Chapter 8 - THE APOLOGY I COULDN'T BUY
Emma became part of Caleb's routine slowly.
Tuesday evenings.
Saturday mornings.
Then overnight visits once the pediatric family specialist recommended it.
He adapted.
Babies are not corporate boards.
They don't care about legal history.
They care who comes when they cry.
Emma came.
So did I.
Co-parenting revealed unpleasant truths.
I overpacked diapers.
Emma underpacked snacks.
I thought every cough justified calling the pediatrician.
She was the pediatrician and still occasionally panicked when it was Caleb.
Human beings contain contradictions.
One night after Caleb fell asleep, Emma and I sat on opposite ends of my sofa.
“I owe you something,” I said.
She sighed.
“Nicolas.”
“Not money.”
“Continue.”
“An apology without conspiracy attached.”
She went still.
I forced myself to say it clearly.
“Three years ago, evidence was placed in front of me.”
“Yes.”
“I chose it over you.”
She looked down.
“I had reasons.”
“Michael was hurt.”
“My family had enemies.”
“None of that changes the fact that I knew you for seven years.”
Her eyes filled.
“And still believed paperwork faster than I believed your face.”
Silence.
“Then six months ago, I used an embryo that should have made me call you.”
Emma breathed slowly.
“I believed you transferred rights.”
“I know.”
“But I accepted that explanation because contacting you would've been painful.”
She looked at me.
“That is the part I've been waiting for.”
I nodded.
“I chose convenience.”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
Emma cried.
No forgiveness speech.
No kiss.
Just tears.
Then:
May you like
“Thank you.”
That was enough.
