Chapter 2

Saturday was the family showcase day at Leo’s school.

His teacher had called me personally earlier that week: "Leo told everyone his dad is a famous architect. We’d love for him to come speak to the kids about how to design a house."

Leo had been thrilled all week.

He spent hours drawing a crooked little house with his crayons, saying he wanted to give it to his dad as a surprise.

"Look, Mommy! Here is Daddy’s studio, here is my room, and here is your desk!"

I stared at the poorly proportioned, intensely earnest little drawing.

My throat tightened.

"It’s wonderful, baby."

On the morning of the event, Julian’s phone rang.

He hung up and immediately grabbed his car keys.

"The structural crew on Sienna’s rooftop garden ran into some grading issues. I have to go on-site right now."

"Today is Leo’s family showcase."

"Preschool events happen every month. A roof collapse doesn't. Just go for both of us."

"Leo worked on a surprise for a whole week. He drew something specifically for you."

Julian was already sliding into his shoes.

"Just hold onto it for me. I’ll look at it when I get back."

He walked out the door.

I stood by the entryway, holding the folded piece of paper in my hand.

Inside the little crooked house in the drawing, there were three stick figures visible through the window.

Mommy, Daddy, and Leo.

All of them smiling.

At the school showcase, Leo kept looking toward the door.

His teacher knelt down gently. "Is your dad running late, Leo?"

Leo shook his head, quietly turning the drawing face down on his desk.

"No. Daddy has a more important house to build."

At only six years old, he had already learned how to make excuses for an absent adult.

After the event, I opened Instagram.

Sienna had just posted a story.

She was standing on the rooftop terrace of the villa, the breeze catching the hem of her white dress.

Her caption read: What does it feel like to have someone build you a castle?

Julian had commented underneath: The right person deserves the finest design.

The right person.

That phrase had never once been used to describe me.

That night, Leo buried his drawing at the very bottom of his backpack.

I knelt beside him. "Aren't you going to show it to Daddy?"

He shook his head softly.

"Even if I give it to him, he won't hang it up. We aren't allowed to put things on our walls."

I gathered him into my arms and held him tight.

So tight.

Not out of self-pity.

Because a six-year-old child should never have had to learn how to give up on being loved so young.