4. Maksim #3
The next morning, I take Daniel fishing.
There’s a pond on the south edge of the property, stocked with bass and sunfish. I grab two rods from the garage and a tackle box, and we walk down together in the cool morning air.
Daniel is wearing new clothes that actually fit. His jeans are the appropriate length, and he wears a dinosaur shirt with a light North Face jacket over it.
His boots are brand new and without holes. With his fresh haircut, he looks like a different child from the one who arrived less than a week ago. He’s still too thin and wary, but he’s cleaner and better fed.
At the pond, I bait his hook and show him how to cast.
The rod is almost too big for him, but he manages, his face scrunched in concentration as he watches the line arc through the air and land in the water with a soft plop.
“Now we wait,” I tell him.
“For how long?”
“However long it takes.” I cast my own line, smiling at his dismayed face. “Fishing is about patience.”
We sit on the dock with our feet dangling over the edge. The sun is warm, the water is calm, and for a few minutes it’s almost peaceful.
Then Daniel speaks. “Are we rich now?”
The question catches me off guard. I glance at him, but he’s staring at his fishing line, not meeting my eyes.
“Yes,” I say. “We are.”
He nods slowly. “I thought so. This is the biggest house I’ve ever seen and there’s so much food and toys and everything.”
I stiffen slightly, unsure where he’s going with this. “Does that bother you?” Has this been too overwhelming for Daniel?
“No.” He pauses. “It’s just different. We were poor before.”
He says it so casually, like it’s not something shameful, and it makes my chest tight.
“You won’t be poor again,” I tell him. “Ever. I promise.”
“Will there always be food?” he asks uncertainly. “Like, always always? Even if we don’t have money anymore?”
Anger rises in me and I have to take a deep breath to cool down. This is what Aria has done to him.
She’s made him question whether there will be enough to eat.
A seven year old should not be worrying about money.
His focus should be about homework and playground games.
“Always,” I tell him. “Even if I lost every dollar I have, there would still be food. You will never go hungry again, Daniel. Never.”
He nods, and I see his shoulders relax slightly. My brows knit together. How long has he been carrying this worry?
We fish in silence for a while.
“Why do you fight with Mama so much?” He’s asked this before, but now there’s something more urgent in his tone.
“I already told you, we disagree about—”
“But why?” He turns to look at me, and there are tears in his eyes. My heart lurches. “Why can’t you just stop? Why can’t you be nice to her?”
The pain in his voice is a knife to the gut. Of course this is hurting him. He’s caught in the middle of our war.
“I’m trying,” I tell him, hating that I’ve also hurt him. “But your mother and I…we have a complicated history.”
Daniel blinks at me. “What does that mean?”
“It means we hurt each other a long time ago. And we’re still angry about it.”
He stiffens. “Did you hurt her? Is that why she’s scared?”
“No,” I say sharply. “I never hurt her. But I think she was afraid I might.”
“Why would she think that?”
Because she saw what I’m capable of. She knows exactly who I am and what I do.
“Because of who I am,” I say instead. “What I do.”
Daniel eyes me warily. “What do you do?”
I should lie and give him some sanitized version that won’t scare him. He deserves better than that.
“I work for my brother,” I say carefully, trying to figure this out as I go along. “Doing things that sometimes aren’t very nice. Things that help people but can also hurt people.”
He processes this. “Like a bad guy?”
Christ. I guess in the traditional sense, yes. “More like…someone in between. Not completely good, not completely bad.”
“Oh.” He turns back to his fishing line. “Mama always said there were good people and bad people. But maybe there are in-between people too.”
“Maybe.” I’m surprised by his acceptance. “Does that scare you?”
“A little.” He glances at me. “But you haven’t been mean to me. So maybe you’re more good than bad.”
My lips quirk up in a brief smile. If only it were that simple.
“I try to be,” I tell him. “Especially with the people I love.”
Daniel glances at me. “Do you love Mama?”
He’s asked this before, but he needs to hear the answer again. And will probably keep asking until he feels settled in his new world. I just have to be patient for him.
“Yes,” I say. “Very much. Even when I’m angry with her.”
“Then why don’t you tell her that? Instead of fighting? Mama always says we should tell the truth.”
Out of the mouths of babes.
“Because it’s complicated,” I say again, knowing it’s a weak answer.
Daniel scowls. “Adults always say that,” he says in frustration. “But it doesn’t seem that complicated. If you love someone, you should tell them.” He fixes me with a look that’s reminiscent of Nikolai. “And be nice to them.”
He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t understand the weight of betrayal, the sting of stolen years, the fury of watching your child suffer when you could have prevented it.
He doesn’t understand yet what Aria’s choices cost us both.
My line jerks, and I feel the tug of a fish. “I’ve got something.”
Daniel’s eyes go wide as I reel it in—a decent-sized bass, silver and fighting. When I pull it out of the water, he gasps.
“That’s huge!”
“Want to try?” I hold out my rod. “I’ll help you.”
He takes it eagerly, and I guide his hands, showing him how to feel for the pull and how to reel steadily without jerking the line. When his bobber dips under the water, he yelps.
“I got one! I got one!”
“Reel it in,” I encourage. “Steady. Don’t pull too hard.”
He fights the fish with intense concentration, his tongue sticking out slightly as he works.
When the fish finally breaks the surface—a small sunfish, rainbow scales catching the light—his face splits into the biggest smile I’ve seen from him.
It’s a real smile with genuine joy lighting up his features, making him look like the happy child he should be.
My throat closes up.
This is my son.
My boy.
And he’s smiling because of something I taught him, something we did together.
“I caught a fish!” He’s practically bouncing. “Did you see? I really caught one!”
“I saw.” My voice is rough. “You did amazing, Daniel.”
He pulls the fish close to examine it, his eyes wide with wonder. “Can we keep it?” he asks eagerly.
“We can if you want. Or we can throw it back so it can grow bigger.”
He considers this seriously. “Let’s throw it back. Then maybe I can catch it again when it’s bigger.”
I show him how to unhook it gently and how to hold it in the water until it swims away. When it disappears into the depths, he’s still smiling.
“Thank you,” he says, shuffling closer to me. “For teaching me.”
“Anytime.” I ruffle his hair and he doesn’t pull away. “We can come fishing whenever you want.”
His eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really. This is your home, Daniel. Everything here is yours.”
He looks at me, and there’s no fear in them. Just cautious hope.
“Okay,” he says. “I’d like that.”
We fish for another hour, and he catches two more small fish. Each time, his smile gets bigger, his laughter more free. He’s starting to relax. Starting to trust.
Starting to be the child he should have been all along.
When we walk back to the house, his hand slips into mine. It’s tentative, like he’s not quite sure it’s allowed.
But when I squeeze gently, he squeezes back.
My son is holding my hand.
It’s such a small thing. Such a normal, everyday gesture that millions of fathers take for granted. But for me, it feels like everything.
Daniel and I are going to be okay. I’m going to make sure my son has everything he needs. Everything he deserves. Everything Aria couldn’t give him alone.
And maybe, eventually, Aria will see that too.
Maybe eventually, she’ll understand that I’m not the monster she thinks I am.
But for now, this is enough. My son’s hand in mine. His smile. His cautious trust.
It’s more than I dared hope for a week ago.
It’s a beginning.