I gently pushed her damp bangs aside and pulled her onto my lap, correcting her softly, “We call him Mr. Hoffman now, Nicole. He’s not Daddy anymore. How about we go home, would you like that?”
Nicole’s voice cracked with the strain of crying. “Isn’t this supposed to be my home?”
“This is Mr. Hoffman’s place, not ours. Just a little longer, and I’ll take you home, sweetheart.”
Nicole’s teary eyes drifted to the grand piano in the corner of the living room, a birthday present from Simon last year.
Back then, she had been ecstatic, begging her father to teach her to play, feeling like the luckiest ‘Princess Nicole’ in the world. Simon had indulged her with a loving smile, his eyes brimming with fatherly affection.
However, that was all in the past.
“Can I have just one more birthday with Daddy?”
She was too young to let go, to call him anything else.
I did not chide her. Instead, I stroked her hair and said, “Alright, I’ll talk to Mr. Hoffman.”
Nicole was caught up in the grown-ups’ storm, whether she liked it or not.
I would do whatever it took to make things right for her.
