My arms come around her, and our skin sticks together, and there in the dim light, we catch our breaths and stroke each other and forget about everything else. The darkness of the day is gone, and I know it is not unintentional.

She knew I needed this, just as I know she does. I had wondered if we might talk about it. I had dreaded that she might ask for details, but I can see now she doesn't want them. And I could not be more grateful for her allowing me this. We each have our own endings with Abel, and now, we start again. A new chapter, just as I told him.

Ivy climbs off me slowly and kneels on the floor, removing my shoes, and pulling the unzipped trousers free. I arch an eyebrow at her as she takes my hand, pulling me up from the chair.

"Come on," she whispers. "Let's go wash this day off us."

I reach down, stroking her face and lifting her into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. "As you wish, Mrs. De La Rosa."

Epilogue

Ivy

3 Months Later

It is a bright winter day. I button Elena’s jacket and lift her out of the car. Santiago mutters a curse behind me, and I turn to find him fumbling with the stroller as he unfolds it.

“These things. I don’t understand why we need all the gadgets. I mean, a cup holder, for Christ's sake.” He gives it a shake, then runs his hands over the flat bed, tucking the blankets in around the still empty mattress with the little stuffed bear she sleeps with peeking out over the top.

He’s so careful with Elena, so caring. He’s a better father than I even imagined, and I had imagined him doting on her. He never gave himself enough credit.

He pushes the stroller toward us, eyes on Elena. She is reaching out for him with a big smile on her lips and her mouth open. She's all gums. Her cheeks are a healthy pink, her eyes the same shade as his. I know that can still change, but I hope not.

“You want your daddy, don’t you?” he asks, smiling a bright smile. He releases the stroller and takes her from me. “I hope all those people won’t expect to hold her,” he says to me with a glance through the windows of the French doors leading to the room where the party will be held after her baptism. It’s a baptism and a belated baby shower in one. The latter was Colette’s idea.

“Of course they’ll want to hold her,” I tell him. “She’s the reason they’re here. And you will smile and let them.”

“I will not.”