He placed the phone down.
Then picked it up again.
He looked at the utility notice.
Opened his banking app.
The numbers were bad.
Not catastrophic.
Yet.
He changed nothing.
The following Saturday, Victoria returned to the café.
Daniel had not invited her.
She had asked whether he would be there.
He said maybe.
He was.
This time she wore jeans, a dark sweater, and a long camel coat.
Still elegant.
Less armor.
Daniel’s daughter sat across from him coloring.
Victoria stopped beside the table.
The girl looked up.
Daniel closed his eyes.
He had forgotten this was the Saturday he promised pancakes downtown.
“Hi.”
Victoria smiled.
“Hi.”
His daughter looked from one adult to the other.
Then:
“You’re Victoria.”
Daniel wanted the floor to open.
Victoria’s eyebrows rose.
“I am.”
The girl looked at her father.
“You said she was nobody.”
“I did not say nobody.”
“You said nobody when I asked who she was.”
Victoria slowly turned toward Daniel.
He raised one hand.
“Context.”
Victoria smiled.
“I’d love to hear it.”
“No.”
The daughter moved her crayons.
“Can I sit with you?”
Victoria looked at Daniel.
The phrase hit both of them.
The girl pointed toward the chair.
Victoria’s expression softened.
“Yes.”
She sat.
Within ten minutes, Daniel’s daughter knew Victoria worked with the foundation.
Within fifteen, she knew Victoria hated bananas.
Within twenty, she had asked whether Victoria was rich.
Daniel nearly inhaled coffee.
Victoria answered:
“Yes.”
The girl nodded.
“How rich?”
“Enough that this question makes your father uncomfortable.”
The girl smiled.
“Very rich.”
“Apparently.”
Daniel covered his face.
“Please stop.”
Victoria laughed.
The daughter looked toward Victoria.
“Did you know they helped my heart?”
“Yes.”
“My scar’s here.”
She touched her chest over her sweater.
Daniel intervened gently.
“You don’t have to show anyone.”
“I know.”
The girl continued:
“I was a baby.”
“Dad says I screamed at doctors.”
“You still scream at doctors.”
“I ask questions.”
“You interrogate.”
Victoria watched them.
Something tightened inside her.
Her own childhood home had been enormous.
Beautiful.
Quiet.
Her parents loved her.
She never doubted that.
But schedules ran the house.
Nannies.
Tutors.
Boarding school.
Her father’s travel.
Her mother’s work.
Affection existed.
So did distance.
Daniel and his daughter seemed to occupy the same emotional weather.
They annoyed each other in real time.
Apologized in real time.
Loved each other without scheduling it.
Victoria felt envy.
She disliked that.
After breakfast, Daniel’s daughter asked:
“Are you the boss of the foundation?”
Victoria hesitated.
“Kind of.”