“Jewelry is for wearing.”
He fastened it around her wrist.
It was too large.
The bracelet slid almost to her hand.
Nia laughed.
Aaron cried.
She noticed.
“Dad.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s a lie.”
He laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
She hugged him.
Celeste eventually pleaded guilty to unauthorized use of entrusted funds and falsifying financial records.
The court approved a restitution agreement.
No prison sentence.
Three years probation.
Mandatory financial counseling.
Community service.
Full repayment obligations.
Some people in Aaron’s extended family thought that was too lenient.
Others thought criminal charges should never have happened.
Aaron stopped discussing it with them.
There was no sentence that could make everyone feel the correct amount of pain.
His responsibility was Nia.
The divorce became final eleven months after the department-store incident.
Aaron hated the word failure.
Dr. Franklin asked:
“Failure of what?”
“Marriage.”
“Did ending an unsafe dynamic fail Nia?”
“No.”
“Did it fail Jordan and Layla?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do they seem safer?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps the marriage failed before the divorce documented it.”
Aaron thought about that for weeks.
Celeste moved into a townhouse twenty minutes away.
Jordan and Layla divided time between Ohio and Georgia.
Aaron remained part of their lives with Derek’s blessing.
This surprised everyone except the children.
Jordan still came to Aaron for help with science projects.
Layla called him when her first middle-school dance became a disaster.
Aaron never asked them to choose.
Celeste gradually rebuilt her relationship with Nia through structured visits.
The first took place in Dr. Franklin’s office.
Nia was ten.
Celeste looked older.
Not dramatically.
Just less polished.
No perfect bun.
No expensive watch.
She sat across from Nia.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Celeste said:
“I like your shoes.”
Nia looked down.
The white-and-lavender pair.
Still wearable.
Scuffed now.
She smiled slightly.
“Dad bought them.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Celeste continued.
“I’m sorry I tried to make you put them back.”
Nia nodded.
“I know.”
Another silence.
Then Nia asked:
“Why didn’t you like me?”
Celeste’s face broke.
Aaron sat behind the observation window with Dr. Franklin and felt his own chest split.
Celeste answered carefully.
“I did like you.”
Nia frowned.
“You didn’t act like it.”
“You’re right.”
No defense.
Celeste took a breath.
“I was jealous of things that were never your fault.”
“Like Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Celeste looked down.
“Because she was important to your dad.”
“She was important to you.”
“People talked about her.”
“And I was afraid there wasn’t enough room for me.”
Nia considered this.
“There was.”
Celeste cried.
“I know that now.”
Nia looked toward the floor.
“You could’ve just had your own room.”
Celeste laughed through tears.