I turned on my heel to find Sofia standing motionless at the edge of the gravel path. After eleven years of marriage, her appearance was intimately familiar—soft blue blouse, eyes carrying that familiar hint of fatigue—yet looking at her in that moment sent an icy chill down my spine. Her calmness felt unnatural, almost sinister given the circumstances.
“Vincent?” she whispered, her eyes shifting from my face to Lila, and finally resting on the young boy standing beside us.
The second her gaze landed on him, her subtle composure shattered. It was a fleeting reaction—a slight stiffening of her shoulders, her fingers clutching Lila’s yellow sunhat a little too tightly—but I didn’t miss it. The boy visibly recoiled, taking a cautious step backward into the shade.
“It’s you,” Sofia breathed out, her voice barely audible.
A cold wave of dread washed over me. I glanced between my wife and the child, the realization hitting me instantly. “Sofia… do you know who this boy is?” I demanded.
She froze, hesitation clouding her features. But before she could offer an explanation, Lila chimed in, turning toward the sound of her voice. “Mommy, is that you?”
The sharp wave of suspicion within me faltered. Lila was entirely unaware of the suffocating tension hanging in the air, completely oblivious to how I was scrutinizing her mother as if she were a total stranger.
Sofia hurried forward, dropping to her knees beside our daughter. “I’m right here, my darling,” she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to Lila’s forehead. “You left your hat behind.”
“I don’t want to wear it anymore,” Lila replied softly.
“You chose it yourself, sweetie,” Sofia gently reminded her.
“I chose it back when I could still make out the color yellow,” Lila said quietly.
Those simple words hit like a physical blow. Sofia shut her eyes tightly for a fraction of a second, a flicker of raw agony crossing her face before she pulled our little girl into a tight embrace. Watching her, I saw genuine heartache written across her features. It didn’t clear her of suspicion, but it certainly didn’t look like the expression of a mother intentionally stripping her own child of her sight.
Sensing the family drama unfolding, the boy was already retreating toward the trees.
“Hold on a second,” I called out firmly.
The young boy halted in his tracks. Sofia shot me an anxious look. “Vincent, please, you’re going to scare him!”
“I just want him to stay put for a moment,” I replied.
Deep down, the old instincts of Vincent Moretti began to resurface—the man who handled chaos by taking total control over everyone in his vicinity. But I deliberately suppressed that side of myself. Not in front of Lila. Not right now.
Softening my stance, I took a small step forward. “What’s your name, son?”
The boy darted an uncertain look between Sofia and me before swallowing hard. “Eli,” he admitted quietly.
“It’s okay, Eli,” I reassured him, keeping my voice calm and steady. “No one is angry with you.”
