That night, I made a decision.
I called my lawyer the next morning.
“I want to adopt Elena,” I said.
He blinked.
“Sir?”
“Elena Marchetti. I want to adopt her. Legally. I want her to have my name and my protection. I want her to be my daughter.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
“Does her mother know?”
“Not yet.”
“You’ll need her consent.”
“I know.”
He nodded slowly.
“I’ll draw up the papers.”
I found Sofia in the garden that afternoon, kneeling beside a bed of roses.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
She looked up, wiping dirt from her hands.
“Of course.”
We walked to the stone bench beneath the old oak tree, and I told her what I wanted.
Her face went very still.
“You want to adopt Elena,” she said slowly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she deserves a father,” I said. “A real one. Someone who will protect her and love her and give her the life she should have had from the beginning.”
Sofia’s eyes filled with tears.
“Lorenzo, I—”
“I’m not asking you to give her up,” I said quickly. “You’ll always be her mother. I just want to be her father. Legally. Officially. So that no one can ever take her from you again.”
She covered her mouth with both hands and turned away.
I waited.
Finally, she lowered her hands and looked at me, her face wet with tears.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
I exhaled slowly.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.
“I’m sure.”
I stood and pulled her into my arms, and she held on to me like I was the only solid thing in the world.
Six months later, the adoption was finalized.
Elena sat on my lap in the lawyer’s office, swinging her legs and coloring a picture of the Doberman.
Sofia sat beside me, holding my hand so tightly I thought she might break my fingers.
When the lawyer handed me the certificate, I stared at it for a long time.
Elena Rose Duca.
“Does this mean you’re my papa now?” Elena asked, looking up at me with those wide, dark eyes.
I nodded.
“If you want me to be.”
She thought about it for a moment.
Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered, “I do.”
I closed my eyes and held her close.
That evening, we had a small celebration at the estate.
Carlo brought champagne. The cook made Elena’s favorite cake. The Doberman puppies — now three months old — tumbled around the garden while Elena chased them, laughing.
Sofia stood beside me on the terrace, watching her daughter with a soft smile.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
