Chapter 10 - THE LITTLE GIRL WHO ONCE TRIED TO BUY A DADDY
Ten years after Sophia walked into Wonderland Toys with dirty clothes and twenty dollars, Alexander stood in the same entrance watching a sixteen-year-old girl argue with a display designer.
“The stars are too high.”
“They’re decorative.”
“Children can’t see them properly.”
“They can look up.”
Sophia stared.
“Have you met children?”
Alexander smiled from across the room.
She caught him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the proud face.”
“I don’t have a proud face.”
“You absolutely do.”
The marble floor had been replaced years earlier.
Not because of Sophia’s footprints.
Alexander had actually considered preserving one.
Elena called that “emotionally unstable.”
The new floor was warm wood.
Less impressive.
More human.
Wonderland’s fiftieth anniversary celebration was that evening.
Employees.
Designers.
Families.
No red carpet.
Alexander had learned.
One display near the workshop featured the Midnight Family Express.
Mateo Morales’s original train.
Beside it:
Designed by Mateo Morales.
No Alexander story.
No Sophia story.
Just the creator’s name.
Exactly as it should have been from the beginning.
Sophia stood looking at it.
“You okay?”
Elena approached.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
Sophia nodded.
“I wish I remembered him.”
Elena touched her hair.
“He remembered you.”
“I know.”
Alexander joined them.
Sophia smiled.
“I remember him through you two.”
That was enough.
Later that evening, a little boy around five wandered away from his father for less than thirty seconds.
He stopped near the front counter staring at a dollhouse.
Sophia crouched.
“Looking for someone?”
“My dad.”
“Okay.”
His father appeared immediately, terrified.
“Evan!”
The boy ran to him.
The man hugged him tightly.
Sophia watched them.
Alexander watched Sophia.
She noticed.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Cry.”
“I wasn't.”
“Your eyes are shiny.”
“Lighting.”
“Sure.”
After closing, only family remained.
Naomi was still there too.
She had apparently become permanent.
Elena brought out a cake.
Sophia stared.
“What are we celebrating?”
“Ten years,” Elena said.
“Since what?”
Alexander reached beneath the counter.
He brought out the glass frame.
Twenty dollars.
NOT FOR SALE.
Sophia groaned.
“You’re still keeping that?”
“Always.”
“Dad.”
There it was.
Still powerful.
Even after years.
Alexander handed it to her.
“No.”
She pushed it back.
“It’s yours.”
“Why?”
“Because I gave it to you.”
“You tried to buy me.”
“Technically.”
Naomi laughed.
Elena shook her head.
Sophia became quiet.
Then:
“Do you know what I thought would happen?”
Alexander waited.
“When I came in?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you would point to a shelf.”
His chest tightened.
“I thought there would be boxes.”
“Different dads.”
She smiled sadly.
“Cheap ones.”
“Expensive ones.”
“Nice ones.”
“I thought rich kids got the good dads because their parents could pay more.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
Six years old.
Street corners.
Store windows.
Children holding fathers’ hands.
A world organized by price because almost everything in her life had been.
“What changed?”
She looked at him.
“You said keep my money.”
He almost broke.
Of all the things he had done afterward—
hospital.
royalties.
audit.
marriage.
adoption.
years of showing up—
that was what she remembered.
Keep your money.
Sophia continued:
“You were the first rich person I met who told me something important wasn’t for sale.”
Elena took Alexander’s hand.
Sophia looked toward the old train.
“Dad made that.”
Then at Elena.
“Mom made Morales & Moon.”
Then Alexander.
“You fixed your company.”
Alexander shook his head.
“Lots of people did.”
“Fine.”
She smiled.
“We all made stuff.”
“What did you make?”
Sophia thought.
“Trouble.”
Everyone laughed.
Then she became serious.
“A family.”
Silence.
Elena cried first.
Alexander second.
Naomi claimed she had dust in her eye.
Sophia rolled hers.
“Everyone is dramatic.”
Later, Alexander and Sophia stood alone near the front doors.
Fifth Avenue glowed outside.
Children walked past holding parents’ hands.
Just as they had ten years earlier.
Sophia slipped one arm through his.
“You know I didn't really buy you.”
“I’m aware.”
“You were extremely overpriced anyway.”
“Excuse me?”
“Maintenance costs.”
He laughed.
Then:
“Sophia?”
“Yes?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“The day you walked in here, I thought I owned everything that mattered to me.”
The stores.
The buildings.
The brand.
The investments.
Control.
He looked at her.
“Then you asked what a father cost.”
She smiled.
“And?”
“And I realized I had spent my whole life putting prices on things because prices were easier than relationships.”
Sophia leaned against his shoulder.
“Are you still bad at relationships?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Mom likes projects.”
He laughed.
Outside, the city moved around them.
Inside, the twenty-dollar bill remained behind the counter.
Never spent.
Never returned.
A reminder.
Sophia had entered Wonderland believing a father was another thing rich people could buy.
Alexander had once believed nearly everything could be measured by what someone was willing to pay.
They had both been wrong.
Ten years earlier, she stretched out one tiny hand and asked:
“Is twenty dollars enough?”
Now Alexander finally knew the answer.
Twenty dollars was far too much.
Because a child should never have to buy love.
Never have to earn protection.
Never have to become useful enough to deserve a home.
Family was not something adults sold to children.
It was something people built through ordinary promises kept repeatedly.
Showing up.
Listening.
Apologizing.
Staying.
And sometimes, if you were very lucky, it began with a six-year-old girl walking barefoot across a polished marble floor and asking the one question no millionaire knew how to answer.
Alexander opened the front door.
“Ready to go home?”
Sophia smiled.
“Yeah, Dad.”
Elena waited outside.
Alexander turned off the store lights.
Then followed his family into the golden Manhattan night.
The twenty dollars stayed behind.
Exactly where it belonged.
May you like
Unspent.
THE END
