I need you to understand who Vanessa Cole is.
Three years ago, right after the wedding, Nathan came home one night and sat at the kitchen counter without taking his coat off. Just sat there. I put a glass of water in front of him and waited.
"I saw her today," he said. "Vanessa Cole. His daughter."
I knew immediately what he meant.
Nathan's parents died when he was seventeen. His dad went in for a routine surgery and never came out — the surgeon was drunk. Actually drunk. On duty. His mom couldn't survive the grief. She took pills two weeks later. Left a note. Nathan found her.
The surgeon lost his license. Got five years. Nathan got nothing except a foster placement and a box of his parents' things.
Vanessa's father.
"She's been my secretary for six months," Nathan said. He pressed his hands against his eyes. "I didn't know. I just found out."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." His voice cracked on the last word. Just barely. "For one second today, Mia. One second. I looked at her and I thought about putting my hands around her—" He stopped. Shook his head hard. "I need you to know I didn't. And I won't. But I thought it."
I held his face in my hands.
"I know," I said. "I know."
He transferred her to another department eventually. I asked him once why he didn't just fire her.
"Because letting her existence control my decisions means she wins," he said. "I'd rather have her where I can see her."
I thought that was a strange answer. I let it go.
Now she's back on his floor, pouring his tea.
And the way she set that cup down — careful, practiced, like she'd done it a thousand times — is making my stomach turn.
* * *
