It was the same picture I’d sent Elon.
The one he’d complained about.
Sophie smiling in her sleep.
Her tiny dimple visible.
I stood looking at it.
Renee approached carefully.
“Is the picture okay?”
I nodded.
“It’s perfect.”
That day, I answered emails.
Solved scheduling problems.
Attended meetings.
And remembered why I’d worked so hard to build my career.
When I collected Sophie that evening, her teacher handed me a little report.
She’d eaten well.
Taken her naps.
And apparently spent much of the day smiling.
I placed the report in my wallet.
I still have it.
In the following months, Elon and I continued working through the separation with legal guidance.
He hired his own attorney.
We made arrangements for him to spend time with Sophie.
He visited every Wednesday
and every other Saturday.
He stopped making excuses.
Even during a November ice storm, he arrived when he’d promised.
“You could have called,” I told him.
He looked at Sophie.
“I said I’d be here.”
Later, he told me he’d started counseling.
“For us?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“For me.”
He looked down at our daughter sleeping against his chest.
“I need to understand why I became someone who could say those things about you.”
I didn’t answer.
I appreciated that he was taking responsibility.
But I wasn’t ready to interpret it as proof that our marriage could be repaired.
Some things required more than apologies.
Eve continued calling.
She and Alex made it clear they wanted to support Sophie and maintain a respectful relationship with me.
I was grateful.
Whatever happened between Elon and me, I didn’t want our daughter deprived of people who genuinely loved her.
As for Sierra, I never contacted her.
I thought about it.
There were moments when I imagined walking into Elon’s office and confronting her.
But eventually, I realized she hadn’t made wedding vows to me.
Elon had.
He was the one who owed me honesty.
And I’d finally received it.
One morning in late November, I sat at my parents’ kitchen counter writing a list.
I’ve always made lists.
Groceries.
Appointments.
Bills.
Things Sophie needed.
For months, every item had been about someone else.
That morning, I wrote:
Sophie’s bottles.
Work presentation at two.
Groceries.
Then I stopped.
I looked at the page.
