Chapter 22
Gabriel
That evening, after the Christmas market, I sit with my lawyer, Kerem Yildiz, who once worked for my father. He just turned forty a few weeks ago.
Kerem pours himself more coffee, then lifts the pot toward me with a questioning look. I shake my head, take another sip, then glance down at my almost-empty cup.
“Actually … I’ll take a little more,” I mutter. He’s already on his feet, refilling my cup as if he knew I’d change my mind. “Thanks.” I sigh.
“The press will pick up on this eventually. It was all over the news then, and they’ll want to cover it again now.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain it to Rosie. She’ll be five next year. Other parents might not want their kids around her. And then school—this will stick with her, no matter how hard I try to shield her.” My head throbs. I dig through my bag for another painkiller.
“Not with coffee.” Kerem grabs a glass of water and sets it in front of me so I can swallow the pill.
“Thanks, again.” Right now, he’s more than just my attorney—he’s a real support. I’d almost call him a friend. “She has her friends at school. I don’t want to take them away from her. If I homeschool her, she’ll be completely isolated.”
“What about Canada? The U.S.? New Zealand? Australia?”
“I’ve thought about it. But the case is bound to make waves internationally too. I could gamble that nothing happens and pull her out of school if necessary … but she’s already been through enough.”
What am I supposed to do?
“That actually sounds like a solid plan. At the end of the day, her well-being is what matters most. If we handle things properly with the judge and the press, they’ll leave Rosie out of it.”
“But people will notice that I’ve adopted her.”
“Rosie isn’t to blame …”
“I wish I could shield her from all of it. But I can’t. One day someone will tell her what her mother did.”
“Have you told Kimberley yet?”
“No. Honestly, I’ve been avoiding it. She’s such a wonderful woman …” I draw a deep breath, glancing at my phone. A message from her: asking if I’ll make it home for dinner. “I don’t want to burden her. But right now, she still has the option of walking away.”
“Do you really think she’d quit?”
“Maybe. Hard to say.”
“Talk to her.” Kerem lifts his coffee cup in a small toast. We’re sitting across from each other in his home office, just his desk between us.
“My wife used to complain that I never told her enough about my problems. I didn’t want to worry her.
But now I do share everything—and it’s only made us stronger. We’re closer than ever.”
“You should meet her sometime,” I say.
“You’re always welcome here. Jelena’s cooking could rival yours—promise.” He pats his slight belly and grins.
Message received. At least it makes me smile briefly.
“Thanks.” I look back at my coffee and finish it. "I’ll talk to her tonight.” It’s long overdue. She deserves the chance to leave before it’s too late. I owe her that much.
I get home late. After parking in the garage, I check my phone one last time. There’s a text from Caroline. I’ve been putting her off for weeks now. I just can’t see her anymore—no matter how good or satisfying the sex was, it isn’t what I want.
I’ve been meaning to talk to Kimberley about my feelings for a long time, but then everything with Catherine happened. Brutal reality caught up with me and turned my life upside down.
I ignore Caroline’s text, hoping she rereads my last texts and finally understands nothing more will happen between us. I hate breaking hearts, but sometimes it’s necessary. From the start it was clear we were only meeting for life’s most pleasant side activity. Nothing more.
She was a great distraction, but now it’s time to face my feelings—they’re not going anywhere no matter what I do. Substitutes like Caroline don’t change that. That’s its own kind of delusion: doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.
I silence my phone and switch it to airplane mode. Only then do I get out of the car and walk through the garage into the house.
Even from the hall I hear giggling coming from the kitchen. A sweet Christmas song is playing, Kimberley and Rosie singing along cheerfully. The warm smell of fresh cookies drifts out to meet me. Just hearing their joy makes me smile—seeing them will be even better.
I lean against the doorway and watch Kim swaying to the music, her hips moving in time while Rosie stands on a little stool with her arms raised high. The oven’s on, more cookies baking inside.
They’re adorable.
“The whole house smells like cookies,” I say, smiling at them as they both turn around.
“Uncle Gabriel!” Rosie squeals, jumping off her stool and running to me. I scoop her up and head toward Kimberley.
“You were gone forever,” Rosie says. “We haven’t eaten yet.”
“Well, I’ll make you something delicious right now. What are you in the mood for?”
“French fries!”
Of course. What else?
“With?”
“Mayo.”
“I was thinking more like veggies or a salad.”
“Hm. No, mayo’s fine. You don’t need to bother. Nobody eats the veggies anyway.”
Ice-cold honesty. Kids just say what they think.
“Well, I like vegetables,” I say, glancing hopefully at Kimberley, who’s trying not to laugh.
“Yeah, me too,” she finally says.
“Great. More fries for me!” It’s clear-cut. Rosie’s taste is non-negotiable. I set her back on her stool and take in the little kitchen chaos I’ve walked into. How am I supposed to cook something healthy for my little family here? Somehow I’ll make it work.
After dinner and bedtime stories, I’m back in the kitchen cleaning up. Kimberley’s already changed for bed but comes to help me anyway.
She’s wearing a robe, her long wild curls piled into a bun, the sweet freckles on the back of her neck exposed.
“What is it?” she asks, embarrassed.
I must have been staring too long. Caught, I just keep looking at her, smiling. No makeup, comfy sweatpants, pink plush slippers—the woman of my dreams.
“I wanted to talk to you,” I say. It’s time.
“Sure. About what? Rosie’s french-fry habit?” she teases.
“No… about…” I hesitate. “Something important. Serious.”
“Okay?” She’s still smiling as she dips her hands into the dishwater. The dishwasher’s already full, so we’re washing the pots and pans by hand. I dry one of the pots and set it aside as her expression grows more uncertain.
“These past few days I’ve been to family court. I didn’t tell you,” I begin.
“Oh…”
“Once I even took Rosie, because she was being questioned.”
“Oh.” She’s staring at me now, serious.
“I thought it was just a routine appointment about Catherine, but that day they ruled that I could adopt Rosie.”
“Wait—what? They ruled in your favor?” Kimberley rushes over and hugs me hard, her wet, hot hands still covered in soapy around my neck. She bounces in excitement against me, then pulls back and swats me in the chest. “Damn it, how could you keep that from me?”
“You had a lot on your plate, and I needed to work this out myself. And I didn’t want you to be in court with me. Things were discussed there you don’t know about…”
“That you can’t tell me because…?” she presses.
“It’s complicated. I’d hoped never to tell you or Rosie, but I can’t avoid at least warning you. Anything else wouldn’t be fair.”
I take a breath and hand her a dish towel so she can dry her hands. Kim looks at me, clearly worried, so I try to ease her mind.
“It has to do with Catherine. Something she did years ago that only came to light a few weeks ago.” I glance toward the kitchen door, out into the hall.
“I’d like to protect Rosie from the truth, but I’m afraid she’ll find out eventually.
Tonight, I was with my lawyer—Kerem. We also talked about whether I should finally tell you. ”
“You’re scaring me a little, if I’m honest,” she whispers, brow furrowed.
But then she takes my hands and squeezes them firmly.
“No matter what it is, I’m on your side.
I won’t judge you. Won’t get angry. Promise.
That was me trying to joke earlier, to lighten the mood.
But… I hope you know I’ll stand by you in bad times too. No matter what happened.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me, Kim…” I look down at her hands holding mine. I squeeze back and meet her eyes with a faint smile. “You… mean a lot to me. Very much.”