Chapter 8 - The Daughter He Met Through GlassIt was a girl.
Jo told Roman during a phone call.
For several seconds, there was silence.
“A daughter?”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then Roman whispered:
“God help me.”
Jo laughed.
“You’re terrified.”
“I know men.”
“She’s currently the size of a mango.”
“Mangos grow.”
“So do daughters.”
“That is precisely the problem.”
Roman began making plans.
Not controlling plans.
Jo had trained that out of him.
Mostly.
He wanted a crib.
Jo wanted secondhand.
Roman wanted reinforced windows.
Jo threatened divorce despite them not being married.
He wanted a private pediatrician.
Jo told him their daughter would attend the same clinic as everyone else.
They compromised.
The crib was new.
The pediatrician worked at the clinic.
The windows remained normal.
Roman was released four weeks before Jo’s due date.
She waited outside the facility.
The door opened.
He walked out carrying one bag.
He looked leaner.
Older.
Quieter.
Jo stood beside Sylvia.
Roman saw them.
Then he saw Jo’s belly.
He stopped walking.
Jo smiled.
“Are you planning to stand there all day?”
Roman dropped the bag.
He crossed the distance.
He did not kiss her first.
He knelt.
Right there on the pavement.
He placed both hands against her belly.
The baby kicked.
Roman made a sound Jo would remember forever.
A broken, astonished laugh.
“Hello.”
His voice shook.
“I’m your father.”
Jo touched his hair.
Roman pressed his forehead gently against her.
“I’m sorry I missed so much.”
“You’re here.”
He looked up.
Jo repeated it.
“You’re here.”
He stood.
Then he kissed her.
Home was not Roman’s mansion.
He had sold it.
Home was a three-bedroom apartment six blocks from the clinic.
Jo had chosen it.
Roman had complained about the plumbing.
She had ignored him.
Their first night together was not glamorous.
Roman assembled the crib incorrectly.
Jo ate cereal from the box.
Sylvia fell asleep on the sofa.
At midnight, Roman stood in the nursery staring at the tiny mattress.
Jo found him there.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She leaned against the doorway.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have absolutely no idea how to do this.”
“Nobody does.”
“My father did.”
“No. Your father knew how to make you afraid.”
Roman looked at her.
“That’s not the same thing.”
She walked to him.
“You already know what not to do.”
“That doesn’t mean I know what to do.”
Jo placed his hand on her belly.
The baby moved.
“You learn.”
Roman looked down.
“With her?”
“With us.”
Two weeks later, Jo went into labor during breakfast.
Roman panicked.
The feared former crime boss who had survived gunshots, federal prosecution, and prison completely lost his mind because Jo’s water broke beside the toaster.
“We need an ambulance.”
“No.”
“The hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Now.”
“Yes, Roman.”
“Why are you so calm?”
“I literally deliver babies for a living.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“It’s ours.”
Jo stopped.
Roman looked terrified.
She kissed him.
“Drive.”
Their daughter was born nine hours later.
Elena Rose Costa.
Seven pounds, four ounces.
Dark hair.
Furious lungs.
Roman cried harder than the baby.
Jo watched him hold their daughter.
The man who had once believed everything he touched became ruined now held seven pounds of proof that he could create something instead.
Something alive.
Something innocent.
Something that trusted him completely.
Roman looked at Jo.
“She’s perfect.”
Jo smiled tiredly.
“She looks angry.”
“She looks like you.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed.
Then kissed Jo’s forehead.
May you like
For the first time in his life, Roman Costa held something precious without believing he had to own it to protect it.
He simply loved her.
