Chapter 1 #2
I know I’ve had a fair share of women in my life, but I would have never affiliated myself with someone doing drugs.
“Was it a suicide?”
“Heroin.”
The wind is knocked from my lungs, taking me deeper into the chair as I fall backwards. Surprisingly, the matron isn’t reveling in my reaction any longer.
My tongue has a mind of its own as I ask, “You said her name was Emmy, right?”
The matron dips her head.
Emmy.
My daughter’s name is Emmy.
Was she with her mother?
Has she been exposed to heroin?
How long was her mother on drugs?
How neglected was Emmy?
Swallowing thickly, I tell myself to get a grip. Get all the information you need right now and then you can process and break down and allow yourself to feel when you’re alone. I sure don’t want to cry in front of this abusive piece of shit.
“How old is Emmy?”
I don’t even remember a woman by the name Natasha, but I have to admit, I never try to remember the names of the women I sleep with.
The further away they are from me emotionally, the better.
There’s no point memorizing someone’s name when I have a one-night-only rule, but I’ve never given them the impression they couldn’t tell me about a child though… right?
“Emmy turned three in February.” She purses her lips. “You should also be made aware that she seems to have delayed speech for her age.”
My brows lower, a frown creasing my skin. “What do you mean?”
“She hasn’t said a single word since she’s been with us.”
My head rears back. “She hasn’t spoken? Is it the trauma?” Oh my fucking god. “Please tell me they didn’t find her mother with her there in the home.”
“Emmy was present, yes. She was found in the bed beside Natasha, presumed to be alone for four days.” She sighs before taking off her glasses. “It’s a miracle she’s alive. I was informed she was living off—”
“Cereal,” I finish for her, sounding like a shell of myself.
She cocks her head. “Yes…how did you know?”
I shrug off her comment. “Just a hunch.” I’m not telling this woman shit.
“Well then. Do you wish to claim her, or should she remain in our care? If you’d like to relinquish parental rights, I can have the documents drawn up in—”
“I’m taking her,” I’m quick to blurt.
There is not a single ounce of me that will ever allow a child of mine to go through what I did. She’s almost the same age as when I was brought here, I was four turning five.
“I’ll sign whatever you need for me to make that happen, but I’m taking her today. She’s not spending another minute here.”
She sighs as she deadpans, “We’re not that bad, Kieran.”
“Keep telling yourself that so it’s easier to sleep at night.”
She rises, I note it’s slower than what I remember as a child. Good. Maybe she’s getting too old to be able to physically hurt the children.
“I’ll forward you the documents. It’s all very standard.”
My brows snap upwards as I stand. My body locks up as she passes me and by the roll of her eyes, she doesn’t miss it either. I follow her out of the office. “So, I can just…take her? That seems odd. She doesn’t even know me.”
“You’re her father,” she throws over her shoulder as she ambles down the old hallway.
Father.
My brain comes up with a thousand comebacks and quips, but I can’t muster up the energy to say one, can’t find humor in this situation.
The light blinds me temporarily as we step onto the veranda overlooking the backyard.
The children are out here, screaming and playing.
It’s perplexing. They sound happy and they look it, but I know from firsthand experience every single one of them has a hole in their heart, has deep-seated beliefs that they will never be loved or adopted as they age.
The matron comes to a stop, her aging hand shaking slightly as she lifts her pointer finger. “That’s her, in the corner.”
Time seems to slow. But not my heartbeat. That doubles as my gaze slowly drifts to the corner of the yard where she’s pointing.
“Emmy.”
The name tears from me as my eyes lock on a small child crouched in the garden, and there is no doubt in my mind that she’s mine. Two pigtails on both sides of her head hold the short brown locks off her face as her shoulders quake.
She’s crying.
My legs move of their own accord.
The matron calls out something behind me, but I can’t hear anything past the rushing blood in my ears. I, for once, don’t even have a thought. Everything has escaped me, and I’ve got tunnel vision on the little girl sitting by herself.
Coming to a stop before her, my knees give way as I all but drop to the ground. Large round brown eyes snap to mine.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Recognition? That’s silly to expect, but my heart—it’s beating so hard, and it knows, it utterly knows, that she’s my daughter.
“Emmy,” I whisper.
Her small sniffles have my heart cracking, shattering into a million pieces. My mouth opens, only to snap shut.
What the fuck do I say to her? How do I even start to explain this, so she understands?
She’s three. Three, and she just lost her entire world.
I choose to go with, “I knew your mom.” Her eyes widen at that, but she remains silent. I force myself to go on. “I’m not sure what I’m doing,” I say honestly, “or how to say this but—”
My words cut off as she lifts her small hand and places it on my cheek, her eyes narrowing as she then pulls back, her fingers wet.
My breath hitches.
I must be crying.
Quickly wiping away the tears on my cheeks to not frighten her, I’m suddenly speaking, the words tumbling out of me. “I-I’m your d-dad.”
And I have no fucking idea what the hell I’m going to do.
“I’m going to take you to my home. I’ll make it a home for you,” I promise. Holding out my hand, I offer, “Would that be okay?”
I stop breathing, my body lined with tension. The last thing I want to do is take her out of here kicking and screaming, but to my utter shock, she bursts forward quicker than I anticipated, and the next thing I know, her arms are clinging around my neck like I’m her lifeline.
I suppose I am.