Chapter 8 - CHLOE ASKED WHY HER FATHER CHOSE ANOTHER WOMAN
The question came when Chloe was seven.
Two years after the doll.
We were eating pancakes.
Of course.
Harrison sat across from her.
I was there because Chloe had asked for “both parents breakfast.”
Not reunion.
Breakfast.
She knew the difference.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you pick Victoria instead of Mommy?”
Harrison froze.
So did I.
Children eventually reach the question adults spend years hoping they won’t ask.
He looked at me.
I said nothing.
His answer.
“I was selfish.”
Chloe frowned.
“What selfish?”
“Wanting something because it makes you feel important, even when it hurts someone else.”
She thought.
“Victoria made you feel important?”
“Yes.”
“Mommy didn’t?”
Harrison’s face tightened.
“Your mom knew me before I had money.”
He looked at me.
“She expected me to be a good person without being impressed by me.”
I almost smiled.
Accurate.
“And Victoria?”
“She made me feel like everything I did was special.”
Chloe took a bite.
“Like stickers?”
“What?”
“Teacher gives stickers when we do stuff.”
Harrison laughed softly.
“Yes.”
“Victoria gave grown-up stickers?”
“Something like that.”
I nearly choked on coffee.
Then Chloe became serious.
“Did you stop loving Mommy?”
Harrison looked at me.
I hated this.
But he answered carefully.
“No.”
“Then why leave?”
“Because loving somebody doesn’t automatically make you good at loving them.”
Chloe stared.
I did too.
That was better than any therapy phrase I had prepared.
“So you loved bad?”
Harrison nodded.
“Yes.”
She pointed at me.
“Mommy love good?”
I laughed.
“I make mistakes too.”
“What mistakes?”
“Not today.”
She accepted that.
Then:
“Are you gonna marry Mommy again?”
“No,” I answered.
Harrison simultaneously said:
“I don’t know.”
We looked at each other.
Chloe’s eyebrows rose.
I corrected him with my eyes.
He immediately said:
“Your mom is right.”
Good.
Chloe shrugged.
“Okay.”
Apparently the adults had survived.
Our relationship had become strange.
Harrison and I were not together.
But we were no longer enemies.
He dated no one seriously for two years.
Not because I required it.
Because he said he did not trust his judgment yet.
Healthy.
Annoying.
Then he met Rebecca Shaw.
A pediatric physical therapist.
Divorced.
No interest in Mercer society.
The first time he told me, I waited for jealousy.
Nothing.
Maybe curiosity.
Mostly relief.
“Does Chloe know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“When?”
“If it lasts.”
It did.
Six months.
Then he introduced them.
Slowly.
Chloe liked Rebecca because she had a dog.
Strong foundation.
I started dating too.
Not dramatically.
A man named Nathan Alvarez.
High-school principal.
Widower.
Met through Marisol, who claimed I needed “one dinner with a man who doesn’t own a trust.”
Fair.
Nathan knew the story.
Everyone did by then.
The Doll Case had become media shorthand despite our attempts to shield Chloe’s identity.
Her name stayed sealed.
Good.
Nathan never asked how much she owned.
That mattered absurdly.
Our first date ended at nine because I had work the next morning.
He didn’t complain.
Second date, tacos.
Third, hiking.
Normal.
Wonderful.
Harrison did not like him initially.
I could tell.
He said nothing.
Growth.
Then Chloe broke her wrist falling from monkey bars.
Nathan and Harrison both arrived at urgent care.
Awkward.
Rebecca came too.
More awkward.
Chloe, high on pain medicine, looked around and said:
“Too many adults.”
Correct.
We worked it out.
No territorial nonsense.
Harrison sat with her during X-rays because she asked.
Nathan brought me coffee.
Rebecca found a pediatric sling with dinosaurs.
Family does not always arrive in elegant shapes.
Sometimes four adults stand under fluorescent lights arguing about which pharmacy closes latest.
At eight, Chloe asked for a school family-tree project.
That became harder.
“Jonathan Mercer?”
She pointed.
“Great-grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“Rich one?”
“Yes.”
“Daddy’s daddy?”
“Biological father.”
She frowned.
“Why biological?”
We explained.
Then she asked about the man who raised Harrison.
“Grandpa Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“So two dads?”
“In different ways.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Children again.
Then she drew me.
Harrison.
Rebecca.
Nathan.
Marisol.
Grandparents.
Too many branches.
Teacher probably regretted assignment.
At the bottom, Chloe drew the old rag doll.
I laughed.
“What is Dolly doing on family tree?”
“She helped.”
Fair.
The doll had been repaired professionally by a textile conservator.
Not restored to perfection.
I asked them to preserve the seam.
The place where truth came out.
Harrison kept asking if he could buy Chloe something expensive for birthdays.
I said:
“Ask her.”
At eight, she wanted roller skates.
Forty-nine dollars.
He bought them.
At nine, microscope.
One hundred twenty.
At ten, she finally asked:
“Can I see the Mercer house?”
We all froze.
She had never wanted to.
Then she did.
The estate sat in Santa Barbara.
Jonathan’s old property.
Not Harrison’s primary home.
Daniel Mercer arranged a visit.
No press.
Chloe walked through rooms holding my hand.
Portraits.
Library.
Ocean view.
Then she stood before Jonathan’s photograph.
“Is that John?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
“The man who gave you paper?”
“Yes.”
“He knew me before me?”
“Sort of.”
She stared.
Then whispered:
“He looks like Daddy.”
He did.
Later, in the garden, Chloe asked:
“Is all this mine?”
Harrison answered:
“Some things might belong to you someday.”
“Do I have to live here?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She kicked off her shoes.
Ran through grass.
Money had not won.
Not yet.
That evening, Daniel handed Chloe a sealed copy of Jonathan’s letter to keep until adulthood.
She held it.
“What’s this?”
“Something your great-grandfather wanted you to understand when you’re older.”
“Can Mom keep it?”
Daniel smiled.
“If she wants.”
Chloe handed it to me.
“Mom keeps important.”
My throat tightened.
Harrison looked away.
Maybe remembering all the years he had tried to keep important things from me.
On the drive home, Nathan sat beside me.
Chloe asleep in back.
He asked:
“Does this ever feel normal?”
I thought.
“No.”
“Good normal or bad?”
“Both.”
He nodded.
May you like
Then held my hand.
I let him.
