Chapter 17 - THE FIRST TIME DANIEL CAME WITHOUT ASKING FOR AMY BACK
Daniel's first official parenting visit happened four days after Amy and Eliza left the hospital.
He arrived at Tidemark Books carrying a diaper bag, two bottles of expressed milk Amy had prepared, and a printed list of instructions he had already memorized.
Ruth opened the door.
She looked at the diaper bag.
"You buy the entire baby store?"
Daniel glanced down.
"Maybe."
"There are three pacifiers clipped to the outside."
"I was told babies lose them."
Ruth raised an eyebrow.
"She is four days old."
Daniel looked genuinely concerned.
"Is that too early to lose things?"
Ruth laughed despite herself.
Amy heard it from upstairs.
For one second, the sound felt strangely normal.
Then Daniel appeared at the apartment door.
He stopped on the threshold.
"May I come in?"
Amy nodded.
"Yes."
He entered.
Eliza was sleeping in a bassinet near the window.
Daniel's entire face softened.
Amy noticed.
She hated that noticing still felt intimate.
"She ate twenty minutes ago."
"Okay."
"She usually wakes after about an hour."
"Okay."
"If she gets fussy, hold her upright."
"Okay."
Amy looked at him.
"You can ask questions."
Daniel exhaled.
"I have too many."
"Start with one."
He looked at the bassinet.
"How do I pick her up without breaking her?"
Amy almost smiled.
"Support her head."
"I know that intellectually."
"Then your hands need to catch up."
When Eliza woke, Amy showed him once.
Daniel slid one hand beneath the baby's neck and another under her body.
He lifted too stiffly.
Eliza made a small protesting noise.
Daniel froze.
"I hurt her."
"No."
Amy adjusted his elbow.
"Relax."
"I am relaxed."
"Your shoulders are touching your ears."
Daniel looked down.
Amy laughed before she could stop herself.
The sound surprised both of them.
Daniel smiled.
Not triumphantly.
Just quietly.
Eliza settled against his chest.
He stared at her.
"Hi again."
The baby yawned.
Daniel's eyes filled.
Amy looked away toward the kitchen.
"I am going downstairs for an hour."
He looked up quickly.
"You are leaving me alone with her?"
"Ruth is downstairs too."
"That does not answer me."
Amy folded her arms.
"Do you want me to stay?"
Daniel looked at Eliza.
Then at Amy.
"I want you to do what makes you comfortable."
She watched him carefully.
"I will be downstairs."
"Okay."
Amy left.
She spent the first fifteen minutes pretending to reorganize a display while listening for footsteps above.
None came.
At twenty minutes, Daniel texted.
She sneezed twice.
Is that normal?
Amy stared at the message.
Then laughed.
Yes.
Five minutes later, another message.
She hiccuped.
Also normal?
Amy replied.
Yes.
Ruth looked over the top of her glasses.
"Millionaire logistics genius?"
"Former CEO."
"Terrified by hiccups."
Amy smiled despite herself.
When she returned upstairs, Daniel was asleep in the chair with Eliza on his chest and one hand protectively curved around her back.
Amy stopped in the doorway.
For a moment, grief hit unexpectedly.
This was a scene she had imagined before she knew about Chicago.
Daniel home early.
Baby asleep on him.
A quiet apartment.
The future she had carried into the gala had not been impossible.
It had simply arrived after the marriage broke.
Daniel opened his eyes.
"I did not mean to fall asleep."
"You look terrified even while sleeping."
He smiled faintly.
"Accurate."
Amy took Eliza gently.
"Your hour is up."
Daniel stood.
"Thank you."
"You do not have to thank me every time you see your daughter."
"I know."
He picked up the diaper bag.
"I am trying not to take anything for granted."
Amy's face softened for half a second.
Then she looked down at Eliza.
"Your attorney sent the parenting proposal."
"I told him to make it flexible around feeding."
"He did."
"Anything you hate?"
"I do not hate it."
Daniel waited.
Amy looked at him.
"I want primary physical residence here for the first year."
"Agreed."
"Three visits a week while she is this young."
"Agreed."
"Overnights later, when feeding and sleep are easier."
"Agreed."
Amy frowned.
"You are not negotiating."
"Do you want me to?"
"I expected you to."
Daniel looked toward the bassinet.
"I spent seven years treating time with you like something that would always be available."
His voice was quiet.
"I am not going to start fatherhood by turning time with her into a trophy I have to win."
Amy swallowed.
"Your lawyer will tell you that gives me too much control."
"My lawyer has told me many things."
"And?"
"You are the person keeping her alive every hour right now."
He shrugged slightly.
"Reality already gives you more control."
Amy did not know what to say.
Daniel reached for the door.
"I rented a place near the harbor."
Her head lifted.
"What?"
"For visits."
"You are moving here?"
"No."
He answered quickly.
"I am not changing residency or showing up every day."
"Then why rent a house?"
"Because hotels make it too easy to pretend I am traveling through her life."
Amy stared at him.
"I want her to have a room when overnights begin."
He paused.
"And I want to learn where the grocery store is without asking a concierge."
Amy almost smiled.
"That may be your hardest challenge yet."
Daniel smiled too.
"Probably."
The divorce was finalized seven weeks later.
There was no courtroom battle.
No dramatic property fight.
Amy's corporate conversion settlement recognized a 10.9 percent adjusted ownership stake after dilution calculations, held partly through a trust structure she controlled.
Daniel agreed to the valuation process without appeal.
Amy waived no independent rights.
Daniel kept his separate founder shares.
They sold the Upper East Side apartment.
Amy took the proceeds attributable to her marital share and used part of them to establish a trust for Eliza.
Daniel contributed separately.
Neither used the child as a scoreboard.
On the day the divorce decree was entered, Amy stood behind the bookstore counter holding Eliza against her shoulder.
She expected to feel relief.
She did.
She also felt grief.
Endings could be correct and still hurt.
Daniel did not call.
At 6:00 p.m., a florist delivered a small plant.
Not roses.
Not lilies.
A rosemary plant in a clay pot.
The card contained six words.
For the life you chose yourself.
No signature.
None was needed.
Amy placed the plant on the upstairs windowsill.
At 8:14 p.m., her phone rang.
Vanessa.
Amy had never saved the number.
She recognized it anyway.
For several seconds, she considered ignoring it.
Then she answered.
"What do you want?"
Vanessa's voice sounded tired.
"To warn you."
Amy's body tensed.
"About what?"
"Miles was not the only person involved."
"Investigators know that."
"Not this person."
Amy shifted Eliza higher against her shoulder.
"Who?"
Vanessa lowered her voice.
"Charles Reeve."
Amy recognized the board member's name.
"What about him?"
"He approved the intelligence contracts Miles used to watch you."
"Can you prove it?"
"I can prove he knew."
Amy looked toward the window.
"Why are you telling me?"
Vanessa was silent.
"Because my lawyer says cooperation matters."
Amy's mouth tightened.
At least that was honest.
Vanessa continued.
"And because he has copies of the personal files."
Amy went still.
"What personal files?"
"Yours."
"What is in them?"
"Everything Miles collected."
Vanessa swallowed.
"Including medical information."
Amy's blood turned cold.
"How?"
"I do not know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"No."
Vanessa's voice broke slightly.
"But believe this."
She paused.
"Charles is planning to sell a story that your pregnancy began before Daniel's affair and that you hid it to increase your divorce leverage."
Amy stared into the dark window.
"That part is true."
"Not the way he plans to tell it."
"What does that mean?"
"He is going to claim Daniel was not the father when you left."
Amy stopped breathing.
May you like
Eliza slept against her shoulder, completely unaware that somewhere in New York another man was preparing to turn her existence into a weapon.
