Chapter 11
Over the next three months, Dominic proved himself in ways I never expected.
He moved to London. Not into our home — he rented a flat twenty minutes away. Close enough to be present, far enough to respect my boundaries.
Every Saturday morning, he picked up the twins for breakfast.
Every Wednesday, he attended their nursery's music class.
He learned that Lucas was afraid of thunder and would sit up with him during storms, reading stories until the boy fell asleep.
He discovered that Lily refused to eat anything green unless it was hidden in pasta sauce, so he took a cooking class.
He never once pushed me.
Never asked to stay the night. Never tried to kiss me. Never even touched my hand without permission.
And slowly, something inside me began to thaw.
"Daddy, watch me!" Lily commanded from the top of the slide.
Daddy.
The word had appeared naturally two months in, when Lucas accidentally said it and froze, looking at me for permission.
I had nodded, and Dominic had turned away so the children wouldn't see him cry.
Now it was as natural as breathing.
"I'm watching, princess!" Dominic called back, his phone aimed to capture the moment.
I sat on the park bench, pretending to read, but watching them.
He was a good father.
That was the truth, uncomplicated by our history.
"You're staring," Natasha said, dropping onto the bench beside me.
"I'm observing."
"You're staring at your ex-husband's arms in that henley and pretending it's about co-parenting."
"Natasha."
"Just saying."
I closed my book.
"He's different."
"People can change," Natasha said carefully. "Especially when they lose everything that matters."
"He hasn't lost me. You can't lose something you threw away."
"Serena." Natasha turned to face me. "That man has turned his entire life upside down for you and those kids. He dismantled his own company's board, testified against Elena in court, and moved to another country."
"I know."
"So what's holding you back?"
I watched Dominic lift Lily off the slide and spin her around while she shrieked with laughter.
"Fear," I admitted. "If I let him back in and he breaks me again—"
"Then you'll survive it. Because you've already survived worse."
That evening, after the twins were in bed, Dominic lingered at the door.
"Same time Wednesday?" he asked.
"Actually," I said, surprising myself. "Do you want to stay for a glass of wine?"
His eyes widened slightly. "Are you sure?"
"It's just wine, Dominic."
He stepped inside.
We sat in the kitchen, wine glasses between us, and talked about everything except us.
His new venture — a clean energy fund. My upcoming project in Tokyo. The twins' obsession with dinosaurs.
Normal things.
Easy things.
And when our fingers accidentally brushed reaching for the same bottle, neither of us pulled away.
"Serena," he said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"I'm not going to ask for more than you're willing to give. But I need you to know something."
I looked up.
"I have loved you every single day since you left. Through all the darkness, through Elena, through my own stupidity."
"You are the only real thing that has ever happened to me."
His eyes were bare, vulnerable, stripped of every defense.
"And whether you choose me again or not, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you and our children are safe and loved."
My throat tightened.
"Dominic—"
"You don't have to say anything," he said quickly. "I just needed you to know."
He stood, set his glass in the sink, and walked toward the door.
"Dominic."
He stopped.
"Stay," I whispered.
He turned slowly.
"What?"
"Not — I don't mean—" I took a breath. "Stay on the couch. It's late, and the twins will want pancakes in the morning, and you make them better than I do."
A slow smile broke across his face. The first real, unguarded smile I'd seen from him in years.
"Okay," he said. "I'll stay."
He moved to London. Not into our home — he rented a flat twenty minutes away. Close enough to be present, far enough to respect my boundaries.
Every Saturday morning, he picked up the twins for breakfast.
Every Wednesday, he attended their nursery's music class.
He learned that Lucas was afraid of thunder and would sit up with him during storms, reading stories until the boy fell asleep.
He discovered that Lily refused to eat anything green unless it was hidden in pasta sauce, so he took a cooking class.
He never once pushed me.
Never asked to stay the night. Never tried to kiss me. Never even touched my hand without permission.
And slowly, something inside me began to thaw.
"Daddy, watch me!" Lily commanded from the top of the slide.
Daddy.
The word had appeared naturally two months in, when Lucas accidentally said it and froze, looking at me for permission.
I had nodded, and Dominic had turned away so the children wouldn't see him cry.
Now it was as natural as breathing.
"I'm watching, princess!" Dominic called back, his phone aimed to capture the moment.
I sat on the park bench, pretending to read, but watching them.
He was a good father.
That was the truth, uncomplicated by our history.
"You're staring," Natasha said, dropping onto the bench beside me.
"I'm observing."
"You're staring at your ex-husband's arms in that henley and pretending it's about co-parenting."
"Natasha."
"Just saying."
I closed my book.
"He's different."
"People can change," Natasha said carefully. "Especially when they lose everything that matters."
"He hasn't lost me. You can't lose something you threw away."
"Serena." Natasha turned to face me. "That man has turned his entire life upside down for you and those kids. He dismantled his own company's board, testified against Elena in court, and moved to another country."
"I know."
"So what's holding you back?"
I watched Dominic lift Lily off the slide and spin her around while she shrieked with laughter.
"Fear," I admitted. "If I let him back in and he breaks me again—"
"Then you'll survive it. Because you've already survived worse."
That evening, after the twins were in bed, Dominic lingered at the door.
"Same time Wednesday?" he asked.
"Actually," I said, surprising myself. "Do you want to stay for a glass of wine?"
His eyes widened slightly. "Are you sure?"
"It's just wine, Dominic."
He stepped inside.
We sat in the kitchen, wine glasses between us, and talked about everything except us.
His new venture — a clean energy fund. My upcoming project in Tokyo. The twins' obsession with dinosaurs.
Normal things.
Easy things.
And when our fingers accidentally brushed reaching for the same bottle, neither of us pulled away.
"Serena," he said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"I'm not going to ask for more than you're willing to give. But I need you to know something."
I looked up.
"I have loved you every single day since you left. Through all the darkness, through Elena, through my own stupidity."
"You are the only real thing that has ever happened to me."
His eyes were bare, vulnerable, stripped of every defense.
"And whether you choose me again or not, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you and our children are safe and loved."
My throat tightened.
"Dominic—"
"You don't have to say anything," he said quickly. "I just needed you to know."
He stood, set his glass in the sink, and walked toward the door.
"Dominic."
He stopped.
"Stay," I whispered.
He turned slowly.
"What?"
"Not — I don't mean—" I took a breath. "Stay on the couch. It's late, and the twins will want pancakes in the morning, and you make them better than I do."
A slow smile broke across his face. The first real, unguarded smile I'd seen from him in years.
"Okay," he said. "I'll stay."