17. Nora
NORA
My spine goes straight before I even look. Daniel stands in the doorway, and for one stupid second, relief hits me so hard I hate him for it.
He looks worse than yesterday. Same black coat, same travel-tired face, stubble darker along his jaw. Eyes on me first, not his mother, and that does something to my chest I do not currently have time to unpack.
Behind the counter, Bex lowers her phone.
Ah. So that is how. Traitor. Excellent friend.
Vivienne turns slowly.
"Daniel."
"Mother."
His voice is quiet. Not polite. Controlled.
The room feels smaller with both of them in it. Wellings have that effect. Generational money is basically poor ventilation.
Daniel walks to the table. He does not sit. He stands beside me, not beside his mother. Beside me. I notice, and I wish I didn't.
"I told you not to contact Nora," he says.
Vivienne's brows lift. "And I decided that was not your decision to make."
"It was hers."
The words are simple. They hit me anyway.
Vivienne looks at me, then back at him. "This concerns your daughter."
"Yes."
"And this family."
"Nora and June are my family."
My throat closes. I look down at my hands because if I look at him, I might do something embarrassing like have an emotion in public.
Vivienne sets one gloved hand on the white box. "I brought a gift."
"She said no."
I look up then. Daniel is not looking at the box; he is looking at his mother.
Vivienne's mouth tightens. "Nora has been under strain. It is understandable if she is not thinking about the broader situation."
"Do not do that."
Three words, low and hard, and the room goes quiet.
Vivienne stills. "Do what?"
"Speak as if my wife is unstable because she is not giving you what you want."
My wife. The words go through me fast and sharp. I should hate them. I do hate them. I also miss them. This is why feelings are poorly designed.
"I said she was under strain," Vivienne says.
"Because of me."
She stops. Daniel's jaw flexes once.
"Any strain Nora is under because of this family started with me. You don't get to use it against her."
Bex is so still behind the counter she might be legally a statue.
Vivienne looks at Daniel like she has never seen him and does not care for the first impression. "Daniel, I appreciate that you are feeling guilty."
"Good."
"But guilt is not a plan."
"Neither is cornering Nora at work."
"I did not corner her."
"You came to her bakery uninvited to discuss practical arrangements about a child you have never met."
Vivienne's face changes. Not much. Enough. Daniel sees it too.
"You do not meet June today," he says.
My heart kicks.
Vivienne's eyes flash. "That is not your decision alone."
"Correct." He looks at me, not for rescue, not for permission to perform. Just looks. "It's Nora's."
My eyes burn. One correct sentence, and it still finds a place in me that has been waiting almost two years to hear it.
Vivienne inhales slowly. "This is not sustainable."
"Then learn to sustain it."
"Daniel."
"If you want a relationship with my daughter, it starts with Nora."
My daughter. Not the Welling heir. Not the child. Not the complication. My daughter.
"You will treat Nora with respect," he says. "You will ask. You will wait. You will accept no. You will not go around her. You will not send staff. You will not send lawyers. You will not call my father and turn this into a family meeting."
Vivienne's face is pale now. "You sound ridiculous."
"I sound late."
That shuts her up. It shuts me up too.
Daniel's hand curls at his side, then opens. He does not reach for me. Good. Bad. Both.
"I am late," he says. "I know that. But I'm not going to be later because it makes Welling more comfortable."
Vivienne looks from him to me. The calculation is visible. I am suddenly very aware of every person in the shop pretending not to breathe.
"You are newly exposed," she says to him. "You cannot afford unmanaged family matters."
"Nora and June are not unmanaged family matters."
"The press will not see it that way."
"Then the press can learn."
"That is naive."
"No," he says. "Naive was thinking money would make up for absence."
My eyes go to him before I can stop them. I cannot help it. His eyes meet mine, and there is no smile there, no plea. Just pain.
Good. I want him to hurt. I also want to put my hand on his wrist. I do not. Growth, or whatever.
Vivienne stands, the chair scraping against the floor. "I see this is not the time."
"You were told that before you came," Daniel says.
Ouch.
Vivienne looks at him like he has slapped her. He hasn't. That would have been less offensive to her.
"Nora," she says, turning to me with all her breeding back in place. "I hope you will consider what is best for June."
I stand too. Not because she is leaving. Because I am done looking up.
"I do that every minute of every day."
Her gaze drops to my apron, then returns to my face. "Then we have that in common."
Absolutely not. No.
"We don't," I say.
Her expression freezes.
"You are worried about what June means to the Welling name.
I am worried about whether she has strawberries cut small enough not to choke on.
You are worried about press exposure. I am worried about her molars.
You are worried about Daniel's legal position.
I am worried about whether my daughter will one day ask why her father didn't come home and whether I will have to decide how honest to be. "
My voice breaks. I hate that. I keep going anyway.
"So no, Vivienne. We do not have that in common."
She says nothing. For once.
Daniel is looking at me like I have taken something out of his chest and held it up to the light. I ignore him because if I don't, I will start shaking.
Vivienne reaches for the white box.
"Keep it," I say.
Her hand pauses. "For June."
"No."
"It is only a bracelet."
Of course it is. A baby bracelet, probably. Tiny gold. Tiny Welling ownership with a clasp.
"She has enough things," I say.
"Children can always use keepsakes."
"Then keep it."
Daniel's mouth tightens, but he says nothing. Good.
Vivienne picks up the box. "I will be in touch."
"No," Daniel says.
She turns to him. "Excuse me?"
"You won't be in touch with Nora unless Nora says you can be."
"And if there is an emergency?"
"Then you call me."
"You have not been easy to reach."
The sentence lands like a slap, and the room goes still. Daniel takes it. All of it.
"I know," he says. Just that. No defense, no correction, no wounded-son reaction for me to manage. I hate how much that matters.
Vivienne looks away first. That has possibly never happened to her. She walks out with the white box in her hand and her driver opening the door before she reaches it.
The bell rings. The shop exhales.
Bex says, "Well."
Nobody answers.
Then one of the women by the window whispers, "Do you still have lemon bars?"
Bex turns slowly. "Read the room, Angela."
Angela looks at her cappuccino. "Sorry."
I laugh. It is one ugly little sound, but it is a laugh. Then the laugh breaks, and I press a hand to my mouth.
Daniel shifts like he wants to step toward me. He does not.
"Nora," he says.
I shake my head. Not because he did something wrong. That is the worst part. He did something right, and my body does not know where to put it.
"Don't," I say.
He stops immediately. Another right thing. Rude of him, honestly.
Bex moves around the counter. "Kitchen," she says to me.
"I have customers."
"Angela can survive five minutes without lemon bars."
"I don't know," Angela says weakly.
Bex points at her. "Not now."
I let Bex steer me into the back kitchen because my knees are doing something unreliable. Daniel does not follow. Good.
I lean against the prep table and breathe. The kitchen smells like sugar and yeast and metal. Safe smells. Work smells. Mine.
Bex stands in front of me. "That woman is terrifying."
"Yes."
"Like if a pearl necklace could file a lawsuit."
I laugh again. Then I start crying. Not big, not pretty, just enough to make Bex's face crumple.
"Oh, babe."
"He picked me," I whisper.
Bex's expression softens. "Yeah."
"In front of her."
"Yeah."
"I hate that I care."
"I know."
"I hate that it felt good."
"I know."
"I hate that it doesn't fix anything."
"Also true."
I wipe my face with the heel of my hand. "I don't know what to do with him when he's right."
"Maybe nothing yet."
That makes me cry harder, because yes. Because nothing yet is somehow both mercy and punishment.
Through the cracked kitchen door, I hear Daniel's voice, low and polite. "I'll leave now."
My chest pulls.
Bex looks toward the door. "Want me to tell him anything?"
I shake my head. Then I nod. Then I shake my head again. Very mature. Very clear.
I press my fingers under my eyes. "Tell him..." I stop. What? Thank you? Don't? Again? Too much. Not enough. "Tell him I heard him," I say.
Bex's face changes. "Okay."
She goes out. I stay in the kitchen and stare at a tray of unbaked scones like they have answers. They do not. Baked goods are supportive but limited.
Bex comes back two minutes later. "He said okay."
"That's all?"
"He said, 'Thank you for telling me.' Then he left."
I press my thumb hard against the bridge of my nose. Another right thing. This is getting annoying.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. For one second, I think Daniel. It is not Daniel. It is a number I do not know. The text reads:
Nora, this is Vivienne. Daniel is emotional and understandably reactive. Before this becomes more difficult, I hope we can discuss appropriate legal protections for him, for June, and for the Welling family.
I read it once. Then again.
Bex watches my face. "What?"
I stare at the words. Legal protections. For him. For June. For the Welling family.
Nobody says custody. Nobody has to.