Chapter 2
Three hours after Ethan gave our daughter’s birthday screen to another child, Rosie woke up burning with fever.
The thermometer read 103.
I called Ethan while pulling Rosie’s pajamas over her trembling arms. He did not answer.
“Rosie has a fever of one hundred and three,” I said after the beep. “I’m taking her to the ER. Call me.”
Rosie rested her head on my shoulder as I carried her to the car. The paper star badge from her dress was still clutched in one hand.
“Is Daddy coming?” she whispered.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
It was the first time I had given her the truth instead of an excuse.
When I reached the hospital, Ethan’s truck was already in the parking lot.
Relief hit me so quickly it hurt.
He had heard my message. He had come for his daughter.
I rushed inside with Rosie in my arms.
Ethan was in the waiting room, but he was not looking for us.
He sat beside Megan, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders. One of his hands covered hers while he reminded her to breathe slowly.
Megan’s face was pale. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
Ethan finally looked up.
“Claire?”
For one second, he only stared at me, as if he could not understand why I had brought our daughter into his moment with Megan.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Megan thought she was having a heart attack,” he added before I could answer. “Her ex’s lawyer sent a custody notice, and she couldn’t breathe.”
I shifted Rosie’s weight in my arms.
“Do you know why Rosie is here?”
His eyes dropped to her flushed face.
He did not answer.
Megan pulled Ethan’s jacket closer around herself. “I didn’t know Rosie was sick.”
“Neither did her father.”
A nurse appeared at the doorway and called Rosie’s name.
Ethan followed us into the examination room. He reached for Rosie, but she tightened both arms around my neck.
The nurse checked her temperature and began asking questions.
“When did she last have fever medicine?”
“An hour ago,” I said.
“Any medication allergies?”
I answered before Ethan could.
He looked at me as though he had expected to know.
He had known exactly how Megan needed him to speak when she panicked. He knew when to lower his voice, when to take her hand, when to wrap his jacket around her.
But he could not answer one basic question about his own child.
Rosie stirred when the nurse touched her forehead. Her eyes opened and found Ethan standing beside the bed.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here, baby.”
She looked past him toward the waiting room.
“I didn’t call you,” she murmured. “Megan was sad.”
Ethan went still.
Rosie turned her face into my chest.
The doctor said her fever was likely caused by a common virus. We could take her home, keep her comfortable, and return if her symptoms worsened.
Before we left, I asked the receptionist to change Rosie’s emergency contact.
I removed Ethan’s name and replaced it with my sister’s.
Then I saved the missed-call record, the voicemail time, and Rosie’s discharge papers.
I was not making a plan against my husband.
I was accepting that my daughter’s safety could no longer depend on whether he chose to answer.
Ethan stayed behind to drive Megan home.
After putting Rosie to bed, I opened the safe my mother had left me and searched for her birth certificate.
Beneath it lay the deed to the drive-in.
My name was the only one printed beneath Owner.
Under the deed sat the purchase offer I had rejected three months earlier.
The offer expired in forty-eight hours.
For the first time, I did not put it back.