My billionaire ex-husband blamed me for our childless marriage and walked away—eight years later, he entered a restaurant and saw me sitting with twins who had his unmistakable eyes.

Chapter 12

His flight landed at seven-thirty in the morning.

I know because I was awake — I hadn’t slept well — and I watched a town car pull up outside my townhouse at ten minutes to eight.

Dominic got out.

He looked terrible. His coat was rumpled, his eyes were shadowed, and he was carrying a cardboard tray with three coffees and two hot chocolates, a paper bag tucked under his arm.

The doorbell rang.

I opened the door.

“You came,” I said.

“I said I would.”

“You look awful.”

“Thank you. The red-eye was delightful.” He held up the tray. “I brought supplies. I didn’t know the twins’ exact orders, so I made educated guesses based on previous observations.”

“You’ve been observing their beverage preferences?”

“I’m a very thorough man, Imani.”

Behind me, Zara came thundering down the stairs.

“You came!”

That expression on her face was worth more than any grand gesture could have been.

Dominic understood that. I watched him take it in — the way Zara launched herself at his waist, the way Eli appeared at the top of the stairs, trying to look casual, failing entirely.

“Did you bring the river tour book?” Eli asked.

“Page sixty-two,” Dominic said. “You can trace the route before we go.”

The boat tour happened at noon.

Dominic stood at the rail with Eli, pointing out the architectural details of every building, while Zara interrogated the tour guide about whether the river had ever frozen solid enough to walk across.

It was ordinary.

It was everything.

After that day, Dominic became better at not making promises he couldn’t keep.

That mattered even more than the promises he kept.

Spring came.

The snow melted, the city turned green, and the twins’ relationship with Dominic deepened in different ways.

Zara embraced him completely.

She had always trusted easily, though not carelessly. She asked him endless questions. What was his favorite movie? Why did he wear boring socks? Had he ever met the president? Could he buy a zoo?

“No,” Dominic told her.

“You definitely could.”

“Technically, perhaps.”

“Then why can’t you?”

“Because your mother would never forgive me.”

“Correct,” I called from the kitchen.

Eli took longer.

He liked Dominic. That was obvious. But he guarded his affection like a man guarding a treasure he wasn’t sure would stay.

One afternoon, I found him sitting alone on the back steps after Dominic had left.

I sat down beside him.

“You okay?”

He shrugged.

For Eli, that usually meant no.

I waited.

Finally, he asked, “What if he gets busy again?”

The question landed harder than he knew.

“What do you mean?”

“You said he used to work all the time. When you were married.”

“Yes.”

“What if he stops coming?”

I wanted to promise that would never happen. I wanted to wrap my son in every assurance I had, to protect him from a hurt I knew too well.

But I had learned the danger of making promises on someone else’s behalf.

“I can’t promise what another person will always do,” I said carefully. “Nobody can.”

Eli looked down.

“But I can promise you can tell Dominic you’re worried. Out loud. That’s allowed.”

“What if it makes him sad?”

“People who love each other sometimes say things that make each other sad.” I put my arm around him. “That’s different from being unkind.”

Eli was quiet for a long time.

Then he nodded.

The following weekend, he told Dominic.

I didn’t hear the conversation.

Dominic took him for a walk around the block — just the two of them, hands in their pockets, walking slowly like men who had all the time in the world.

When they returned, Eli looked lighter.

Later that night, after the twins were in bed, Dominic called me.

“He asked if I was going to disappear,” he said.

I closed my eyes. “I know.”

“I told him there will be times I’ll disappoint him.”

I felt my throat tighten. “That must have been difficult for you.”

“Extremely.” His voice was rough. “I wanted to promise him perfect. I wanted to tell him he’d never have to wonder again. But he’s too smart for that, and I’ve learned too much to lie to him.”

“What else did you tell him?”

“I told him I’ll never intentionally disappear. That I’ll always tell him the truth, even when the truth is hard. That he can call me anytime, about anything.”

“And?”

“I gave him my private number.”

“He’s eight.”

“He knows how to use a phone.”

“You’re going to regret that.”

Two days later, Eli called Dominic at six-twelve in the morning to ask whether penguins had knees.

Dominic answered.

They do, apparently.

I found out because Dominic called me afterward, laughing, to tell me the whole ridiculous story — a story that would have been impossible a year ago.

A man who had once measured his life in acquisitions and board meetings, delighted by a phone call about penguin knees at dawn.

“You’re going to have to set boundaries,” I said.

“I don’t want boundaries,” Dominic said. “I’ve had nothing but boundaries for nine years. I want a child who calls me at six in the morning to ask about penguins.”

Something in my chest cracked open.

“Dominic — ”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m not rushing. I’m just — ” He stopped. “I’m just grateful. That’s all.”

So was I.

Even if I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.