“No,” I answer a little too quickly. Maybe I’m trying to convince myself it’s not about her either.
“Once we get into a routine, everything will be fine,” I say, trying to reassure myself.
* * *
Astrid is wide awake. She’s gotten into the habit of sleeping a few hours during the day and crying all hours of the night.
For the moment, she’s quiet. She’s fed, changed, and swaddled in a blanket in my arms. Her bright blue eyes stare up at me.
She has Olivia’s eyes. Maybe they’ll change when she gets older, but I doubt it. She also has wisps of strawberry blonde hair.
My stomach somersaults. In a way, I’ve taken two children from her.
No, Olivia left. She had to go to keep her safe. Plus, she was ready to leave. The agreement was complete, and her part was finalized.
But I was open to changing things. If only she hadn’t looked at me with such disgust.
Am I the monster that she believes me to be?
There’s a soft knock on the nursery door.
I’m seated on a rocking chair near the window, with Astrid curled up in my arms.
Ryder pokes his head into the room, and his voice is soft and quiet as he speaks. “Sir.”
“Come in,” I say and nod for him to come closer. “Have you sent someone over to Olivia’s apartment?” I want to know that everything is fine, but that would mean one of my men is incompetent, which doesn’t bode well either.
“Yes, I went myself to check on her.”
“And?” I don’t like being kept waiting.
Astrid begins to fuss in my arms, and I rock her against my chest, patting her back to settle her down. Not that it works.
The waterworks begin.
It’s like she knows we’re talking about her mother and isn’t happy Olivia is gone.
Neither am I, but that’s life.
I can’t beg for Olivia to return to the compound. This isn’t her life. She’s not mine.
“She’s not doing well, Sir. My sister-in-law went through postpartum depression. I don’t know much about it, but I worry she might be struggling with the same type of scenario.”
That isn’t what I wanted to hear. I hoped that she was doing well, happy to be on her own. “What do you suggest?” I ask.
“She probably needs to speak with a therapist of some kind, but I could be wrong. Perhaps you should visit her, see for yourself how she’s doing.”
Does she even want to see me? “I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” I say.
I want to see her, but I don’t want to overstep. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to be with me and hates me for what I’ve done.
I don’t blame her, but me showing up unannounced isn’t going to brighten her mood.
“She refused to speak with me, slammed the door in my face,” Ryder says.
“What makes you think she’ll talk to me?”
“She said as much. Told me the only person she’ll talk to is Don Barone.”
Somehow, I doubt she used those words, called me don, but I don’t question his tactics. He’s trying to help, and Ryder freely refers to me as don, as I’m his boss.