the stuffed elephant Joana had given her for her fifth birthday. Her dark hair spread across the pillow, face peaceful in sleep the way it never was while awake.
She looked exactly like her mother.
The resemblance was getting stronger as she grew older. Same delicate features, same spray of freckles across her nose, same stubborn chin. Sometimes I caught her in profile and forgot how to breathe, because for a second I saw Joana instead.
I sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to wake her. Reached out and brushed hair from her forehead.
“Daddy loves you,” I whispered. I knew she couldn’t hear me. I said it anyway because the words felt stuck in my throat during the day when she was awake and watching me with those careful eyes.
I’d said those same words to Joana. The last time I saw her. She’d been rushing out the door, she’d kissed my cheek and I’d said I love you and she’d laughed and said she knew and then she was gone.
I pulled Lily’s blanket up higher, tucked it around her small shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She shifted slightly, made a small sound, but didn’t wake.
I stayed, watching her breathe, alive. Nothing could take her from me.
Physically, she was fine.
For the first few weeks, she’d seemed fine emotionally too. She asked questions about heaven, about when Mommy was coming home, and I’d given her answers I didn’t believe. ‘Soon, sweetheart. She’s watching over you. She loves you so much.’
I’d thought I was helping. Thought I was protecting her from the full weight of it.
But children aren’t stupid. They know when you’re lying.
It happened slowly—like watching a plant die from lack of water. Lily began talking less. First the full sentences disappeared. Then just words here and there.
One day, she just stopped entirely. Woke up, went through her whole day, went to bed without making a single sound.
The doctors called it selective mutism. Said Lily could speak if she wanted to, but she’d chosen not to. According to them, it was a trauma response and she needed time and therapy and patience.
What they didn’t say was that it was my fault. That I’d lied to her about heaven and coming home and everything being okay.
Losing Joana had destroyed me. But not hearing my daughter’s voice for months, watching her retreat further inside herself every day, that was a different kind of hell.
Until Sarah.
I’d taken Lily to that restaurant for her birthday. Eight years old. Another birthday without her mother. I’d tried to make it special. Ordered her favorite food, brought balloons, bought a cupcake with a candle.
She’d stared at that candle lifelessly.
Then the waitress appeared. She had sung quietly, smiled like she actually cared instead of just doing her job.
And Lily had said “hurray.”
One word. Barely audible. But it was there.
I’d hired Sarah before I’d fully thought it through. Didn’t care that she wasn’t certified yet. I didn’t care about protocols or procedures. She’d gotten my daughter to speak and that was enough.
Six months later, Lily still wasn’t having conversations. But she used gestures now. Nodded yes, shook her head no. Sometimes, rarely, she’d say a single word. Usually when Sarah was around.
It was more than anyone else had managed. More than I’d dared hope for.
Sarah was loud—aggressively cheerful. She talked too much, laughed too easily, and seemed genuinely thrilled about everything. It was exhausting to be around. But Lily responded to it. Became more expressive. More present.
So I tolerated Sarah’s noise and her questions and her complete inability to follow proper boundaries. I watched their sessions from my office or through security feeds.
Tonight, I’d reacted on instinct—protective instinct. The same way I’d react if someone threatened Lily.
I stood, forcing myself to leave Lily’s room. Closed the door quietly behind me.
In my own room, I didn’t bother with the lights. Just stripped off my jacket, loosened my tie, and stood at the window looking out over the city. Manhattan at night. Millions of lights. Millions of people living their lives.
The nightmare came as always.
Joana’s car flipping. Me in the kitchen, completely unaware, chopping vegetables for a risotto while my wife died three miles away.
I woke up with my heart racing and my hand already reaching for my phone to check on Lily. I pulled up the camera feed to her room where she was still asleep, still curled around that elephant, still breathing.
I watched her for ten minutes before my heart rate returned to normal. I didn’t bother trying to sleep after that, I just showered, dressed, and went to my office. I worked through emails and reports until dawn broke over the city.
Gianna appeared at seven with coffee.
“Good morning, sir.” She set the cup on my desk. “Your schedule for today. Lily has tutoring at nine. You have a meeting with the investors at noon, and Ms. Tinsley’s therapy session is also scheduled for noon.”
I looked up from my computer. “Reschedule the investor meeting.”
“Sir?” She looked surprised.
I looked up at her. Gianna had worked here for two years and she knew when to push and when to back off.
This was apparently a pushing moment.
“Move it to next week. Ms. Tinsley’s session stays at noon.”
“Mr. Axel was very specific that today was the only day he’s available this month.”
“Then he can wait until next month.”
Axel Irving, the top investor who had shown interest in my latest project.
She nodded, “I’ll inform his office. Will there be anything else?”
“That’s all.”
She left without further comment. At nine, Lily’s tutor arrived, Mrs. Florence, some cheerful middle aged woman who ensured Lily kept up with her academics.
I watched from my office doorway as she tried to engage Lily in a math lesson. Lily stared at her with those careful eyes and said nothing, just pointed to answers occasionally, nodded or shook her head. She made it through the full hour without a single word.
The tutor left looking discouraged but determined. Give her another month. I returned to my office and worked through more emails, tried not to check the time every five minutes.
I needed to ensure Lily was getting quality care—that Sarah was focused and present and not falling apart the way she’d been yesterday. That my daughter’s therapy wasn’t being compromised by whatever crisis Sarah was dealing with.
That’s all, nothing more.
At eleven fifty-eight, I heard the elevator.
Sarah had arrived.
I stood, and straightened my tie. Lily was the only reason why I had rescheduled this meeting.
Nothing else.
I told myself that again as I stood behind my desk, hands braced on the polished wood, staring at the elevator doors like they’d personally offended me.
I didn’t reschedule a meeting with a man who controlled half the funding for my next project because of Sarah Tinsley.
I did it because Lily needed stability. Because her therapist needed to be competent, not collapsing in the middle of a restaurant.
But the truth pressed at the back of my mind like a bruise I didn’t want to touch.
I hadn’t liked seeing someone put their hands on her.