Alex
Forty-three
“Daddy!”
Eloise launches herself at me before I can close the car door. She’s had two appointments with Ric this week, and I’ve almost got my happy little girl back. Nights can still be tough, but we’ll get there.
I catch her around the waist and lift her into the air, earning a burst of laughter that cuts through the frustration I’ve carried home from work.
“How was the last day of school?”
“It was fun. We watched K-Pop Demon Hunters.”
I ruffle her hair. “Oh no. Did you get all your classmates addicted to that movie?”
“No, Daddy!” she says with the attitude of someone much older than her seven years. “We all love it and had seen it already.”
I set her back on her feet and follow her toward the house while she chatters about her afternoon. As we step through the front door, the smell of baked chicken drifts into the hallway, and I’m only half sure I’ve managed to keep up with the conversation.
“We made chicken nuggets,” she announces proudly.
“You did?”
“Yep. Me and Zara. They’re in the oven.”
Zara looks up from the kitchen island and smiles. “Everything’s almost ready. Another ten minutes.”
“Perfect.”
Eloise points toward the family room. “Can I finish my show?”
I glance at Zara before looking back at my daughter. “You can finish one episode.”
That’s all the permission she needs. She disappears around the corner, leaving a trail of excited commentary in her wake.
I set my keys on the counter and turn to Zara. “What happened today? My mother left me a voicemail.”
The smile disappears from her face, replaced by an expression that looks more weary than surprised. Zara folds her arms and glances toward the other room. “We came home from school, and they were in the driveway. The second Eloise saw her, she panicked.”
Wait, what? Both of them? I thought Anastasia was gone. It’s been more than a week since they first appeared. “What do you mean, panicked?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” Zara shakes her head. “She was frightened, Alex. Immediately frightened.”
Damn it. I hope this doesn’t erase all the progress she’s made.
Zara continues before I can respond. “She saw Anastasia and started freaking out. I wasn’t going to let her near Eloise.”
A pulse begins pounding behind my eyes. “What did my mom do?”
“She didn’t intervene, but I know she saw how upset Eloise was. I got Eloise inside, locked the door, and calmed her down before I went back out to talk to them. Anastasia got upset and demanded to see her daughter.”
I sigh. Of course she did. I push away from the island and walk toward the sink, staring out at the backyard.
All I can think about is the voicemail I listened to on the drive home.
My mother told me Zara had refused her access to Eloise.
She called her difficult. Claimed she was overstepping. Demanded I fire her.
What she didn’t mention was the reason. In no way did she tell me Anastasia was with her or that Eloise had been frightened.
I close my eyes a moment and shake my head. The omission feels impossible to justify. Eloise hasn’t been subtle about how she feels. She’s made it painfully clear that she doesn’t feel safe around Anastasia, yet somehow my mother dismisses that reality as if it doesn’t exist.
The timer on the oven sounds.
Zara springs into action as I glance down the hallway. The sound of Eloise’s show drifts from the family room, followed by a burst of laughter that makes my chest tighten.
“Okay, munchkin,” I call. “Go wash your hands and let’s eat your chicken nuggets.”
“Finally,” Eloise says dramatically.
Dinner is exactly what I need, though not because of the food on the table. What I crave is the routine. The predictability. The comfort of sitting in the same kitchen with the same people after a day that seems determined to remind me how quickly things can go wrong.
Eloise attacks her chicken nuggets with enthusiasm. Between bites, she tells us about her day, bouncing from one topic to the next without the slightest concern for how any of it connects. But what she doesn’t tell me is that her mother and grandmother showed up.
“And then Sophie said frogs don’t have teeth, but they do have teeth because I looked it up.”
“Did you?” I ask.
She nods so hard her ponytail bounces. “Lots of tiny ones.”
I smile and take a bite of my dinner while she launches into another story.
Soon we’re discussing a drawing she made at school, the television show she watched after homework, and the nuggets she helped prepare.
None of it is particularly important, yet I find myself hanging on every word.
My mother’s voicemail keeps trying to drag my attention elsewhere, but every time my thoughts drift, I force them back to the table.
By the time dinner is finished and the dishes are cleared away, some of the tension has loosened its hold on me.
The problems waiting outside these walls haven’t disappeared.
If anything, a conversation with my mother feels even more necessary.
But that can happen on my time. For now, sitting here reminds me why the fight matters in the first place.
Bath time follows a familiar rhythm. Steam fills the bathroom while Eloise talks through the entire process, narrating her evening with remarkable dedication.
She barely pauses long enough to take a breath, much less allow anyone else to contribute.
By the time she’s finished, I’ve heard additional details about frogs, classmates, recess politics, and a disagreement involving glitter markers.
Afterward, she changes into pajamas covered with cartoon animals, and we brush our teeth side by side at the bathroom sink.
She grins at me through a mouthful of toothpaste foam and makes an intentionally ridiculous face.
I answer with one of my own, earning a burst of laughter.
For a few minutes, everything feels refreshingly simple.
In her bedroom, Eloise climbs beneath her blankets and reaches for the stack of books on her nightstand.
“Peppa Pig first.”
I settle into the chair beside her bed and pick up the book. “You’re bossy tonight.”
Her grin widens. “I know what I like.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
The first story unfolds quickly, and the second follows soon after. Eloise knows parts of both by heart and occasionally jumps ahead before I reach the page, proudly reciting lines from memory.
When we finish, she reaches for a third book and holds it up. “My turn.”
The frog reader is already familiar. We’ve worked through it together several times, and tonight she handles most of it herself.
I listen while she carefully sounds out each sentence.
A few months ago she struggled with words much simpler than these.
Now she moves steadily through the pages, pausing only occasionally.
By the time she reaches the end, I’m no longer paying attention to the frogs.
I’m thinking about how much she’s improved.
School conferences. Reading levels. Conversations with her teacher.
She’s advancing faster than I realized, and pride warms my heart as she closes the book with a satisfied smile. A yawn follows almost immediately.
“Tired?” I ask.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?”
Here we go. My heart breaks a little. “Zara told me Gran and your mom stopped by today.”
Tears pool in her eyes, and she nods.
“I know you’re worried about them, and that’s okay. But I promise you, we’re not moving to Toronto. You will only live with your mom if you want to. They both love you very much but didn’t show that in a good way today.”
“I don’t want to move to Toronto.”
“I don’t either. I like living right here.”
Eloise smiles. “Me too.”
“Goodnight, kiddo. You got this.”
“’Night, Daddy.”
Within minutes, her breathing begins to slow. I remain in the chair a little longer, watching the tension leave her face as she relaxes into the mattress.
Everyone seems to have an opinion about what’s best for Eloise. Everyone claims to understand what she needs. Sometimes I worry my way into confusion. Yet tonight, the answer feels painfully obvious.
She’s safe here. She’s happy here. This is where we belong.
I glance back one final time before stepping into the hallway. Tonight, I’m going to finish this.
Zara is almost done in the kitchen when I get downstairs. “I need to go see my mom and Anastasia. Can you keep an eye on Eloise until I return?”
“Of course.” She nods. “Not a problem.”
The drive to the Delta takes fifteen minutes, and that gives me plenty of time to organize my thoughts.
I park near the entrance and sit for a moment with my hands on the steering wheel.
Through the windshield, the lobby glows against the darkness outside.
It looks peaceful. Ordinary. Nothing like the knot in my gut.
Finally, I take out my phone and call my mother.
She answers on the second ring. “Allistair.”
“I’m in the lobby.”
The line goes silent for a beat before she says, “I’ll be right down.”
I end the call and head inside.
The lobby is nearly empty. A couple sits by the fireplace with drinks and someone works behind an open laptop in the corner.
I choose a chair near the elevators and wait, watching the mirrored doors reflect the lobby lights.
A few minutes later, they slide open and my mother steps out.
The determined set of her shoulders tells me she’s decided how this conversation is going to go.
There is no greeting. No question about Eloise. No acknowledgment of the reason I asked her here.
“When are you firing Zara?” she asks.
A humorless laugh almost escapes me. Of course that’s where she starts. I stand before she reaches my chair. “I’m not.”
She blinks, prepared to argue. “Allistair—”
“No.” I lift a hand before she can continue. “Before we discuss Zara, I want to know why you tried to push your way into my house without me being there.”