Page 32 of Sebastian.

I blink a few times, my brain trying to catch up with how aloof she sounds about the entire situation. I rub the back of my neck, telling her, “Eh, I was about to say not doing so well, but thank you for the reality check.”

“You're welcome,” she plays along, but her expression remains concerned. “And what about you and Mom?”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the difficult conversation ahead. “Well, you might find some news related to your old man on Twitter, and, eh––”

“Oh, that.” She waves her hand in the air dismissively. “I already got tagged in it. I’ve seen the entire thing at this point.”

I’m floored. “What? Who tagged you?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

“El,” she replies, referring to her sister Elise.

Great. Knowing that Elise has also been witness to my shame makes me feel even worse. “So your sister knows, then? And I assume through her, Dan knows, too.”

Hannah nods. “Yeah, she does. Andries too, probably. I noticed their names tagged right there along with mine.” Hannah’s voice wavers slightly. “And most likely Mom, Oma, Alex, and everyone else in the family now knows why you couldn’t be bothered to attend the wedding.”

The reality starts sinking in, and I decide to sit on the edge of Hannah's bed, my head spinning. Her room is dark and atmospheric, but I’m glad for the dim lighting with how badly my head is starting to pound. “Do you think she will forgive me?” I ask, my voice heavy with worry.

“Who? Mom?” Hannah just shrugs, her indifference stinging. “I don't know, maybe yes, maybe no. It's not my problem anyway.” She glances down at her smartphone, clearly eager to leave the room. “Well, I've got to go. Anything else you wanted to talk about?”

I watch as she moves to the mirror on the wall, applying lip gloss with a practiced hand. Hannah acts as if we’re talking about the weather or a movie, not about the total dissolution of our family. I feel an overwhelming urge to reach out, to comfort her, but I hesitate. Our relationship has been strained, and I fear that any attempts at closeness might push her further away.

“Are you sure you're okay?” I ask, my concern slipping through despite my efforts to sound composed. “I...I know we don't talk very often, but––”

“Look, I'm fine,” she interrupts, not even bothering to meet my gaze. “Whatever happens, it's between you and Mom. It’s really none of my business, alright? And I don’t want it to be, either.”

I stand up and take a few steps closer, wanting to check on her more closely. Her behavior is so odd, considering how serious the topic is, that I can’t stop myself from wanting to make sure she’s okay.

“Is this some sort of facade you're putting on so I won't worry?” I press, my heart aching to bridge the gap between us.

She sighs at my question, her expression softening for a moment as she considers me. “I mean, it was evident in Lake Como that things weren't as perfect as you both try to pretend,” she admits, surprising me with her perceptiveness. “I'm not dumb, I know you both were just keeping the peace for the sake of the vacation. But it’s fine. I told Mom the same thing—most of my friends' parents are divorced, and they seem to be doing okay.”

Hearing her candid words, I don’t know what else to do. “Hannah, if you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know, okay?” I implore, desperate to reach out to her. “I know I haven't always been there for you, but now it's the holidays, and I've got more time. I want to be here for you.”

“I really appreciate it, but I've got to go now,” she says, avoiding my gaze once more as she makes her out. “See ya later.”

* * *

I eat lunch in a daze, taking the sandwich out to the terrace to enjoy, but I barely taste it. As I sit on the terrace, lost in my thoughts and plans to reconnect with Hannah, little Arthur toddles over to me, his eyes bright and curious. He tugs at my sleeve, seeking my attention, and I turn to him with a small smile.

“Daddy, what are you doing?” he asks, his innocent voice filling the air.

I reach down to pat his head affectionately. “Oh, just thinking, buddy,” I reply, the weight of the situation with Hannah momentarily forgotten as I focus on my youngest son.

He tilts his head, his big blue eyes studying me intently. “About what?”

I consider how to explain my emotions to a three-year-old, knowing he might not fully understand. “Well, you know how sometimes grown-ups have things on their minds, and they need some time to figure them out?”

Arthur nods solemnly, a thoughtful expression crossing his cherubic face. “Like when I can't decide which toy to play with,” he offers, trying to relate in his own way. I chuckle softly at his analogy, marveling at how perceptive he can be despite his young age. “Yes, exactly like that.”

The sun shines brightly and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the surrounding trees. Floris soon joins Arthur and I at the small table, bringing lemonade for the group. My son seems to be happier than ever sipping on lemonade and enjoying the beautiful summer morning while he kicks his little legs.

Oh, to be so carefree. My sweet, happy boy.

Floris watches me observing my son, her warm smile faltering slightly when she notices my troubled expression. “Sir, is everything alright?”

I pour myself a glass of lemonade, the refreshing taste a nice distraction. “I feel like a total stranger talking to my daughter,” I finally admit, my eyes flickering back to her face. “I know that’s probably oversharing, but you asked, so I’m just being honest.”

“You mean Hannah?” Floris folds her hands in her lap, listening intently.

---