The weeks leading up to Christmas have always been hectic and stressful for me. I’m always working hard to stretch my dollars, ensuring that Emmy enjoys a fruitful holiday, but this year more than ever I’m feeling the strain of my limited finances. Thank God Roman showed up one night with a tree for us, otherwise I’d have had to make up all the token excuses for my child as to why throwing down a large chunk of change on something that will die in a few weeks is a bad idea.
I’m certain I’m being overly cautious amount money, but it’s all I know. I make a very, very good wage, but every cent is spent on bills and Emmy’s college fund. Roman has offered to help me out countless times, and while I appreciate his offer, I’m not about to let him make life easy for me or my child. I work hard to take care of her, always have. While I might occasionally feel the pinch of responsibility a little too tightly around my neck, I firmly believe that it’s important for her to see that you have to work hard for what you want.
The subject of a car has come up numerous times and now that she has her license, it’s becoming a daily subject. I’ve knocked around the idea of giving her my car and buying something new, but I find it really, really hard to indulge in something simply because she wants more freedom.
Sometimes motherhood is such a pain in the neck. Good thing I have Roman to vent my frustrations. He’s so good about listening intently and offering suggestions when I ask. I notice that he’s very, very cautious about never stepping on my toes where she’s concerned, though he’s always quick to admit he’d spoil her rotten if I allowed it.
God I love that man. He’s flown into my life and turned it upside down in every single way. Hearing him say “I love you” still feels like a dream and each and every time my heart flutters happily in disbelief. He’s the real deal, this beautifully handsome man who has unselfishly handed his heart and his family over to me. It’s taken a while, but I’m finally starting to feel like I belong.
The warm, early morning sun beats down on my back as I dig around in the planter and tug the weeds out of the dirt. Puttering in my yard like this is more about giving my hands something to do rather than a necessity. The entire day is mine, having dropped Emmy off earlier at Maya’s for a girls day and sleepover. I’d love nothing more than to be spending it with Roman, but he’s tied up in meetings until later and I’ve got a to-do list a mile long—a list I’ve been avoiding since I opened my eyes a few hours ago. Christmas shopping is at the top of that list, which is probably why I’m kneeling in the dirt, pulling weeds and procrastinating.
I’m so lost in my own head I don’t even hear the footsteps behind me. It’s only when my name is spoken by an eerily familiar voice that my stomach shoots into my throat and my heart starts to pound furiously. Fear sends goose bumps shooting over my warm skin and as I stand upright and dust off my hands, I realize that my life is about to change.
Turning slowly, I drag in a shaky breath and murmur, “Hello, Will.”
The years have not been easy on him, not if his appearance is any indication. Blond and blue-eyed like me, his face wears the strain of a harsh life. Wrinkles line his forehead and the edges of his mouth, confirming to me that he was never able to shake his love of cigarettes. Standing well over six feet, he’s no longer the lean, fit man who once meant the world to me. He now boasts a considerable beer belly and what appears to be a permanently etched frown.
For years I dreamed about a day like this: him tracking me down and professing his love for me and our daughter. Shortly after Emmy’s fifth birthday, I finally came to the conclusion that deadbeat Will Leahy was not a person I needed in my life. Last I heard he’d been fired from numerous jobs and rumor has it he still lives with his mother.
He looks me up and down and the smile that once made me giddy with happiness now feels like nothing more than a sleazy leer. “You look good, Sabrina.”
“What are you doing here?”
He has the audacity to look shocked by my outburst. “I wanted to see you.”
My eyebrows shoot up as I defensively fold my arms across my chest. “Why? We haven’t talked to one another in almost seventeen years.”
I see him glance down at my left hand then throw me a smirk. “You’re not married?”
Fear and uneasiness fall to the wayside and unbridled rage takes root. “How is that any of your business?”
Blue eyes narrow at me. “My daughter is my business.”
I can’t refrain from laughing sarcastically. “Since when?”
He shrugs. “Since always.” He takes a step toward the front door. “Where is she?”
Every protective mothering instinct in me rises to the surface as I immediately step in front of him and block the entrance. “She’s not here.”
Will rolls his eyes dismissively, like he doesn’t believe a word out of my mouth, then shoves his hands into the pockets of his tattered jeans. “I want to see her.”
Nausea surges through me, bile rising, and for a brief moment I consider how he’ll react to me throwing up all over his shoes. “That may be, but there is no way in Hell you are ever having contact with my child.”
“Our child,” he snaps.
Thank God I was smart enough not to put his name on her birth certificate. That one detail might not legally keep him away, but it certainly will delay things for a while. “My child, Will. Or have you forgotten that I’m the one who has raised her for all these years. I’m the one who has clothed her, fed her, taken care of her when she’s been sick.” No longer afraid of anything he can do to me, I take a step closer to him and snap, “Get off my property or else I’m calling the police.”
He chuckles. “Yeah right. Like that will keep me away.” Bending over, he leans down and speaks directly in my face. “I’m her father, Sabrina. I have a right to speak to her and get to know her.” The nauseating scent of garlic and tobacco wafts across my face. “Are you really going to tell her that you kept her own father from her? Doesn’t she at least deserve a chance to get to know me?”
The hopes and dreams I once had about Emmy being raised by two loving parents died years ago. It wasn’t until Roman came into my life and warmly welcomed her that I even considered a father figure for her. Now that I’m faced with the very real possibility that after all these years her biological father wants to form a relationship with her, I consider that he’s probably right. Emmy is old enough to make her own decisions, regardless of how much I despise the idea of her spending any amount of time with this man.
All the bliss I’d been feeling suddenly drifts away and is quickly replaced by mounds and mounds of regret. Maybe I should have pushed harder to keep him in her life. Maybe if I’d done that, she would now have a relationship with her father and I might have had some financial help in raising her. Did I give up too quickly? Did I take my bruised heart and stepped-on ego and selfishly keep my child from knowing the man whose blood she carries in her veins? What kind of monster am I?
“You know I’m right, Sabrina.”
Right or not, I’m not about to let him get to me. As terrified as I am about him appearing out of nowhere, my job remains as it always has—to protect Emmy at any cost. “Give me your number. I’ll speak to her when she gets home.” My stomach rolls again just thinking about having that conversation.
He glares at me and rattles off his number, which I quickly save into my phone. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I want to get to know her.”
“I heard you, Will. Now can you please leave?”
Thankfully he agrees, nodding once and moving toward the simple four-door sedan at the curb. He throws me another nasty look before he pulls away from the curb and takes off down the block. Only then do I move inside the house and collapse down onto the floor.
Sobs bubble to the surface as I draw my knees against my chest and curl up into myself. Suddenly the life I’ve built here feels wrong, just like the lie I told myself years ago when I said it didn’t matter whether or not she had a father. I feel like a fraud, as if I’ve intentionally kept her away somehow when in actuality it wasn’t that at all. When he abruptly walked away after I announced I was pregnant, I was too distraught and filled with rage to go after him. I chose to accept that he wanted nothing to do with me or his child and moved on with my life.
The guilt I’ve worn like a second skin tightens considerably. All I’ve ever wanted was for my child to be happy and healthy. I would never have intentionally kept Will from her, even if it was his choice to have nothing to do with me. The fact is he walked away from both of us, leaving me no choice but to be both father and mother to her.
How could it be possible that this morning I woke up dreaming about a future with Roman and now a few short hours later that future seems untouchable, unreachable? How can I expect him to take a step back and let a stranger be the person for her I’d been planning on him being? He loves my girl as much as he loves me and while he’s never talked about being a dad, he has accepted her into his life in every way possible. Without hesitation.
Shuddering through another wave of tears, I ask myself if this is payback for the easy way I accepted the single-parent role. Have I been so selfish, so concerned with my own feelings, that I’ve never once afforded her the chance to at least explore the idea of locating her father?
The loud, blood-curdling yes that echoes in my ears sends chills over my skin once again. Whether I like it or not, my life, her life, is changing. My future with Roman is now something I’ll be forced to put on hold so I can concentrate on getting Emmy through this. She’s always had such a matter-of-fact attitude about her biological father that I fear it all might come crashing down on her in ways I can’t even fathom. Will she hate me for this? I’ve always been honest with her about what happened, but I’ve never offered a lot of details either. She knows very little about the man who fathered her, partly because she’s never really been interested. In fact, I firmly believe it wasn’t until Roman entered her life that she actually realized she might be missing something.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, alerting me to a text message. Wiping my face with the back of my hands, I pull it out and glance at the screen. Roman’s text is brief, just a good morning greeting and a promise to call me later. I tap reply and quickly type in “ok” then toss the phone aside and give into the tears once again.