Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary in Tribeca
The penthouse in Tribeca was bathed in the soft, warm glow of ambient lighting when Blake arrived two hours later.
The three-story luxury apartment, usually a silent, sterile monument to high-end minimalism, was now filled with the delicate scent of fresh vanilla, chicken noodle soup, and hot chocolate.
In the grand living room, sitting on an oversized white velvet sofa, was Isla.
She was wearing a soft cashmere sweater that was five sizes too big for her, folded up at the sleeves, and a pair of plush pink socks. Her dark curls had been washed and dried into soft ringlets. On the coffee table before her sat a spread of gourmet pastries, fresh strawberries, and three different types of fruit juice, untouched.
Mrs. Gable, Blake's loyal housekeeper of twenty years, stood nearby, wiping a tear from her eye.
"Mr. Blake," Mrs. Gable whispered as he walked in. "She hasn't eaten a bite. She keeps asking if she's allowed to touch the food, or if she has to pay for it."
Blake’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces. He motioned for Mrs. Gable to give them privacy, then walked slowly across the silk carpet, dropping to his knees beside the sofa.
Isla looked at him, clutching her brown teddy bear tightly against her chest. "Mister? Is my mommy okay?"
"Your mommy is at the best hospital in the city, Isla," Blake said softly, reaching out and gently taking her tiny hand. "The doctors are giving her medicine. She is resting in a warm room with clean sheets."
Isla’s green eyes welled with tears. "Is she going to die? The landlord told us last week that if Mommy didn't pay the rent, God was going to take her away."
Blake felt an overwhelming surge of rage toward the world that had broken this child's spirit, instantly replaced by an unyielding promise to protect her.
"Nobody is taking your mommy away, Isla," Blake said, his voice firm and absolute. "And nobody is ever going to hurt either of you again. Do you know why?"
Isla shook her head, her lower lip trembling. "Why?"
Blake pulled the small wooden crate of oranges he had brought from Delancey Street out from a shopping bag, along with her little money pouch. He set it gently on the table.
"Because I am your father, Isla."
Isla blinked her large green eyes, processing the word as if it were a foreign language. "My... my daddy?"
"Yes," Blake whispered, tears finally escaping his eyes and tracing down his face. "I am your daddy. I didn't know you existed, Isla. If I had known, I would have searched the whole world to find you. I'm so sorry it took me so long."
Isla stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. She reached out her small, soft hand and touched the tear running down his cheek, her thumb wiping it away with gentle innocence.
"Mommy has a picture of you," Isla whispered softly. "She keeps it in her bible under her pillow. Every night before we sleep, she tells me that my daddy is a prince who lives in a high tower, but he had to go away to fight monsters."
Blake buried his face in the little girl's small hands, letting out a ragged sob that shook his powerful frame. "I fought the wrong monsters, baby. But I'm home now."
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Isla wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "Can we go see Mommy now?"
"Yes," Blake said, scooping her into his arms and holding her close. "We're going to see Mommy."
