My Husband Stayed With His Childhood Love—Our Daughter Called Him Stranger Chapter 10

My Husband Stayed With His Childhood Love—Our Daughter Called Him Stranger Chapter 10

After the signing, security held Nathaniel back outside the venue.

He didn’t leave. He stood by the flower bed near the entrance, back against a sycamore tree, and waited. Three hours.

When Grace and I finally walked out, he took a step forward.

Then he sank to the ground, like every strength drained out of his body. Both his knees hitting the concrete with a dull thud.

His voice came up from the cracks in the concrete.

“Sylvie. Give me one more chance. Just one.”

Passersby slowed, pulling out their phones to record.

I ignored the cameras. I walked up to him and looked down.

Nathaniel—once so untouchable, so proud, so certain the world revolved around him—was begging at my feet like a madman.

He looked up, his face a mess of tears and stubble. He looked utterly broken.

I said, “Get up.”

A spark flared in his eyes. “You forgive me? Sylvie, I know I was wrong—I…”

I spoke calmly, “I don’t forgive you. I came to make one thing clear.”

“My daughter died.”

All the color drained from his face.

“She died on that stormy night.”

“The moment you pulled her out of that car, she died.”

“The girl standing beside me now has no father.”

His mouth opened. No words came out.

“You’re not down there because I need you to be.”

I crouched down, meeting his eyes.

“You’re down there because it’s the only thing that makes you feel better.”

My words hit him. His eyes went wide.

“You didn’t come looking for us because it would help us.”

“You came because you wanted to ease your own guilt. That’s how you’ve always been.”

His lips were trembling, tears streaming down his face.

“No…” His voice cracked. “No, that’s not—I came to make things right…”

“Make things right?” I smiled.

“Do you remember what you said when you proposed to me?”

“You said you’d build me a house with your own hands. That every brick would carry your love. That you’d give us a home.”

He went still. His eyes slowly reddened.

“I remember. I sold that house.” I stood and brushed the dust from my knees.

“Five million. Thanks for the design, by the way. It funded our new life overseas.”

A complicated expression crossed his face. “Sylvie…”

“Grace’s book won an award.” I looked down at him. “Do you know the title?”

He slowly shook his head.

I went on, “The Silent Star.”

“She said it didn’t matter that the star couldn’t speak.”

“Because a star doesn’t need words to be seen.”

I reached for Grace’s hand.

Grace looked at him for a moment. Then she looked up at me.

She didn’t speak. She just tugged on my hand and pointed toward the ice cream shop in the distance. Moonbeam Creamery.

I smiled. “Come on. Let’s go get ice cream. Your favorite.”

Her eyes curved into crescents.

Holding my hand, she skipped happily down the sidewalk.

Behind us, the sound of Nathaniel breaking down. Raw, broken sobs.

I didn’t look back.

Suddenly, Grace stopped. She turned back toward the direction we’d come from.

She raised her hands and signed something. I caught it right away.

Goodbye.

Not to Nathaniel. To the past.

Then she turned back around, tipped her face up to me, and smiled. I smiled too.

Hand in hand, we followed the coastline.

Up ahead, the Moonbeam Creamery sign blinked softly.

Waves rolled onto the shore with a steady, gentle rhythm.

Grace suddenly raised one hand and drew a huge circle in the air.

Then she pressed both hands together against her cheek.

She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

“Are you sleepy, sweetheart?”

She shook her head, opened her eyes, and signed, Not sleepy. I’m home.

She pointed at me, then at herself.

Something warm tightened around my heart.

I squeezed her hand. “Yeah. We’re home.”

We walked into Moonbeam Creamery. I ordered a soft-serve vanilla cone.

Grace took it, beaming. One lick and her whole face lit up. She held the cone out to me.

I bent down and took a lick. It was sweet. So sweet.

Outside the window, sunlight rested on her hair like scattered gold.

This was our home. We didn’t need a castle. We didn’t need windows that looked out at the stars.

All we needed was a single ice cream. And each other.

Grace took another lick, then traced a word into my palm with her free hand.

Love.

I felt every stroke.

I lowered my head, a tear falling onto the back of her hand.

She looked up at me, head tilted, and signed, Don’t cry, Mommy.

The star can’t speak, but the star is always there.

I nodded, hard. “Yeah. I know.”