Chapter 10
Callie asked to hold Ivy.
Not Miles.
That surprised me.
I said no.
She nodded.
Good.
Then asked:
“Can I sit near them?”
I looked at Sofia—no, Seraphina is narrator; I caught internal slip before it left my mouth. I looked at Claire, then at my own instincts.
“My babies.”
My choice.
“Yes.”
Callie sat across the room.
Miles slept.
Ivy fussed.
Callie’s hands tightened in her lap but she did not move toward either bassinet.
Progress measured in restraint.
After several minutes she whispered:
“I thought if I got Miles, I’d stop being the woman who lost a baby.”
I stared.
“No.”
“I know.”
She looked toward him.
“I think I knew even then.”
That mattered.
“What stopped you saying no?”
“My mother.”
Of course.
Then she corrected herself.
“No.”
Better.
“Me.”
I waited.
“She made it easy.”
There.
Accountability without pretending influence did not exist.
Callie continued.
Every time she tried to close the empty nursery, Doreen stopped her.
Every time she considered moving houses, Doreen said she was giving up.
Every holiday became a reminder.
Then my pregnancy.
Then twins.
Then Sebastian.
A whole system converged on one grief.
“You were vulnerable.”
“Yes.”
“That explains why they reached you.”
Pause.
“It does not explain why you reached into Miles’s bassinet.”
She cried.
“I know.”
Good.
Then Ivy began crying louder.
Callie looked at me.
Not at the baby.
Permission.
I nodded toward Claire.
“Nurse handles her.”
Callie looked disappointed.
Then accepted it.
Important.
No reward for confession.
Not yet.
She stayed another ten minutes.
Before leaving she looked at Miles.
“I called him Thomas in my head.”
Not Gabriel.
Not a political Vale name.
Thomas.
Her late husband’s father’s name.
A private imagined child.
I understood more.
Did not soften the boundary.
She left.
Claire adjusted Ivy’s blanket.
“You’re doing better.”
“At what?”
“Not rescuing everyone who cries.”
I almost smiled.
May you like
Apparently motherhood and Mafia leadership shared at least one lesson.
Compassion without surrendering the boundary.
