Daniel frowned.
“I bought that house after Maya died.”
“But she chose the neighborhood.”
“Yes.”
“Her furniture was still there when I first started staying over.”
“Some of it.”
“Her pictures.”
“For Lily.”
“Her traditions.”
“For Lily.”
“Everything was for Lily.”
Daniel stared.
Simone’s voice rose.
“I wanted something that was ours.”
“And Lily was supposed to pay for it.”
Simone whispered:
“She has two point four million dollars.”
Daniel stood.
“She has no mother.”
The room went silent.
Simone’s mouth opened.
Daniel continued.
“She has money because her mother died.”
“Do you understand that?”
“She would trade every dollar for five minutes with Maya.”
“She did not win some lottery.”
“That trust is grief with paperwork around it.”
Simone lowered her eyes.
Andre looked away.
Daniel’s voice shook now.
“And you looked at it and saw a house.”
Simone cried.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel believed that too.
But sorry did not repair the meaning of what had been done.
There are apologies that reopen doors.
There are apologies that only acknowledge why the door had to close.
Daniel took off his wedding boutonniere.
Set it on the vanity.
Simone stared.
“No.”
“I can’t marry you today.”
“Today?”
Hope again.
He hated himself for the ambiguity.
He corrected it.
“I don’t know if I can marry you ever.”
Her knees seemed to weaken.
She sat.
Andre closed the folder.
Daniel walked toward the connecting door.
Simone whispered:
“If you walk out, you’re letting a seven-year-old decide our marriage.”
Daniel turned.
And there it was.
The sentence that ended what remained.
Not the debt.
Not even the forged-looking signature.
That.
Because after everything, Simone still saw Lily as interference.
Daniel spoke quietly.
“No.”
“I’m deciding what kind of father I am.”
Then he left.
Downstairs, two hundred people waited.
The ceremony never happened.
The wedding coordinator told guests there had been a serious family emergency.
That was true.
Some people left quietly.
Some demanded explanations.
Simone’s mother screamed at hotel staff about deposits.