Then I dragged the play bar backward and pressed play one more time.

On Saturday afternoon, I brought Fiona to the county family support center for Luca’s first scheduled supervised visitation.

The room was simple—brightly painted walls, soft carpet, and shelves filled with donated toys and children's books. A state-appointed social worker named Sarah sat quietly in the corner with a notebook.

When the door opened, Luca walked in.

He looked unrecognizable. He was wearing faded jeans and an unpressed polo shirt. He had lost weight, dark bags hung under his eyes, and he walked with a slight slouch that made him look small and defeated.

Fiona looked up from her coloring book. She didn't run to him. She didn't shout with joy. She simply stared at him with big, uncertain eyes, clutching her stuffed rabbit against her chest.

“Hi... hi, baby,” Luca whispered, kneeling down on the carpet five feet away from her. His voice broke instantly. “Hi, Fiona.”

Fiona looked at me for permission.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I said gently from my chair near the wall. “You can say hi to Daddy.”

Fiona took a small step forward, holding out her coloring book. “Look, Daddy. Staw-baby.”

Luca looked at the crayon drawing of a strawberry. Tears filled his eyes and spilled over his cheeks. He remembered—just as I did—the way his mother had mocked that exact word two weeks ago at the birthday table.

“It’s... it’s a beautiful staw-baby, Fiona,” Luca sobbed, burying his face in his hands as he sat on the floor. “It’s the most beautiful word I’ve ever heard.”

Fiona walked over and patted his shoulder with her tiny hand. “Daddy no cry.”

I watched them from the corner, feeling a quiet, painful ache in my heart.

For the first time in his life, Luca was experiencing real, unvarnished emotion without his mother’s money shielding him from reality. He was seeing the innocence of the child he had almost allowed his mother to destroy.

After the one-hour session ended, the social worker led Fiona out to the play area to get her coat.

Luca stood up, wiping his face with his sleeve. He looked at me with deep, genuine shame.

“Jessi,” he whispered.

“Yes, Luca?”

“I... I signed the divorce papers this morning,” he said, pulling a folded document from his pocket and setting it on the table. “Uncontested. You get full physical custody. I won't fight you on anything.”

I stared at the papers in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I watched myself on that video again last night,” Luca said, his voice trembling. “I listened to what I whispered to my mother... and I felt sick. I realized that as long as I stayed dependent on my mother, I was never going to be a real father to Fiona. I was just her puppet.”

He took a deep breath, looking at me with clear, honest eyes for the first time in years.

“I got a job today,” he added softly. “At a local logistics warehouse. Entry-level night shift. It doesn't pay much... but my mother doesn't own it. I’m going to pay my child support with my own money.”