Chapter 4 - LESSONS IN MIRRORS
When Nathaniel arrived back at the estate in Beacon Hill, the house was quiet. Morning sunlight streamed through the high arched windows, casting long golden rectangles across the polished hardwood floors.
He walked up the grand staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor, until he reached the nursery door.
Rosa was sitting on the floor, folding tiny laundry items. Lily was sitting in the center of a playpen, aggressively banging a wooden block against a plastic drum.
When Nathaniel stepped into the room, Lily immediately stopped banging the block. She looked up. Her little mouth opened in surprise, her gray-blue eyes widening.
“Mr. Cross,” Rosa said, standing up quickly. “You’re back early.”
“I took the morning off,” Nathaniel said, feeling awkwardly out of place in his own daughter’s room. He couldn't remember the last time he had been here during daylight hours.
Rosa smiled softly, gathered her laundry basket, and quietly slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Nathaniel stood near the doorway, unbuttoning his suit jacket and setting it over the back of an armchair. He walked over to the playpen, loosened his silk tie, and sat down cross-legged on the soft carpet.
Lily watched him intently. She set down her wooden block.
Nathaniel looked at her. Lily looked back.
Slowly, carefully, Nathaniel raised one eyebrow.
Lily tilted her head, her forehead scrunching as she attempted to raise one eyebrow. She ended up blinking both eyes repeatedly, frustrated by her physical limitations.
Nathaniel chuckled—a soft, low sound that felt entirely foreign in his own throat.
Hearing his chuckle, Lily’s face lit up. She made a soft babbling sound, grabbed a stuffed velvet rabbit with one floppy ear, and thrust it toward him across the wooden railing of the playpen.
Nathaniel took the rabbit. It was worn and faded, missing one button eye—it had been Clara’s favorite toy when she was a little girl, passed down to Lily.
“Ma-ma,” Lily babbled, pointing her chubby finger at the rabbit.
Nathaniel’s breath hitched in his chest. The word hit him like a physical blow.
“Yes,” Nathaniel whispered, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Mama gave you that.”
Lily reached out through the wooden bars, her tiny fingers brushing against Nathaniel’s cheek. Her touch was warm, sticky, and completely pure. She looked at his face with absolute, unconditional devotion—not seeing a billionaire CEO, not seeing a corporate monster, but simply seeing her father.
Nathaniel closed his eyes for a second, letting her tiny hand rest against his skin. For ten months, he had been running from Clara’s memory, treating his grief as an enemy to be defeated through work and isolation. But looking at Lily, he realized Clara wasn't gone. She was right here, reflected in every gesture, every look, every stubborn tilt of this little girl's chin.
“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel whispered to the empty room, lifting Lily out of the playpen and holding her small body against his chest. “I’m sorry I was away for so long.”
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Lily tucked her head under his chin, letting out a satisfied sigh as her thumb slid into her mouth.
At that moment, Nathaniel’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't answer it. He simply held his daughter, letting the world outside burn.
