15. Derek
Everything feels nice—too nice.
My mind wanders back to the girl who left, wondering if she’s okay. It’s been two weeks since she answered my calls, two weeks since I’ve seen her or that beautiful bump holding my child.
Sighing, I eat a handful of popcorn and adjust on the couch.
Mamá is engrossed in the television, her eyes focused on the screen as the actress confesses the ten things that she “hates” about her love interest.
My mother looks over at me and frowns. “Do you not like the movie? I thought you enjoyed this—”
The ringing of our doorbell, followed by a small cry, catches both of our attention. Pausing in her words, Mamá’s eyebrows narrow.
“What was that?” She frowns, adjusting her clothes to stand, but I beat her to it.
She’s been tired lately, working on weddings and new clients—the least that I can do is open the front door for her.
Resting my hands on her shoulders, I gently push her back down on the couch and kiss her forehead. “I’ll get it. It’s probably a delivery.”
She nods, content with my answer, before fully immersing herself back into the movie.
Stretching as I walk down the main hall of our home, I smile at the minimalistic photos decorating the walls.
There are pictures from Mamá’s graduation to the photos that I took at the beginning of this year—my junior year in high school.
The guys on my team would kill to have that picture of me—especially since I had no idea it was picture day and had broken my newer glasses earlier that day, resulting in me wearing frames from middle school.
Chuckling lightly, I check the peephole and frown.
There’s no one there—
A small wail breaks through my thoughts, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. I’ve seen videos like this on the internet. Predators will lure women out of their houses by using the sounds of babies crying—it’s sick and fucking twisted.
Picking up my hockey stick at the front door—the same one Mamá has been begging me to put in my room for the past month, I raise it in the air and begin a war cry as I open the door, only to pause.
The street is quiet; every house on the road is spaced out, but from here I can tell that none of my neighbors are out—
The ear-splitting shriek of a newborn's wail captures my attention, and my eyes trail down slowly, resting on the crying bundle tucked away in a car seat on the step.
My heart plummets to the final pit of hell, my ears grow thick with a water-like sensation as the pink car seat rocks ever so slightly on the edge of the step—tilting.
“No!” I shout, dropping the hockey stick and running my ass off to catch the crying baby.
My crying baby.
Chewing on my bottom lip to suppress the water building in my eyes—I know the truth before I see it tucked away in the corner beside the baby's head.
This is my daughter—and she’s been left for dead on our doorstep.
My body jolts up. The air around me is too thick for my lungs to take in, and sweat beads down my forehead. I pat my body down, assessing myself, and then look to my right.
I’m in Deli’s bed…
Fuck.
I must’ve fallen asleep after reading her bedtime story to her…
Yawning, I stretch my arms. My eyes are still blurry from sleep and the lack of my glasses as I do my usual routine of reaching over and patting Delilah’s hair. Only I’m met with air instead of my daughter.
I’m out of the bed in an instant, my head on a swivel as I look for her mop of dark curls. Pulling my phone from my pocket, sweat beads against my temple as my eyes lock on the current time:
12:21 AM
My frown deepens as my cold feet hit the ground, carrying me to my own bedroom—only, it’s empty too.
Heart racing, I search everywhere in the bedroom for Georgia. If she isn’t in bed by this time, I’ve learned she’s either in the bathroom doing her skincare routine or in her closet working on a new piece.
When I find the closet empty, I halt in my tracks as a loud crashing sound comes from the kitchen.
What the hell…
Rushing out of the bedroom, past the living room, and into the kitchen, I come to a stop at the sight before me.
Delilah sits on the kitchen island, a cupcake the size of her head in her hands as she takes an enormous bite of the treat.
Georgia mimics my daughter's actions, taking a bite of her own equally huge cupcake.
I stop in the doorway as the two girls giggle, shushing one another as they continue eating.
Folding my arms, I tilt my head as something moves in my chest. A warming sensation fills my body as the girls' eyes light up once they finish their bites, turning to get a new cupcake from the small pink box on the counter that I hadn’t noticed before.
“Eating late-night snacks? Without me?” I ask in mock outrage, hiding my laughter as Delilah jumps, hiding the cupcake behind her back.
Even Agnes has a small biscuit that she’s gnawing on at her bowl.
Georgia, to her credit, looks sheepish as she guiltily puts away her sweet treat.
“I’m sorry, I know you said no sweets after dinner, but look at that face!” she exclaims, gesturing to Delilah’s puppy dog eyes.
“Well,” I take a step toward her, taking her cupcake from her and biting it. “I’ll give you two a pass tonight.”
Georgia visibly gulps, her throat working overtime as she nods with wide eyes. This close, I can see every single detail that God thought to include when he created the woman before me. From the light red blush naturally dawning her cheeks to the small smattering of freckles dusting her nose.
Everything about her is entrancing.
Her eyes—green with small brown flecks—brighten.
“Attack!” I hear, before two bodies are attached to my front and back, cake decorating my hair and cheeks.
Chuckling, I allow the girls to “attack” me with frosting before I turn the tables back on them.
“I’m gonna get you,” I say, eyes trained on Georgia as her own widen.
She puts Delilah behind her, my daughter holding up two fists to me, a menacing look in her usually doe eyes.
Pretending to be surprised, I put a hand to my chest.
“Is that how it is, Sunshine? You’re gonna attack your papá?” I ask, but I already know the answer when the little traitor grabs Georgia’s hand and runs.
“Run! The ogre is going to get us!” Delilah exclaims, laughter in her words as she runs around the living room, a giggling Georgia following behind her.
“Get out me swamp!” I yell, deepening my voice as I chase behind the girls.
In such a little bit of time, my recurring nightmare is forgotten. I’m happier than I’ve been in months as I chase the two women in my life. Delilah is safe—hell, she’s happy. And Georgia, Georgia’s giggling more than I’ve ever heard in our short friendship.
When I gently tackle the girls to the ground, both are a mess of laughter and frosting as I tickle them.
I forget about my troubles with my mother. I forget that this marriage is on borrowed time, and I just feel. I feel the love, the hope. I hope that there will be more nights like this and that our energy will never change.
I know now that in this moment I wouldn’t change this thing between us for anything… and that’s why I must do everything in my power to prevent this marriage from ever ending.
If not for my own happiness—then for the smiling four-year-old next to me.