Sitting in my office overlooking Central Park, my natural environment with gray walls and metal furniture reflects my life. Lilly Belle’s accident yesterday was my fault, and there is no way I will let Penelope convince me that it wasn’t. Unlike my mother, I take responsibility for my actions. I left the gate open by accident.

Part of me knows that the fall was not as bad as I made it out to be. Part of me knows this is just an excuse, a giant rationalization because I got in too deep.

But another part of me thinks that it doesn’t matter. Because ultimately I always knew this was going to end badly, that I would destroy anything good that came into my life.

I grew up with a non-existent father and a mother who was withdrawn and depressed or insane and antagonistic. Love, kindness, safety—I never had or experienced these things.

Until now, that is. And unfortunately, now is far too late. I’m fully formed and I won’t be able to change because some lovely young lass stole my heart away. I am who I am, that much is certain.

Penelope and Lilly Belle are better off without me.

“Mr. Townsend? The meeting is about to start.” The rhythm of Bianca’s voice soothes me. It’s calm and reassuring and falls back into place with the world I know. Work, my office, the world of steel and money. This is where I belong, not pretending to be a husband and father. Lilly Belle needs a real father and Penelope needs a real man.

“Thank you, I’ll be right there.” Of course, I won’t be right there. I’ll be there when I damn well please. This is how it’s always been. I pick up the phone, take a deep breath, and make the call.

* * *

Coming home to a quiet house, I pause in the doorway and scan around. It’s late. The baby must be sleeping. All night last night, I couldn’t sleep thinking she may have had a concussion, but Wilson has kept in touch with me all day assuring me that she’s fine. I haven’t spoken to Penelope. Her words were harsh.

I understood the meaning behind them, but she doesn’t know what I’ve been through. I am stepping up and being a man. By giving Lilly Belle to a loving family, I am doing right by her.

Entering the kitchen, I grab myself a glass of water. The faint static of the baby monitor is both comforting and a nuisance. I didn’t have that noise before Lilly Belle arrived. I didn’t have to worry about how someone else was doing. I have to go upstairs and find Penelope, tell her that they’ll be coming soon.

Then I hear the sounds of the baby finishing up her bottle in the nursery. She’s not awake. She’s sitting with Penelope in the gliding chair, getting ready for bedtime. Then, I hear it—the singing that comes before the sendoff. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…you make me happy when skies are gray…” The softest, most angelic voice you’ve ever heard.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” I mouth along to Penelope’s singing. “Please don’t take my sunshine away.” I drop my head onto the kitchen counter and fight tears. Tears don’t solve anything, and anyway, I’m all out of tears. I used them all up as a child and teen. Not a single tear gave me the love I desperately needed. Not a single tear made my mother stop screaming insults, stop throwing things when she was in her manic anger, stop ignoring us during her depressive episodes.

I thought I had pushed those emotions away forever, but here they are, back and fresh as if I’m a child again. I can’t live like this. I can’t take feeling again.

Slowly, I head upstairs. When I reach the top, I unlatch the baby gate. Penelope is just closing the door to the nursery. Her eyes are swollen and her face looks gaunt. “You look like you haven’t slept much,” I tell her.

“You’re a charmer.” She spins on her heels and goes into her room about to close her door.

“Miss Wallach, I have to speak to you.” I take steps toward her room and lean against the doorframe, pushing her door open gently.

“Yes, Mr. Townsend?” she says, voice full of spite. It’s okay. She has every right to feel angry. I don’t expect her to understand why it has to be this way. Crossing her arms, she faces me, straight as a stick, holding herself in the darkness of her room.

Maybe it’s better that she hates me. It will make moving on that much easier for her.

“They’re coming tomorrow afternoon to pick up Lilly Belle.” I say the words as clearly and antiseptically as I can.

I watch her face change like the silent phases of the moon from shock to acceptance to grief then back to being stoic. “It didn’t have to be this way,” she says in a choked voice.

I feel my heart contract painfully and fight the urge to stroke her cheek, to tell her it will be okay, to take it all back and promise to try once more.

“It did have to be this way, Miss Wallach.”

“Stop calling me that. You can go on pretending that life is the same as it was before if you like, Ethan, but I will be the adult here and say that it has been my life’s greatest pleasure being with you and caring for your precious Lilly Belle.” She points to the nursery. “What you have sleeping in that room is the most beautiful, luminescent child I have ever seen, and you will miss her when she’s gone. As I will.” She turns around, controls a sob rising in her chest, then goes about the task of collecting her things off the dresser and night stand.

My arms fall to my sides. “I know you think I’m weak, but I’m not. I’m broken, Penelope. I have to fix myself before I can be anyone’s father. Do you understand?” It’s probably the most responsible thing I have ever and will ever say to anyone.

She turns and looks at me coldly. “What happened to you? What did she do to you?”

So she senses that this is about my mother. I suppose I’ve made it obvious enough.

I sigh deeply. Swallow, control the trembling shaking in my chest. “She had untreated mental illness for years. The list of abuses, both emotional and physical, are long and tedious. I’m tired of thinking about it, frankly.”

“Or maybe you’re tired of pretending not to think about it,” Penelope replies. “You need help.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. She’s right, I realize. But it’s too late for that—too late for me, really.

“Maybe. Maybe I need help. But that’s not the time to become a father to a child in need of stability and balance and love. And you know it,” I finish.

She stares at me, through me, for a long time. After what feels like an eternity, she says, “I’m so sorry you had to go through what you went through, Ethan.”

Just hearing her say those words nearly sends me over the edge. It means so much coming from her. Still, I fight the urge to bring her close, to try and heal one another with soft-spoken words.

I nod but say nothing. It’s not going to happen. I’ve made my decision. “Thank you. You’ll be relieved from your position immediately after the agency comes to pick her up. I’ll be paying for the full four months despite the job coming to termination. That should be more than enough to—”

“Take away your guilt. Fine then, do what you need to do,” she interrupts, her gaze burning a hole into my soul.

And then she turns and walks away from me.