The line had died and with it, my last lifeline.
Did I have the strength to withstand such scandal? He was right when he threatened that his father would bury me. And what about my father? Did he even know about Caylen? Only Anna knew of how he came to be. I couldn’t even trust Erin with the truth. Did I want my father to find out from behind prison walls that his daughter had been raped?
I stared down at Caylen lying still against my chest. His eyes were closed and his breathing deep. It was trust that I’d take care of him and protect him while he slept. My shoulders shook as I mentally collapsed, but when he shifted and scrunched his face at being disturbed, I remembered he still needed me to fight.
Back at our apartment, I laid Caylen down for his nap and only when I put a safe distance between us did I allow myself to cry. All the normal feelings of despair and desperation that usually followed loss of hope spilled from me as I sunk to the floor.
How could I fool myself into thinking I could do this? I couldn’t take care of myself. It was selfish of me to bring such an innocent life into my fucked up world. Despite his conception, Caylen had become the light in my world—the one thing I had to hold onto since my mother died and my father’s incarceration.
I loved him more than I thought loving someone could be possible.
What if that meant setting him free?
I cried until I had nothing left. I cried for my parents. I cried for my innocence. And then I cried for my son, who would undoubtedly suffer unless I did the only thing that was left for me to do.
When the last tear fell, I rose up.
I only ever allowed a certain amount of time to feel sorry for myself before I let it go. Sorrow and tears wouldn’t feed my son. I made a bottle for Caylen to have when he woke and then sat down on my lumpy sofa in my box-sized living room and studied the fading paint. The only thing I had to decorate the wall was a family portrait of my father, mother, and me in front of our house. It was one of the few things I had salvaged from our home before it was seized by the bank.
I was still staring at the portrait when a single thump startled me followed by the wall vibrating from the force. The thump quickly became a hard rhythm and then the unmistakable sound of a male groan in the throes of passion filtered through the thin wall. If Brandi’s latest boy toy woke up my son, I’d scratch her fucking eyes out.
The sound of their fucking increased to the point of obscenity. I surged to my feet, intent on putting a stop to their good time, when the frame suddenly plummeted to the floor. I stared at the spot on the wall where the frame had been. Brandi and her guest never stopped fucking on the other side of the wall but I no longer cared.
The answer to my problem had revealed itself.
It meant a promise had to be broken.
Chapter Three
…always a Daddy’s girl.
MIAN
“Who are you here to visit?”
“My father.”
“I need a name, miss.”
“Oh, right. Theodore Ross.” The lobby officer started tapping at her keyboard.
Please be on there.
Two and half years ago, my father forbade me to return. I assumed that meant he’d take my name from his list of approved visitors, so I was here solely on the chance that he hadn’t.
“Ok, Miss Ross. I need a valid form of identification…” I hid my relief and handed over my driver’s license. “…and for you to fill this out.” I took the form she handed me and studied it. At the top of the form read, “Notification to Visitor.” I swallowed down bile when I recalled filling out a similar form before his trial. Even though he’d left me on his list after all this time, he could still deny my visit.
I quickly filled out the form and returned it to the officer. She then returned my ID and instructed me to wait. Thirty minutes later, I was shown to security, and my relief returned full force, but on its heel was anxiety. I hadn’t seen him in almost three years.
Would he look the same?
Sound the same?
Would he even be happy to see me?
He accepted my visit so maybe there was a chance he missed me as much as I missed him. I floated through security and rode with an elevator full of visitors and two security guards to the eighth floor.
My hands were sweating so I ran them down my jeans and gave myself a pep talk. He was my father. Despite what he’d done and how far he’d pushed me away since Mom died, he would always be my father. Neither of us could change that.
Finding a seat was easy since the visiting room was mostly empty. Today was the start of the Fourth of July weekend. Incarcerated loved ones were forgotten about for summer beach fun.
I took a seat furthest away from the ears of the guards and waited with my gaze fixed on the table. The volume in the room rose as the inmates were released. I could hear tearful greetings and kisses being exchanged. I held my breath through it all.