Lily slept buried under blankets, clutching her stuffed elephant. the one Sarah had bought when they found out they were having a girl back when their biggest worry was nursery colors. Ethan left her sleeping and prepared her lunch. Peanut butter sandwich, apple slices, juice box. He wrote a note on a napkin. Lilybug, you're the bravest girl I know.
Love, Daddy. The notes were ritual. 8 months now. ever since he found the box of notes Sarah had written for Lily before she died. His notes weren't as good as Sarah's, but he wrote them anyway. At 6:13 a.m., Mrs. Rodriguez knocked.
She was 71, retired teacher, living alone since her husband died 6 years ago. She'd started watching Lily when Ethan's previous child care fell through. Temporary became permanent. Permanent became family. Mijo.
Her voice was soft. You look terrible. Are you sleeping? Working? Same thing these days.
Not the same thing. Sleeping is what you do at night so you don't collapse. I'll take a day off when they start paying me enough to afford it. She made a disapproving sound, but moved toward Lily's room. Ethan followed.
Watched as Mrs. Rodriguez gently woke his daughter. Lily's eyes opened slowly, confused, then focusing. Then her expression shifted to something that made Ethan's chest ache. "Is today the day mommy comes back?" she asked this twice a week, despite every gentle explanation. Mrs. Rodriguez glanced at Ethan with sympathy.
Today is Tuesday, Mija. On Tuesdays, we have pancakes, then the library. Remember books about cats? The redirection worked. Lily climbed out of bed and let Mrs. Rodriguez guide her toward getting dressed.
Ethan stood in the doorway. Feeling like he'd failed at another piece of parenting Sarah would have handled better. He left at 6:28 a.m. The commute took 43 minutes when trains ran on schedule. They usually didn't. The Regency Crown Hotel occupied 12 floors of downtown Chicago real estate.
Glass and steel, $700 per night for rooms Ethan could fit his entire apartment inside. He entered through the service entrance, the pathway designed to keep staff invisible to guests. His manager, Kevin, was in the breakroom, balding, stressed, reviewing work orders. "Carter, good timing. Presidential suite guest complaining about shower pressure.
Not hot enough. Not enough volume." They said it feels weak. Get it done before 8. Day managers on edge about the Christmas gala.
The Christmas gala tonight annual event where wealthy people congratulated themselves on charitable donations while drinking champagne worth more than Ethan earned in a day. He took his tool bag and headed up. The guest wasn't in the suite, probably at breakfast, spending $30 on eggs. Ethan fixed the problem in 8 minutes. The next 6 hours passed in familiar rhythm.