Page 84 of Symphony of Salvation

“You were forced to become a father overnight. That can’t have been easy.”

I huffed. “It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

“I’ll sort this out. It’s temporary. Maybe by the time the school year is over, I’ll be able to—”

“No. I don’t think so.” Despite the trials and struggles I’d encountered, a flare of anger ignited in my core. I lowered my voice so I wouldn’t draw attention. “If you think for one minute I’ll sit by and happily hand over custody again, you’re wrong. I might not have wanted this. I might be utterly failing at every aspect of fatherhood, but I will be damned if I put Constance back in your care.”

“Augustus—”

“No.Youdid this. You ruined your own life and almost hers in the process. That’s not on me. Your career is over because of the choices you made. And the one thing you wanted desperately enough to lie and deceive to get—our daughter—is too precious to risk. Try me, Chloé. I will raise the fires of hell. I don’t care if she hates me forever. The best you can hope for isunsupervised visits, but you’re a long way from that. I gotta go.”

It took half the drive to feel calm enough to ask Constance if she had a good visit. She nodded, peering out the passenger window. Her thoughts were loud but indiscernible, and since conversation between us was stilted on a good day, never mindin a car, I didn’t push. Lately, the more I said, the worse our relationship.

By the time we hit Peterborough, I’d made myself sick contemplating the trajectory of my life. Announcing that I planned to keep Constance in my care indefinitely had been spontaneous. It meant never fully going back to the life I knew. It meant several more years of being responsible for her education, care, and well-being. It set me on a path I hadn’t planned, and again, I felt like I needed to revisit my career and future goals and figure out what I was doing.

The roving lights on the marquee above the cinema drew my attention. I pulled over and put the car in Park, admiring the sign. Constance tapped my shoulder and questioned me with a raised brow.

“Wanna catch a movie? It’s probably the only place open today, and there’s not much to do at home.”Except ignore each other and get lost in unpleasant thoughts.

For the first time in ages, my daughter’s smile was directed at me. She nodded. We got out of the car and headed inside. I bought butter-glazed popcorn and soft drinks big enough to swim in. Constance picked a fluffy rom-com, and we settled in two seats midway up from the front of the theater.

As the previews began, Constance handed me her phone with a message displayed.Do you think Mr. Edwidge is all alone right now?

I weighed my words, taking a second to respond. “I don’t know.”

She took her phone back and wrote,That would be sad.We should have invited him to join us.

“To a rom-com?”

She batted her lashes and nudged me coyly as she made kissy faces.

“Stop.” I chuckled, the tension of the morning draining away. “Maybe next time.”

Promise?

“I’m not making promises I can’t keep. He’s not happy with me right now.”

Then fix it.

***

Two days later, planted at the piano, unable to hear the symphony inside my head no matter how hard I strained, the three words that had been emblazed on Constance’s phone at the theater returned to me.Then fix it.Spoken with the naivety of youth, from the mind of a teenager who had yet to discover the harsh realities of the world.

Fix it.Would the music come back? Was this blockage created by stubbornness? Fear?

Oddly enough, Niles was the one thing Constance and I agreed on. We both liked him. Without realizing it, the man had formed a bridge between us. Instead of existing on separate islands, Constance and I shared a common interest. She in a music teacher she’d grown to adore who’d promised to perform a duet with her at the spring concert and bought her gift cards to the salon, and I in the eccentric man who couldn’t see his worth. Who boldly outshone me in personality alone. In everyday life, Niles’s confidence put mine to shame, and I hated that my career and success took any of that away or made him feel like less of a person.

We hadn’t been in contact since Christmas morning. I didn’t expect a call or text, not when the issue resided with my insecurities. Not when he’d bluntly stated his position on repressed—closeted—individuals. If I wanted to prove myself, I needed to step out of my comfort zone andfix it.

The temperature had turned mild. Any residual snow from before Christmas had melted, leaving mucky puddles and uncovering sodden piles of rotting leaves along the paths. The world beyond the window left much to be desired, but locked inside the cottage was making me stir-crazy.

Constance had been practicing violin for half a day when I abandoned the piano and my failing composition to announce I was going out.

Where? she asked, using one of the few signs I understood.

“Just… out. I don’t know. I might grab groceries, stop at a library, or wander about and see what’s open. Do we need anything?”

She studied me for a long moment and formed a shape with her hand I didn’t understand.

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