12. Chapter 12 #2
She beams, satisfied, and turns back to the screen, unconsciously leaning against my arm again.
Over her head, my eyes meet Tiff’s, and her expression softens.
In that moment, something passes between us.
No words are spoken. There’s no need. It’s a truce.
She brought me here, and let me experience this time with my child because she trusts me, and I’m not going to give her a reason to go back on it.
She gives me the smallest nod before turning her attention back to the movie.
By the time Princess Blanca and Princess Isla defeat the evil snow monster, Ella's eyelids are drooping despite her valiant efforts to stay awake. The credits roll, and Tiff stands, stretching.
“Okay, bedtime for princesses,” she announces.
“Not sleepy,” Ella protests, even through a wide yawn.
“Uh-huh. Tell that to those sleepy eyes.” Tiff holds out her hand. “Come on, bath time.”
“Can Jamie help?” Ella asks, turning those big, doe eyes on me with devastating effect.
Tiff hesitates, glancing between us. “Bath time is usually just you and me, baby.”
Ella's face falls, and I quickly intervene. “That's okay. Maybe I could help with the story part later? If that's all right with your mom.”
Tiff considers this, then nods slowly. “I guess that would be okay. We'll be about twenty minutes.”
“I don't mind waiting.”
Ella perks up immediately. “You gotta do the voices,” she informs me seriously. “Mommy always does the voices but sometimes she's too sleepy and they don’t sound right.”
“I'll do my best,” I promise, my heart racing at the thought of being entrusted with even this small part of their routine.
As they head upstairs, I take the opportunity to explore the living room more closely.
Photos line the built-in shelves—Ella as a newborn, cradled in Tiff's arms. Ella's first birthday, face smeared with cake.
Ella on Zach's shoulders at what looks like a football game.
Holidays, milestones, ordinary moments—a visual representation of everything I've missed.
My chest aches as I pick up a frame holding a photo of Ella in a ballet tutu, beaming at the camera. She can't be more than two, her hair in tiny pigtails, her eyes—Tiff’s eyes—sparkling with delight.
How many firsts have I missed? First smile, first steps, first words…. I set the photo down carefully, my throat tight with regret.
“Jamie?”
I turn to find Tiff watching me from the stairs, her expression guarded. “She's ready for her story if you still want to.”
“I do,” I say, perhaps too eagerly.
She gestures for me to follow her up the stairs to the second floor. Or at least, one side of the second floor. The house has two staircases since Zach is living it up these days. This side of the floor is just as modern as the downstairs with three doors down it.
We stop at one decorated with a sparkly snowflake and Ella's name in purple and blue letters.
“A few ground rules,” Tiff says quietly, placing a hand on my arm to stop me before we enter.
Her touch sends a spark up my spine that I desperately try to ignore.
Just because Tiff is more beautiful now than I remember, doesn’t mean she wants anything to do with me besides Ella.
“One story only, even if she begs for more. No scary voices that might give her nightmares, and if she asks difficult questions, which she absolutely will, just deflect them to me, okay?”
“Got it. One story, no scary voices, defer the hard stuff to you.”
She searches my face, then nods, satisfied. “Okay. Let's go.”
When the door opens, it takes me a second to register what I’m seeing. This room is perfect for Ella. With painted blue walls and silver snowflakes everywhere, she looks like the little princess she is already tucked in and a worn stuffed fox clutched to her chest.
“Jamie!” she exclaims, sitting up immediately, and pointing to the side of the bed next to her. “This is where the storyteller sits.”
“Okay.”
I swallow, walking further into the room before perching carefully on the edge of the bed. I’m hyperaware that Tiff is still watching me, and I really don’t want to fuck it all up.
“Which book tonight, baby?” Tiff asks.
“Princess Knight!” Ella points to a well-loved book on her nightstand. “It's my favorite this week.”
I pick up the book, examining the cover which has a young girl in armor riding a dragon. “Looks exciting.”
“It's about a princess who saves herself,” Ella explains seriously. “Because sometimes princes are too busy, and princesses gotta be brave all by themselves.”
Princesses gotta be brave all by themselves.
My gaze flicks to Tiff. Yeah, she’s a fucking princess who saved herself. I’m riding in four years too late to save her, but hopefully, she’ll let me stay by her side.
“Well, let's see how brave this princess is,” I say, opening to the first page as I settle toward the back of the bed and rest my back on the headboard.
As I start to read, it all feels like second nature.
I’ve never done voices or entertained kids before, but hearing her giggle every time I do a booming voice for the king makes me want to keep going.
I get a new giggle from Ella with every new voice I use, and from the corner of my eye, I see Tiff’s lips curve into a smile.
Yeah, she’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“I like your voices, Jamie,” Ella says, snuggling up to my side.
“Well, I'm happy to do them anytime you want,” I tell her, ignoring the way my heart leaps at the thought of this becoming a regular occurrence.
“Every night?” she asks hopefully.
I glance at Tiff, who gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Right. Boundaries. Small steps.
“Whenever your mom says it's okay,” I amend carefully.
This seems to satisfy Ella, and I continue reading, acutely aware of how precious this moment is, and how thankful I am that Tiff let me have it.
“The end,” I whisper when I get to the last page of the book.
“Good story,” Ella mumbles, snuggling deeper into her pillow.
I study the illustration of the princess with all her magical friends at the end, happy that my daughter is being raised by such a strong woman herself.
When I close the book, Ella is fully asleep against my side with her hand curled around my shirt. I carefully set it aside, taking my time as I don’t want to disturb her.
Her fingers clutch my shirt a little tighter when she feels me shift, so I settle back in place, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
This. This is what I've been missing all my life without even knowing it. This sense of belonging, of purpose, of love so fierce it terrifies me.
Too afraid to move, I stay there, and the last thing I remember is feeling her steady breathing against my chest, and the sweet scent of her baby shampoo.