Page 35 of My Unexpected Surprise
The same watchful intelligence even at four years old. My chest aches with the weight of the secret.
After dinner, Nico insists I sit on the floor while he demonstrates the racetrack again using couch cushions and cereal boxes.
“This part is the tunnel,” he explains seriously, pushing the little red car through a gap beneath the coffee table. “And this is where the crash happened, but nobody died because they had seatbelts.”
“Excellent safety regulations,” I say.
He beams at me.
I smile back, but my mind keeps drifting.
Back to Valentino’s face when he picked up the photograph.
Back to that awful flicker of recognition I thought I saw before it disappeared behind that controlled expression.
Nico drives the car over my bare foot. “Mama. You’re not paying attention.”
“Sorry, baby.” I reach out and tug him into my lap. “Long day.”
His small body melts easily against mine, warm and trusting. “Did your boss yell at you?”
I huff out a laugh. “No. He just likes telling people what to do.”
Nico considers this deeply. “Like Ms. Hernandez at preschool.”
“Exactly like Ms. Hernandez at preschool.”
Satisfied with the comparison, he climbs down and resumes rebuilding the track.
Later, after bath time and three stories and one very intense debate about whether sharks could survive in space, I finally tuck him into bed.
His curls are still damp from the bath. He smells like soap and strawberries.
“Mama?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sad?”
The question catches me off guard.
I sit carefully on the edge of his bed. “Why do you think that?”
“You do this thing.” He presses his tiny eyebrows together in imitation of my stress face. “Like this.”
Despite myself, I laugh softly.
Then my throat tightens.
Because children notice everything. Even the things you kill yourself trying to hide.
“I’m okay,” I tell him gently. “Just tired.”
He studies me another second like he is deciding whether to believe me.
Then he reaches for my hand and pats it. “You need sleep too.”
God.
