Chapter 8 - LEARNING TO BE THEIR FATHER
The boys moved into my house permanently six weeks later.
I expected chaos.
I underestimated it.
Mateo broke a lamp on day three.
Nico refused to sleep unless the hallway light stayed on.
Luca asked whether dead people could hear through ceilings.
Gabriel threw peas into a heating vent because “they needed somewhere to go.”
I knew how to negotiate construction contracts worth hundreds of millions.
I did not know how to remove peas from ventilation.
Elena found this hilarious.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
The boys tested me constantly.
Not because they were bad.
Because children test permanence.
Would I still be there after they spilled juice?
After crying?
After shouting?
After asking for Sofia?
That last one was hardest.
One night, Nico stood beside my bed.
“Daddy?”
It was the first time any of them called me that without prompting.
I sat up.
“What?”
“I miss Mama.”
My chest tightened.
“So do I.”
“Can we see her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she died.”
“I know.”
He looked frustrated.
“I mean a picture.”
Oh.
“Yes.”
We went downstairs.
I opened boxes I had avoided for five years.
Photos.
Sofia laughing in Rome.
Sofia barefoot in our kitchen.
Sofia angry because I photographed her while eating cake.
The boys gathered around.
“That’s Mama?”
“Yes.”
“She had long hair.”
“Sometimes.”
“Did she yell?”
“Yes.”
“At you?”
“Often.”
They laughed.
That became our ritual.
Wednesday nights.
One Sofia story.
Not sainted.
Not perfect.
Real.
I told them she hated mornings.
Loved thunderstorms.
Cheated at cards.
Once threw my expensive shoes into a fountain because I mocked her hat.
Mateo asked:
“Did you get mad?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“Bought worse shoes.”
He stared.
“Why?”
“To annoy her.”
Mateo nodded approvingly.
Apparently this was excellent marriage advice.
Slowly, I stopped being the man in the picture.
I became the person cutting pancakes.
Reading books badly.
Checking closets for imaginary wolves.
Signing preschool forms.
I also changed security.
No armed men near the boys unless necessary.
No guns visible inside living spaces.
No adults discussing family business around them.
My men thought I had gone soft.
Maybe.
May you like
But hardness had never saved anything I loved.
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