Chapter 4 - Number 42 Market Street
The Lower East Side was a jarring contrast to the sterile, gleaming monoliths of Midtown. Narrow streets bustled with vendors shouting over carts, the scent of fresh pastries mixed with exhaust fumes, and old brick apartment buildings leaned toward each other like tired gossips.
Ethan stepped out of his sleek black town car, looking entirely out of place in his tailored Italian suit against the peeling paint and rusted fire escapes of Market Street. Number 42 was a dilapidated five-story walk-up with a front door that hung loosely on a single squeaking hinge.
He climbed the creaking wooden stairs to the third floor, his chest tightening with every step. When he reached Apartment 3B, he paused, his knuckles hovering just an inch from the scratched green paint.
What am I doing here? a cynical voice whispered in his mind. I am a titan of industry. I deal in algorithms, corporate real estate, and global markets. I don't play domestic father.
Then he remembered Lily's enormous blue eyes, and the way she had clutched that faded photograph like a shield.
He knocked twice.
Heavy, slow footsteps shuffled behind the door, followed by the metallic click of a deadbolt sliding back. The door swung open to reveal an elderly woman with silver hair pulled into a severe bun, wearing a faded floral apron flour-dusted at the pockets. Her eyes narrowed instantly as she sized up Ethan's expensive suit and rigid posture.
"You must be the ghost," Mrs. Margot said, her voice gravelly and unimpressed. She didn't bother moving out of the doorway.
"I'm Ethan Cole," he said, keeping his tone measured. "I'm looking for Lily."
Mrs. Margot crossed her arms over her chest, studying him with a scrutiny that rivaled his own board members. "Rachel talked about you more than she should have. Said you were a man built entirely out of glass and ice. She loved you until it nearly broke her, Mr. Cole."
"Where is she?" Ethan asked, ignoring the sting of her words because he knew they were entirely justified.
"Kitchen. Eating dry toast because the cupboards are practically bare," Margot sighed, stepping aside to let him in. "Go on then. Let's see what kind of father a billion dollars buys."
The apartment was painfully small, smelling faintly of lemon cleaner, old books, and cinnamon. Through the narrow hallway, Ethan caught sight of a small wooden table pushed against a sunlit window. Lily was sitting there with a box of Crayola crayons spread out before her, diligently coloring a picture of a winged horse.
When she heard footsteps, her head snapped up.
A brilliant, breathtaking smile broke across her face, completely transforming her features. She dropped her green crayon, scrambled off the wooden chair, and ran straight toward him, abandoning all caution.
Ethan dropped to one knee just as Lily collided against his chest, wrapping her small arms tightly around his neck. For a paralyzed second, Ethan didn't move. Then, instinctively, his arms wrapped around her small frame, pulling her close. A warm, unfamiliar wave crashed over his soul, washing away decades of cold isolation in a single instant.
May you like
"You came back," Lily whispered into his collar, her voice muffled against his expensive wool suit.
"I promised I would," Ethan replied, his voice uncharacteristically thick. He buried his face briefly in her messy brown braids, realizing with sudden, blinding clarity that everything he had built until this exact second was entirely meaningless.
