Chapter 10 - THE LITTLE GIRL WITH THE SILVER WATCH
Three years later, Grace Moretti was standing in my mother's kitchen, holding a silver watch.
“Mommy, this is Daddy's.”
I looked up from the birthday cake I was frosting.
Grace had my brown eyes and Vincent's dark curls.
She wore a yellow dress with tiny embroidered flowers.
In her small hands was the anniversary watch Vincent had left on the kitchen table the day he apologized.
I had kept it in a wooden drawer ever since.
“Where did you find that, sweetheart?”
“Grandma's drawer.”
I smiled.
“That's an old watch.”
Grace studied it.
“Does Daddy need it?”
I paused.
“Maybe.”
She turned it over.
“Words.”
I knelt beside her.
“Yes. There are words on the back.”
“What do they say?”
I brushed a curl away from her forehead.
“Every moment, together.”
Grace considered that.
Then she smiled.
“Like birthdays?”
I kissed her forehead.
“Exactly like birthdays.”
The door opened behind us.
Vincent entered carrying a box of pink and white balloons.
He'd learned to arrive early.
Not with extravagant gifts.
Not with assistants.
Just himself.
Over the previous three years, he'd rebuilt his relationship with Grace one ordinary day at a time.
He learned to prepare her oatmeal.
He attended pediatric appointments.
He took parenting classes after admitting that he was frightened of making mistakes.
He spent Sunday mornings reading picture books on my mother's living-room floor.
When Grace was sick, he stayed up with us.
When she cried, he didn't hand her to a nanny.
He learned the difference between providing for someone and being present.
And he never asked me to pretend the past hadn't happened.
We had finalized our separation agreement shortly after Grace's birth.
We remained legally married for a while, but lived apart.
Eventually, with counseling and time, we began spending evenings together again.
Not because I forgot what he'd done.
Because he was finally becoming someone different.
Grace ran toward him.
“Daddy!”
Vincent set down the balloons and crouched.
“There's my birthday girl.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
He lifted her gently.
“Three years old already?”
She held up three fingers.
“I'm big.”
“Very big.”
Then she showed him the watch.
“Daddy, look.”
Vincent went still.
I watched his expression change.
He recognized it immediately.
Grace turned it over.
“Mommy said it's together.”
Vincent looked at me.
I gave a small nod.
He took the watch carefully.
“I remember this.”
Grace touched his cheek.
“Is it broken?”
Vincent swallowed.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Then why don't you wear it?”
He looked toward me again.
For a moment, I saw the man he'd been on the runway.
The man who had promised to return.
The man who had chosen someone else while I sat frightened inside a damaged aircraft.
But I also saw the father who had spent three years proving he could be trusted.
“Because I had to learn something first,” he told Grace.
She frowned.
“What?”
“How to be here when people need me.”
Grace considered that.
Then she pointed toward the kitchen.
“I'm hungry.”
Vincent laughed.
“That's something I can help with.”
He carried her inside.
That afternoon, we celebrated Grace's birthday with family and friends.
Daniel Reyes came with his wife and two sons.
He brought Grace a wooden airplane he'd made himself.
Its wings were painted bright blue.
Grace loved it immediately.
She ran around the living room making airplane noises.
Daniel looked at me.
“She's fearless.”
I smiled.
“She's never been on a plane.”
He nodded.
“I figured.”
Vincent approached us.
“I wanted to thank you again.”
Daniel shook his head.
“You've thanked me enough.”
“Not for what you've done since.”
Daniel had become director of safety operations at a newly independent aviation company.
Vincent had helped establish an industry scholarship for maintenance technicians, but Daniel had insisted the program be administered independently.
He didn't want gratitude to become another form of obligation.
I respected him for that.
Across the room, Sophia Carter stood beside the birthday table.
Our relationship had changed slowly.
She'd accepted responsibility for her role in the flight arrangements.
She'd cooperated with investigators.
She'd also spent the past three years building a life outside the Moretti family's influence.
She now worked with a nonprofit supporting families facing expensive medical treatment.
I hadn't become her closest friend.
But we no longer carried the same bitterness.
Grace approached her with a paper crown.
“Miss Sophia, wear this.”
Sophia laughed.
“Are you sure?”
Grace nodded.
“Everybody gets one.”
For a moment, Sophia looked at me.
There was something tender and painful in her expression.
Then she put on the crown.
“Thank you, Princess Grace.”
Later, as the guests gathered around the cake, Grace climbed onto Vincent's lap.
She held the wooden airplane in one hand.
And the silver watch in the other.
“Daddy,” she said.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can you fix my plane?”
One wooden wheel had come loose.
Vincent examined it.
“Of course.”
Grace handed him the toy.
Then she held out the watch.
“And wear this.”
He looked at me.
I smiled faintly.
“You can.”
Vincent fastened the watch around his wrist.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Grace clapped.
“Now everybody's together!”
I laughed through sudden tears.
But that evening, after the guests left, I found Vincent standing alone beside the window.
He was holding Grace's wooden airplane.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Something arrived from the aviation investigation office.”
My smile faded.
“I thought the investigation was finished.”
“It is.”
He held out a small envelope.
Inside was an old photograph.
Not of the accident.
Not of Anthony.
It showed Vincent and me on our wedding day.
We were standing beneath a white rose arch.
I was laughing.
Vincent was looking at me as though nothing in the world mattered more.
On the back, someone had written:
The day he finally knew what he wanted.
I stared at the handwriting.
It belonged to Anthony Moretti.
May you like
And beneath the message was a second line.
I was wrong.
