Chapter 19 - ROMAN DELUCA’S REAL SIGNATURE
Six months passed.
Ava learned to laugh before she learned to crawl.
It was the best sound I had ever heard.
Cross Meridian became Bennett Meridian Health.
I resisted putting my name on the building.
The board insisted continuity mattered.
I eventually agreed on one condition.
The lobby would contain seventeen names.
Not founders.
Not executives.
The seventeen original maternal lines used in the research.
Where families consented, we honored them publicly.
Where they requested privacy, we used only subject numbers.
M-1 through M-17.
No more erased people.
Elise moved in with Vanessa temporarily.
Their relationship was awkward.
Painful.
Real.
Vanessa entered therapy and later testified against Evelyn.
She apologized to me once.
Not dramatically.
Not asking forgiveness.
“I helped Nathan manipulate you in that hospital.”
She said.
“I told myself we were protecting Ava from Mother.”
“We weren’t.”
“We were protecting ourselves.”
I appreciated the accuracy.
Thomas rented a small apartment three blocks from mine.
He did not ask to move into my life.
He showed up when invited.
Left when asked.
He learned that reconciliation is not the same as restoration.
You do not get seventeen missing years back.
You build something new.
Nathan saw Ava twice a month under supervision.
The first visit lasted twenty minutes.
He cried afterward.
The sixth visit lasted two hours.
He learned how to change a diaper.
Poorly.
I did not rescue him from it.
Roman remained Roman.
He never asked me out.
Never implied Ava needed him.
Never tried to replace Nathan.
That irritated me eventually.
One night, after putting Ava to sleep, I found Roman fixing a cabinet hinge in my kitchen.
“You know I own tools.”
“Yes.”
“You know I can use tools.”
“I’ve seen your attempt at assembling the high chair.”
“That was one time.”
“The left leg was backward.”
I crossed my arms.
“Roman.”
He looked at me.
“Are you ever going to ask me to dinner?”
For the first time since I met him, Roman DeLuca looked genuinely shocked.
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“With you?”
“No, Roman.”
“With the cabinet.”
He almost smiled.
“You just had a child.”
“Seven months ago.”
“You just ended a marriage.”
“Five months ago.”
“You’re rebuilding a company.”
“That part may never stop.”
He put down the screwdriver.
“I don’t want you confusing safety with love.”
The sentence silenced me.
Of course.
He understood too well.
“And I don’t want Ava confusing me with a father because I happened to be there when Nathan wasn’t.”
I stepped closer.
“You’re thinking too much.”
“I’ve been accused.”
I looked into his eyes.
“I’m not asking you to become anything.”
“I’m asking whether you want pasta.”
A slow smile appeared.
“Yes.”
That was our first date.
Not dramatic.
No ballroom.
No limousine.
A small Italian restaurant where Roman complained the sauce needed more garlic.
Three months later, he kissed me for the first time.
He asked.
That mattered more than he probably understood.
A year later, Nathan came to my apartment carrying an envelope.
I tensed automatically.
Too many terrible things had arrived in envelopes.
He smiled sadly.
“Not DNA.”
Inside was a petition.
Consent to stepparent adoption in the future if I remarried and if Ava wanted it when she was old enough to understand.
I stared at him.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“Why now?”
Nathan looked toward Ava playing with blocks.
“Because I finally understand the difference between being her biological father and owning a place in her life.”
He swallowed.
“I want to remain in her life if she wants me.”
“But I don’t want my name becoming a cage.”
I did not sign anything.
Neither did Roman.
The document went into my desk.
Years could decide the rest.
Then Nathan asked something surprising.
“Do you still have the hospital form?”
“What form?”
“The one Roman signed.”
I laughed.
“He tore it up.”
Nathan smiled.
“Good.”
He looked almost relieved.
“Why?”
“Because I hated him for that signature.”
His expression softened.
“Now I think it might have saved her.”
He left.
That night, I told Roman.
He laughed.
“I still shouldn’t have signed it.”
“No.”
“You were furious.”
“I slapped you later.”
“That too.”
I looked at him.
Then pulled a different document from behind my back.
His expression changed.
“What’s that?”
Ava’s emergency guardian form.
Not father.
Not ownership.
Not paternity.
A person I trusted to protect her if something happened to me.
I handed him the pen.
Roman stared at the line.
Then at me.
“Are you sure?”
That was the difference.
Nathan had always assumed.
My father had always decided.
Roman asked.
“Yes.”
He signed.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Then handed the pen back.
No dramatic declaration.
No claim.
Just trust.
The first signature had been made without my permission.
May you like
The second was made because I gave it.
And somehow that meant everything.
