7 THAT EVENING, SHE CALLED ME A THIEF—HER FIANCÉ'S SON CALLED ME MOMMY

At the board meeting Vincent did not make a speech about loyalty. He laid a resignation letter on the polished conference table and asked the directors to approve a transition plan that protected employees and tenants.

Francesca stared at the single sheet.

"I called this meeting to discuss your conduct," she said.

"I'm making it easier for you."

"You would throw away your father's company for a stranger?"

"Maya is Leo's mother. And Leo isn't a bargaining chip."

Vincent had personal savings and a stake in the company, so resigning would not make him poor. It did take away the position that had structured his adult life and most of his mother's leverage. He later admitted he was terrified of being irrelevant. That admission was more credible than any declaration that the sacrifice cost him nothing.

Camille followed him into the hallway after the vote.

"Francesca promised me you'd come to your senses," she said.

"You helped move my son out of the nursery."

"I was given paperwork. I was twenty-five."

"Then why did you request his records again last year?"

"I needed to know what Maya had uncovered. Your mother was afraid she'd come after the family."

"You could have told me."

Camille's voice dropped. "You were finally happy. We were getting married. I didn't want the past to ruin it."

"It wasn't the past for Maya. Or for Leo."

Camille stopped arguing. Vincent took off the engagement watch she'd given him and returned it. Their relationship ended there, without a scene dramatic enough to erase the choices that preceded it.

Meanwhile Leo's therapist, Dr. Kendra Mills, met separately with each of us. She asked about our routines, not our grievance against Francesca. She wanted to know what Leo ate for breakfast, how he responded to noise, who comforted him during thunderstorms, and why he kept the red car under his pillow.

"He believes objects keep relationships alive," she said. "He worries people won't come back unless he gives them something."

I thought of the car Vincent had brought to my apartment.

"He shouldn't have to trade anything for us to stay," I said.

"Then show him by doing what you say you'll do."

Our first session took place in a bright room with a rug shaped like a city map. I arrived early and nearly left three times. Vincent entered with Leo, who carried a blue backpack and walked carefully as though the floor might break.

When he saw me, his face lit up. Then it clouded.

"You left," he said.

It was the accusation I'd dreaded, and he had every right to make it.

"I did," I answered. "I wanted to see you. The adults had things they needed to fix first. I'm sorry it was scary."

"Camille said you were stealing."

"I didn't take money or toys from your house. But I did take something private to find out the truth, and that was wrong."

He looked at Vincent. "Did Maya steal me?"

Vincent sat on the rug. "No. Maya didn't steal you. You belong to yourself, Leo. Your job is to be six. Our job is to take care of you."

Dr. Mills guided us toward a puzzle. Leo placed three pieces at the edge, then pushed two together that didn't fit. I didn't correct him. We spent twenty minutes talking about cars, his science project, and a kitten he hoped to adopt. When the session ended, he asked whether I was coming back next week.

"Yes," I said. "Next Tuesday. Same time."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Vincent repeated the time, and Dr. Mills wrote it on a card for Leo's backpack. No secrets. No sudden appearances.

That evening I sat in my apartment staring at the blank space on the shelf where I'd kept Leo's red car. At the session he had returned it to his backpack after deciding I didn't need it to remember him.

I was beginning to learn the difference between keeping him close and letting him feel safe.

Naomi called after dinner. Discovery had produced emails sent from Camille's office account shortly after Leo's birth. One contained a photograph of the false maternal consent form. Another instructed Arthur to use an address supplied by Francesca's office rather than the one on my medical chart.