Page 137 of The Story Between Us

The little boy blinked up at Livvie with enormous brown eyes—her father’s eyes, she realized with a jolt. Chubby cheeks, a smear of something that might have been banana on his chin, a stuffed elephant clutched in one mittened hand.

“Livingston?” Livvie repeated. It was a mouthful. A very serious name for a very small person.

“We call him Vinnie,” Katherine said, smiling. “It’s a lot easier.”

Vinnie. Like Livvie.

Something twisted in her chest.

“Why Livingston?” she heard herself ask.

William lifted the boy, settling him on his hip with the ease of practice. “It’s an old family name—Katherine’s grandfather. But we liked what it means.” He smiled down at his son. “Life. It means life.”

Vinnie grabbed for his father’s nose. William laughed—actually laughed, a sound Livvie couldn’t remember hearing from him in years—and pretended to bite the tiny fingers.

“And peace,” Katherine added. “Some sources say it means ‘peace’ too. We thought that was fitting.”

Life. Peace.

Livvie watched her father with this child—the easy affection, the unguarded joy, the way he seemed to glow just from holding him. Not because Vinnie had done anything special. Not because he’d achieved anything. Just because he existed.

Just because he was loved.

He will rejoice over you with singing.

Aunt Lila’s voice echoed in her memory. The cross-stitch on the windowsill. Her mother’s handwriting.

Olivia. Your name means peace.

You were their reconciliation. Their new beginning.

She’d spent her whole life trying to earn her father’s love. Trying to achieve enough, accomplish enough, be enough. She’d measured herself against a standard she could never meet, and she’d assumed his distance meant she’d failed.

But looking at him now, she didn’t see a man who’d replaced her. She saw a man who’d been drowning in grief for so long he’d forgotten how to swim. Who’d lost his first wife, his first life, and hadn’t known how to reach across the wreckage to the daughter who was drowning too.

People do things that don’t make sense when they’re grieving.

She knew that now. She’d seen it in Nate. She’d recognized it in herself.

“Dad,” she said.

He looked up from Vinnie, his expression open in a way she couldn’t remember seeing. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The words came out simpler than she’d expected. Lighter. Like setting down a weight she’d been carrying so long she’d forgotten it was there.

His eyes went bright. Suspiciously bright.

“I love you too, Livvie.” His voice was rough. “I love you more than…well, I know I haven’t—I should have called more, should have—” He stopped. Swallowed. “We need to see each other more often. Will you come to dinner? Will you meet Katherine properly and spend time with Vinnie? He should know his sister.”

His sister. Not his half sister. His sister.

“Yes,” Livvie said. “I’d like that.”

Katherine was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she’d produced from somewhere. Vinnie was oblivious, trying to feed his stuffed elephant a leaf he’d grabbed from somewhere.

William hugged her again—one-armed this time, Vinnie squashed between them and making indignant noises—and pressed a kiss to her forehead.