Chapter five

Theo leaned back slightly on the couch, stretching one arm along the backrest like he owned the place.

No guilt. No shame.

Just calm, smug confidence.

“I’ve missed you too Sofia,” he said with a slow smile.

I stared at him, unmoved. “Fifty seconds.”

He chuckled—actually chuckled—like this was some game. “Relax, Sofia. You act like I broke into your house.”

“You did,” I snapped. “You showed up uninvited. You sat here like you belonged. Like you didn’t ruin everything.”

He tilted his head, eyes steady on mine. “I knocked. Your door was open. That’s not my fault, is it?”

I clenched my fists. “Why are you here, Theo?”

He stood slowly, rising to full height, his presence as overwhelming as ever. That old arrogance rolled off him like smoke.

His voice dropped, smooth and maddening. “I came to see my daughter.”

I folded my arms, trying to keep my voice steady. “She’s been perfectly fine without you.”

Theo’s smirk softened, his tone losing some of its sharpness. He looked almost… resigned.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “because someone made damn sure of that.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat.

Theo leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on mine. “Look, I’m not here for you,” he said, his voice low but firm.

But I knew that was a lie.

He glanced toward the stairs, where Martha had gone, then back at me. “I’m here for Martha. I swear.”

I shook my head, my voice cold and firm. “You have no right to just waltz back into our lives like nothing ever happened.”

Theo’s eyes met mine, steady and serious. “I’m not trying to act like nothing happened, Sofia. I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before, but no matter how many times I apologize, you still won’t answer.”

He took a slow breath, voice breaking a little. “Sofia, I missed it all. Her first smile, her first time sitting up, crawling, walking—her first word was probably ‘Dada.’ And I missed it all.”

His words hung heavy between us, raw and full of pain—as if this confession had been locked inside him for years.

For a moment, something flickered inside me—maybe pity, maybe something harder to name—but I crushed it down. This wasn’t about Theo anymore. Not really.

I stepped back, keeping my distance so he couldn’t see any sympathy.

“No,” I said, voice sharp, before I could stop myself. “Her first word was Mama.”

Theo’s face softened briefly, but then I saw the tension return in his shoulders, the weight of his regret settling over him like a shadow.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then tiny footsteps echoed from the hallway.

“Mummy! Daddy!” Martha’s bright voice called out, full of excitement.

I turned just as she appeared in the doorway. She looked like a little angel in a sparkly dress, her hair brushed and bouncing with every step.

“Daddy!” she said again, arms stretched wide as she ran toward him.

Theo’s whole face lit up. The tension broke as he crouched down and caught her in his arms. She giggled, wrapping herself tightly around him, her laughter filling the room.

“I’m all changed!” she said proudly.

I watched them, the lump in my throat growing heavy. It hurt to see Theo hold her so easily, so naturally—like no time had passed at all. It wasn’t fair. But it was real.

Theo smiled softly at Martha, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Martha beamed, her eyes shining with joy as she wriggled in his arms. “Thanks, Daddy! I can’t wait to show you my room! Come on, I’ll show you all my toys!”

Theo smiled wider, clearly touched by her excitement. “Lead the way, princess.”

I stood there, watching them, feeling a storm of emotions I wasn’t ready to face. Part of me wanted to pull Martha away, to shut the door on this moment and pretend none of it was happening. But another part—a quieter, softer part—held back.

Deep down, I knew I had forgiven Theo. Maybe not fully, maybe not without scars, but enough to let him be a part of Martha’s life. After everything, I didn’t hate him—not the way I thought I should. I could see the love he had for our daughter, raw and real.

For a brief moment, I almost let myself believe maybe, just maybe, things could be okay.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? I wanted to believe it. I wanted to pretend like time hadn’t broken us, like the years of pain hadn’t reshaped me. Like I hadn’t spent so long rebuilding myself, piece by piece.

I swallowed hard, pushing those thoughts down as I watched them walk away—Theo holding Martha’s hand, her little fingers curling around his. He had missed so much. And that wasn’t something I could forget.

Still, no matter how much I wanted to hate him, I couldn’t. Because somewhere in all the hurt and anger, I still cared.