Chapter 7 - The First Time She Let Him Hold Her
Ambrose asked to see Evelyn every week.
Jacqueline did not respond at first.
Then one afternoon, when Evelyn was three months old, she sent him a message.
Saturday. 11 a.m. The park near Riverside Drive. One hour.
Ambrose arrived thirty minutes early.
He wore a simple coat and carried nothing except a small blanket he had bought after researching newborn fabrics for an hour.
Jacqueline noticed immediately.
“You brought a blanket?”
“I did not know if she had one.”
“She has six.”
“I assumed.”
Jacqueline almost smiled.
Almost.
Evelyn slept in a stroller while Jacqueline sat on a bench.
Ambrose stood awkwardly nearby.
He had negotiated billion-dollar contracts with less fear than he felt looking at his daughter.
“She is beautiful,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Does she sleep well?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does she—”
Jacqueline looked at him.
“Ambrose.”
He stopped.
“You can ask. But you do not need to turn this into an interview.”
He nodded.
“I am sorry.”
Jacqueline looked down at Evelyn.
After a moment, she lifted the baby carefully.
“Support her head.”
Ambrose held out his arms.
Jacqueline placed Evelyn against his chest.
He froze.
The baby made a small sound, then settled.
Ambrose looked down at her and began to cry.
Not loudly.
Not for Jacqueline to see.
But she saw anyway.
“You missed the first time she opened her eyes,” Jacqueline said quietly.
“I know.”
“You missed her first bath.”
“I know.”
“You missed the first time she smiled.”
Ambrose’s shoulders tightened.
“I know.”
Jacqueline looked at him.
“You cannot fix those things.”
“No.”
“But you can decide whether you miss the next ones.”
Ambrose lifted his eyes.
“I will not.”
Jacqueline’s expression remained guarded.
May you like
“We will see.”
But she did not take Evelyn back immediately.
