Chapter 22 - I STOP TRYING TO BUY FIVE YEARS
I bought two bicycles.
Adeline made me return them.
“They already have bikes.”
“They’re rusted.”
“They work.”
“They’re small.”
“They fit.”
I stared.
She crossed her arms.
“Rocco.”
“What?”
“You buy every feeling.”
“I do not.”
“You sent a driver with six winter coats.”
“They need coats.”
“They need two.”
I had sent six.
Fair.
Then:
“You bought a private tutoring package.”
“They’re behind in reading.”
“They are five.”
“The teacher said Milo needs help with sounds.”
“A school reading specialist is already helping him.”
I stopped.
Then:
“You ordered beds for my apartment.”
“The mattresses—”
“Were fine.”
Silence.
Adeline softened slightly.
“You cannot give them five Christmases in one month.”
That sentence stayed.
So I stopped.
I paid support.
Necessary.
I covered agreed child expenses.
Normal.
On visits:
Park.
Library.
Pizza.
One museum.
They liked the elevator more than the exhibits.
Good.
Money became background.
Not apology.
Then Felix’s birthday request—shared birthday, twins—was:
“Can Dad make pancakes?”
I could not cook pancakes.
I learned.
First batch burned.
Milo ate one anyway.
“Bad.”
“Why are you eating it?”
“Hungry.”
My chest tightened.
He did not mean the past.
Just breakfast.
I smiled.
May you like
“Second batch better.”
It was.
