Rose stared at him with the solemn curiosity babies reserve for lights, shadows, and strangers who somehow matter.
Then her tiny fingers opened and closed against his shirt.
Something in Benjamin’s face broke.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that I had to look away.
Because there is a particular kind of pain in watching someone discover the exact size of what they lost.
“She knows me,” he said, though his voice made it clear he knew that was not true.
“She knows voices,” I said gently. “She knows warmth.”
He nodded, but his gaze did not leave her.
“Does she sleep well?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does she…” He stopped, as if embarrassed by the simplicity of his own questions. “Does she like music?”
“She likes the old piano piece your mother used to play.”
He looked at me.
“I hummed it when she cried,” I said.
Benjamin’s mouth trembled once before he pressed it into control.
The man could negotiate acquisitions across continents without blinking, but our daughter’s tiny fingers around his cuff nearly undid him.
A knock sounded at the door.
Neither of us answered.
The door opened anyway.
Evelyn Grant stepped in just enough to be seen. “I apologize, but Judge Marlow is waiting on the conference line. He wants to know whether today’s proceeding is moving forward.”
Benjamin looked at me.
For months, the divorce had been the end point. A date circled in my mind. A finish line I was crawling toward because it promised certainty, even if certainty hurt.
Now, certainty had become complicated.
“No,” Benjamin said.
Evelyn’s expression remained professional, but her eyes flicked to Rose. “No?”
“Postpone it.”
My heart tightened.
“Benjamin,” I said.
He turned to me. “I’m not signing anything today.”
“You don’t get to decide that alone.”
