Chapter 6 - THE MAN MIA COULD NOT FIX
Mia became angry with Adrian.
Three-year-old anger lasted differently.
She arrived at the estate after preschool one afternoon, crossed her arms, and refused to look at him.
Adrian crouched.
“What did I do?”
Mia turned farther away.
Elena almost laughed.
“You missed Tuesday.”
Adrian frowned.
“What happens Tuesday?”
“Snack.”
He looked at Elena.
She explained.
Adrian had once eaten crackers with Mia in the staff kitchen on a Tuesday.
Apparently that made Tuesday snack a binding treaty.
“I had meetings.”
Mia frowned.
“You didn't tell me.”
Adrian looked genuinely chastened.
Elena waited.
He said:
“I'm sorry.”
Mia considered.
“Okay.”
Then:
“Snack.”
Adrian followed her toward the kitchen.
Elena watched.
There was something dangerous about how naturally Mia trusted him.
Not because Adrian was dangerous to her.
Because children attached without understanding adult complications.
That evening, Elena spoke to him privately.
“You can't become her father.”
Adrian went completely still.
“I know.”
“She likes you.”
“I know.”
“She lost Daniel before she could really remember him.”
“I know.”
“And I won't let her build something around you if you don't know what you're doing.”
Adrian looked hurt.
Good.
This mattered.
“I don't know what I'm doing.”
The honesty softened her anger.
“I've never had children.”
“I know.”
“I don't know how to—”
“Then learn slowly.”
He nodded.
“And don't let her think she's responsible for you eating.”
His expression changed.
Elena continued.
“That first day was cute.”
“Yes.”
“But she's three.”
“I know.”
“Your health isn't her job.”
Adrian looked toward the kitchen.
Mia was singing to herself while arranging crackers.
“You're right.”
The next morning, Adrian saw a physician.
Then a therapist.
Elena found out because he told her directly.
Not as proof of worth.
Simply information.
The diagnosis was less dramatic than gossip would have liked.
Chronic gastritis.
Severe stress.
Insomnia.
Years of irregular eating.
Nothing Mia could fix with a spoon.
Adrian began following a meal schedule.
Poorly.
Then better.
One Tuesday, Mia offered oatmeal.
Adrian smiled.
“I already ate.”
She looked suspicious.
He showed her an empty breakfast plate.
Mia nodded approvingly.
“Good.”
Elena nearly cried.
Not because Adrian had eaten.
Because he'd removed responsibility from her child.
The criminal investigation deepened.
Victor Hale was located in Nevada.
Alive.
Running private security under another name.
He was arrested.
Within two weeks, he began cooperating.
The truth was ugly.
Vincent had ordered him to frighten Daniel into surrendering the records.
Hale followed Daniel after the meeting.
He pulled alongside him on the highway.
Tried forcing him toward an exit.
Daniel accelerated.
The vehicles collided.
Daniel's car left the roadway.
Hale did not stop.
Vincent later paid him to disappear.
Murder charges became legally complicated because prosecutors had to prove intent.
Other charges were not.
Conspiracy.
Obstruction.
Bribery.
Evidence tampering.
Elena didn't care what label the court eventually chose.
Daniel was still dead.
One detail hurt most.
Hale said Daniel had been trying to get home quickly because it was Mia's bedtime.
Elena had called him fifteen minutes before the crash.
She remembered.
“Diapers,” she'd said.
“And hurry. She's refusing sleep until you sing.”
Daniel laughed.
“I'll be home.”
Those were his final words to her.
For weeks afterward, Elena stopped sleeping properly.
Adrian did not try to fix it.
He did something better.
He listened.
One evening she told him:
“I keep thinking if I hadn't called—”
“No.”
She glared.
“You don't get to interrupt.”
“Fair.”
She continued.
“If I hadn't asked him to hurry.”
Adrian waited.
Then:
“Do you believe Daniel drove recklessly because you asked for diapers?”
“No.”
“Do you believe you sent Hale after him?”
“No.”
“Then don't volunteer for Vincent's guilt.”
Elena stared.
That sentence stayed.
Don't volunteer for someone else's guilt.
She cried.
Adrian stayed on the opposite side of the room until she asked:
“Can you sit closer?”
He did.
Nothing more.
No kiss.
No arm around her.
May you like
Just presence.
For once, enough.
