I Made His Wife’s Dress Now I’ll Marry Another Chapter 63
Before we flew back to Paris, Sofia’s guardianship evaluation completed its first phase.
She chose to proceed with the planned six-week stay.
Paolo did not come to the airport.
The night before, his lungs had taken a sharp turn for the worse, and he had been admitted to a hospice unit in Paterson.
When I got there, he was propped up by the window, watching a group of retired workers cutting uniforms for a shelter. His old shears hung by his bed, the blades worn thin with use.
“So, I hear you finally knocked old Henry off his throne,” he said.
“Not me. His own mouth did it.”
Paolo laughed twice, then bent over, coughing.
“Sofia doesn’t have to go to Paris,” I said. “The evaluation says she can change her mind at any point.”
“Don’t ask me.” He caught his breath and looked toward the door. “Ask her.”
Sofia stood there, her eyes red.
She walked in and laid her boarding pass in her father’s hand. “I’ll go for six weeks. If I want to come back in week four, I’m coming back in week four.”
“Good.”
“And you’re not allowed to die while I’m gone.”
Paolo touched the edge of the boarding pass. “That’s one thing I can’t sign off on.”
Sofia bit her lip, but the tears spilled over anyway.
He handed her his old shears.
“Not so you can inherit my work,” he said. “If they feel too heavy, sell them. If they feel too old, throw them out. Don’t let them decide your life just because they were mine.”
She threw her arms around him and, for the first time, cried out loud.