Updated Apr 16, 2026 • ~11 min read
Chapter 14: Learning Fatherhood
Matthias
Between Tuesday’s disastrous first visit and Thursday’s second attempt, Matthias reads three parenting books cover to cover, watches approximately six hours of YouTube videos about child development and toddler activities, texts Luna asking about Sofia’s current interests (apparently: coloring, pretend play with her stuffed animals, and a cartoon about talking dogs), and has his assistant order age-appropriate supplies from a specialty children’s store instead of the overpriced designer boutiques he gravitated toward last time.
By Thursday at five-thirty, Matthias feels marginally more prepared—not confident, exactly, but at least armed with information and a strategy that doesn’t rely on expensive gifts and forced conversation to win over a three-year-old who has no reason to want his attention.
He shows up at Luna’s apartment at six o’clock with a simple bag containing coloring books (licensed characters from the talking dog cartoon Sofia apparently loves), a box of crayons (24 count, not the luxury 64-count set he almost bought because surely more colors is better), and a book about a bunny who loses his favorite toy that one parenting blog said was excellent for Sofia’s age group.
Luna opens the door looking slightly less tense than she did Tuesday, which Matthias chooses to interpret as a good sign, and Sofia is already in the living room this time instead of hiding behind her mother—small progress, but Matthias will take what he can get.
“Hi, Sofia,” Matthias says, and he’s worked on his tone during his commute from the office, trying to sound warm and approachable instead of like he’s chairing a board meeting.
“Hi,” Sofia responds, and this time she actually looks at him instead of at the floor, which feels like a victory.
“I brought some things we could do together,” Matthias continues, sitting down on the couch and pulling the coloring books from his bag. “Do you like to color?”
Sofia’s eyes light up—actually light up, her whole face transforming with excitement—and she practically runs to the couch, climbing up beside him with an enthusiasm that’s completely different from Tuesday’s reluctant shyness.
“I LOVE coloring,” Sofia announces, reaching for the books with grabby hands. “Can we color the puppies?”
“Of course,” Matthias says, and he can feel Luna watching from the kitchen with what might be approval or might just be surprise that he’s managed not to screw up in the first two minutes.
Sofia spreads the coloring book out on the coffee table and claims the purple crayon with decisive authority, settling herself on the floor with her tongue sticking out in concentration—and Matthias joins her on the floor, ignoring the protest from his knees and the way his suit pants are definitely going to be wrinkled from this position.
“You color?” Sofia asks, looking up at him with those grey eyes that still make Matthias’s chest ache with recognition and loss and desperate hope.
“I can try,” Matthias says honestly, because he hasn’t colored since his own childhood and isn’t entirely sure he remembers how.
Sofia hands him a green crayon with the kind of magnanimous generosity that suggests she’s granting him a great privilege, and Matthias accepts it gravely, selecting a dog from the coloring page and beginning to fill it in with careful strokes that immediately reveal how terrible he is at staying inside the lines.
They color in companionable silence for a few minutes, Sofia working on her puppy with fierce concentration while Matthias struggles with basic motor skills that apparently deteriorate when you spend twenty years holding pens instead of crayons—and then Sofia looks over at his work and giggles.
The sound is like sunshine breaking through clouds, pure and delighted and completely lacking in the shyness that characterized Tuesday’s visit, and Matthias feels his heart do something complicated in his chest because his daughter is laughing, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.
“You’re not very good,” Sofia observes with the brutal honesty of a three-year-old who hasn’t learned to soften criticism with politeness.
“I know,” Matthias admits, looking at his green dog that’s more scribble than art. “I haven’t colored in a long time. Do you think you could teach me?”
Sofia considers this request with the seriousness of someone being asked to share deep wisdom, then nods decisively. “You have to go slow,” she instructs, demonstrating with her own purple crayon. “And stay in the lines. Like this.”
“Like this?” Matthias asks, attempting to mimic her careful strokes, and Sofia leans closer to inspect his work.
“Better,” she says approvingly, and then she’s back to her own coloring, chattering about the cartoon the dogs are from and which character is her favorite and how the blue puppy is silly but the pink one is brave.
Matthias listens and makes appropriate responses and tries not to think too hard about the fact that this is working, that Sofia is talking to him like a person instead of a scary stranger, that they’re having an actual interaction instead of painful stilted silence—and by the time they’ve finished coloring three pages together, Sofia has moved close enough that her shoulder is nearly touching his arm, the casual proximity of a child who’s forgotten to be shy.
“Can you read me the bunny book?” Sofia asks eventually, pointing to the book Matthias brought, and he nods even though his throat is suddenly tight with emotion he’s trying to contain.
“Of course,” Matthias manages, and Sofia climbs onto the couch next to him—*next to him*, choosing to sit close instead of maintaining distance—and Matthias opens the book about the bunny who loses his favorite toy and starts reading aloud.
He’s not great at character voices and stumbles over some of the rhymes, but Sofia doesn’t seem to care, just leans against his side and looks at the pictures while Matthias reads, and the casual trust of that contact makes Matthias want to cry because his daughter is choosing to be near him, choosing to let him read to her, choosing to give him a chance even though he’s essentially a stranger.
When the hour is up and Luna emerges from the kitchen to announce dinner time, Matthias almost wishes he could negotiate for an extension—but he promised to respect the boundaries Luna set, promised to earn trust through consistency instead of pushing for more than he’s been granted, so he closes the book and starts gathering the crayons to return to their box.
“Can Mr. Wolfe come back?” Sofia asks Luna, and Matthias’s hands still on the crayons because that’s the first time Sofia has indicated any interest in seeing him again.
“He’s coming on Tuesday,” Luna says, and there’s something soft in her expression when she looks at Matthias, something that might be approval or might be cautious hope. “And Thursday. Twice every week.”
“Good,” Sofia declares with the satisfied tone of someone whose preferences have been confirmed, and then she’s climbing down from the couch to go wash her hands for dinner, leaving Matthias and Luna alone in the living room.
“That went better,” Luna observes, and the understatement makes Matthias laugh.
“She didn’t hide behind you the entire time, so yes, better,” Matthias agrees, standing up and trying to ignore the way his knees crack from an hour on the floor. “Thank you for the suggestions about her interests. The coloring books were a good call.”
“She loves anything she can create,” Luna says, and there’s pride in her voice when she talks about Sofia’s interests. “Drawing, building blocks, pretend play. She has a big imagination.”
“She gets that from you,” Matthias says, remembering the stories Luna told him four years ago about wanting to study art before pragmatism pushed her toward business, and Luna smiles slightly at the memory.
“Maybe,” she allows. “But she has your focus. When she’s working on something, nothing else exists. She’ll spend thirty minutes perfecting a block tower, then knock it down and start over until it’s exactly how she wants it.”
The idea that Sofia has pieces of both of them, that their one night together created this perfect combination of Luna’s creativity and his intensity, makes something warm bloom in Matthias’s chest—because this is what family means, he realizes, not just biology but the blending of characteristics and traits, the way children become their own people while carrying forward pieces of their parents.
“Same time Saturday?” Matthias asks, because Luna mentioned during their coffee shop negotiation that weekends might be available for additional visits once Sofia got more comfortable with him.
“Let’s stick with Tuesday and Thursday for now,” Luna says, but her tone is gentle, not dismissive. “Give her time to adjust before we increase the frequency.”
“Of course,” Matthias agrees, trying not to show his disappointment because he wants more time with Sofia, wants every possible moment to make up for the three years he missed—but he also knows Luna is right, that overwhelming a three-year-old with too much too fast is a recipe for backsliding instead of progress.
He says goodbye to Sofia from across the room (she waves, which feels like a victory) and leaves Luna’s apartment feeling lighter than he has since this whole situation began—because today was good, today showed that he can do this, that fatherhood isn’t some mystical skill he lacks but a learnable practice that improves with research and effort and genuine interest in his daughter’s wellbeing.
Matthias spends the drive back to Manhattan replaying moments from the visit—Sofia’s giggle when she saw his terrible coloring, the way she leaned against him during the story, her asking if he could come back—and each memory feels like a small miracle, evidence that he’s not completely failing at this impossible task of building a relationship with a child who didn’t know he existed a month ago.
His sister Greta calls while he’s stuck in traffic, and Matthias finds himself telling her about Sofia for the first time, the words tumbling out in a rush of complicated emotions—guilt about the years he missed, terror about screwing this up, desperate love for a child he barely knows, gratitude that Luna is giving him a chance despite every reason she has not to.
“You’re going to be a great father,” Greta says when he finishes, and the confidence in her voice makes Matthias want to believe it even though he feels like he’s failing most of the time.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Matthias admits, switching lanes to avoid a slow-moving truck. “I read three parenting books this week and I still feel completely lost.”
“Good,” Greta says, laughing. “That means you’re taking it seriously instead of assuming you’ll be naturally perfect at it. Matthias, every parent feels lost sometimes. The difference is whether you keep trying or give up.”
“I’m not giving up,” Matthias says immediately, because walking away from Sofia isn’t an option, has never been an option since the moment he discovered she existed.
“I know you’re not,” Greta says gently. “That’s why you’re going to be great at this. Not because it’s easy, but because you care enough to do the work.”
They talk for another twenty minutes, Greta offering advice from her own parenting experience and Matthias soaking it up like a drowning man finding air—and by the time he gets home, Matthias has a list of age-appropriate activities to try at future visits, a better understanding of toddler development, and the tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, he can learn how to be the father Sofia deserves.
He falls asleep that night thinking about purple crayons and talking dogs and the weight of a three-year-old leaning against his side during story time, and for the first time since discovering Sofia exists, his dreams are happy instead of haunted by loss and regret.
Tuesday at six o’clock, he’ll try again.
And Thursday.
And every week after that, for as long as Luna lets him, until Sofia knows him well enough that “Mr. Wolfe” becomes “Daddy” and he’s earned the right to claim her as his daughter instead of just biology making that claim for him.
It’s going to take time.
It’s going to require patience and consistency and accepting that progress comes in small increments instead of dramatic breakthroughs.
But Matthias is nothing if not persistent when he wants something.
And he wants Sofia.
Wants to be her father in every way that matters.
Wants to deserve the trust she started giving him today when she giggled at his coloring and asked if he could come back.
One hour at a time.
One crayon-colored page at a time.
One small smile at a time.
He’s learning how to be a father.
And he’s not giving up until he gets it right.
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