“The medication is more expensive than I expected.”
Another pause.
“I need help.”
Eric sighed.
Actually sighed.
As if I’d called because I wanted a new handbag.
“You’re calling me for money?”
“I’m calling you about your daughter.”
“You’ve got insurance.”
“It doesn’t cover everything.”
“So figure something out.”
I closed my eyes.
“You took our savings.”
“I already told you, I put most of that money in.”
“Eric, she’s sick.”
“She isn’t my responsibility right now.”
I thought I had misheard him.
“What?”
“You chose to keep her.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“She is your daughter.”
“She’s your responsibility.”
Then he added:
“Your problem.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Eric…”
He laughed quietly.
“Ask someone who cares.”
Then he hung up.
I should have driven home.
Instead, I did something I still wish I hadn’t needed to do.
I drove to his new address.
I knew where he was living because one of our old credit-card statements had shown a delivery address.
I told myself I wasn’t going there to fight.
I wasn’t going to scream.
I wasn’t going to beg him to come back.
I wanted him to see Chloe.
That was all.
Surely, I thought, whatever he could say over a phone would become harder once his daughter was physically in front of him.
I carried Chloe’s carrier to the porch.
Then rang the bell.
A woman opened the door.
Tessa.
She was wearing one of Eric’s shirts.
She looked at me.
Then at the carrier.
“Oh.”
“Is Eric here?”
She smiled.
Not kindly.
“Eric, your baby mama’s here.”
Baby mama.
