My eyes burned, and my legs wouldn’t support me properly. I hadn’t slept, writhing in bed through the night, and I was beyond tired.

 

Yesterday, I left Ginger at Dawson’s place because she told me she had a prior engagement for the night, another birthday party to attend. Under the circumstances, I chickened out once more and locked myself in my house. I lied to myself that I needed to gather all my power to actually take Dawson’s daughter away. Today had to be the dreadful day. No more delaying the inevitable.

 

First, though, I had to fix myself. I tried coffee, but it tasted like cardboard. My mouth felt weird, and I couldn’t shake a slight nausea that had come and gone since just before dawn. I looked out the window, trying to assess if I should go or not, when I saw a minivan pull up Dawson’s driveway, Ginger getting out of it. Sadness washed over me at the prospect of taking her from her father. But it was for the best.

 

I grabbed a cream cardigan and stepped outside. Dawson picked Ginger up in his arms and glanced at me. I could barely hold his gaze as I approached them. The little girl whispered something in his ear, and he nodded, hurrying into the house. I followed the into the living room, feeling like an intruder.

 

“Go on, baby,” he said, setting Ginger down. She rushed to the bathroom.

 

“Good morning,” I hedged after a tense silence. We didn’t look at each other.

 

“Morning,” he muttered. I felt his hand on my shoulder as he said, “You don’t look well, Mari. Are you feeling all right?”

 

I looked up and nodded. What was the point in sharing the details of my crappy night? It wouldn’t make me feel any better. He dropped his hand and took a few steps away, and I felt the loss physically. I nearly begged him to come back, but I was the one leaving.

 

Ginger’s cheerful voice interrupted my bout of self-pity. “Good morning, Mari! How was your night? Mine was awesome! I had loads of fun, and we slept in a fort in Alice’s living room. She has too many dolls, though. I don’t like that, but she’s my friend, and I do like that.”

 

Her words dumped a thousand miles a minute and I smiled. She looked like she’d forgotten yesterday’s events, and I crouched down to hug her. “That sounds amazing, baby. Did you, by any chance, actually go to sleep?” I struggled to hide the battle in my heart.

 

“Of course, silly. We got tired, and Alice’s parents sent us to bed. But we didn’t want to go, so we reached a comprise!” she said proudly, emphasizing her grown-up statement.

 

Dawson snorted, chuckling, and I bit back a grin. “What does that mean, Ginger?”

 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Alice’s father said that, and then he made us a fort, and we slept there. I guess it’s about the fort.”

 

“You mean a compromise?” She nodded.

 

“Very good, baby. It is, indeed, about the fort,” Dawson intervened. “I believe Mari would be more than happy to build you one when you’ll be sleeping there. Right, Mari?”

 

His cooperation shocked me. I couldn’t help but search for his eyes, and I found nothing but honesty in them. I nodded, my throat burning.

 

“Really?” Ginger cooed. “Will you, Mari?”

 

“Yes, honey.”

 

“That’s awesome!” But then, her expression changed, and she looked crestfallen. “Too bad the weekend is so far away.”

 

Dawson laughed sadly, pulling her toward him. “If you want, you can go tonight. Don’t you want to sleep at Mari’s for a while?”

 

She looked at him, incredulous. “What do you mean, Daddy?”

 

“I think Mari would be very happy to have you around, baby. I just thought you might like that, too,” he said, pouting.

 

It prompted Ginger to put her little hands on his face, trying to pull his lips into a smile. “Yes, Daddy, I would love that,” she assured him and burst into giggles as he turned his head to bite her hand.

 

“Good girl! Why don’t you go pack your favorite things?”

 

She didn’t wait for him to finish. I could hear her pep talking herself into proper toy arrangements. She kept trying to convince her teddy bears they were all equally important but there was only so much space in the small bag.

 

I got to my feet and leaned against the wall. “Thank you,” I whispered. He smiled at me, and I followed him into the kitchen. I couldn’t shake the pain in his eyes while talking to Ginger. He’d used his sweet voice, but it was fake, just like mine. I could barely keep my own pain from spilling over, and as I watched him convince his daughter to leave him, I knew he struggled just as much. I squeezed my eyes shut against the usual sting of tears.

 

“Don’t cry, baby,” he said. I looked up as he took my wrists. “And don’t thank me, either. You were right, and you’re doing the right thing. Please don’t cry, okay?”

 

I couldn’t speak, so I gave a slight nod, the hot tears leaking. He wiped them from my face and sat me at the table. He politely backed off and turned, gathering the main ingredients for pancakes. “What are you doing?” I blurted, thinking that he only made pancakes for Ginger. She loved his funny shapes.

 

“Making pancakes.” He stated the obvious, and a strange pain cut through my soul. “I’d love to have one more breakfast with my daughter,” he added, his voice quiet and resigned. I knew what he meant without his explanation.

 

I didn’t reply, trying to cry silently. He didn’t press for an answer, either. The absence of a denial served as an agreement that he could cook for Ginger. “Have you…called them yet?” he asked after a long silence.

 

My throat had swollen shut around the lump in it, and I choked back more tears, unable to respond. I wanted to say no and tell him how I felt about what I was doing, how torn I was. I had postponed the horrific call until after Ginger settled into my place. But the truth was, I didn’t want to make the call at all, and it was eating me alive. He might have taken my silence as an affirmative, judging by his reaction – making stupid comments about the pancakes.

 

“I’m trying to make bunnies, but I can’t for the…” He stopped abruptly, and I guessed he saw my face.

 

I tried to hide the tears, but he pulled me to my feet and embraced me tightly. I didn’t protest. I felt like a villain, and I needed all the comfort he could spare to convince me otherwise. I was taking his child away, and I was the one needing comfort. That was just wrong.

 

“Don’t cry, Mari. I told you, this is the right thing to do. I promise. Calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”

 

I tried to ease his mind a bit, my voice recovering hoarsely. “No, I haven’t called them.”

 

He didn’t let me say more. He pulled back and sat me down, holding my hands over the table. “Don’t call them, baby. Don’t.” My eyes snapped to his, and he said, “I promise, I’ll end everything with the Valves. I want to go to the police.”

 

I stood, pushing the chair back in my haste. “That’s dangerous!” I hissed in terror. I couldn’t imagine what they would do if they found out he ratted.

 

“I know. That’s why I’m glad you’re taking Ginger. I know she’ll be safe with you and that you’ll care for her like the perfect mother you are.” His words sparked something inside, and the nausea rose again in strong waves. I clenched my teeth to ward it off as I sat down. “I’ll make a deal and tell the police everything I know. It’ll get me a couple of years, but that’s fine, and after that, everything will go back to normal.”

 

“Years? As in prison?” I realized that was to be expected, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around the notion that Dawson would be locked up. For years.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll manage. And by the time I get inside, there won’t be any Valves left to bother you or Ginger. I can promise you that. That’s why I said you were right and that I’m glad you’re taking her. Until I come out, I know you’ll take the best care of her. I thank you for being there. I can’t thank you enough, Mari.”

 

Silence loomed between us. I didn’t know what to say, and he had spilled every one of his dark secrets. I looked up and watched his expression. It looked like he already tasted the liberation, excitement dancing in his eyes. It made me smile in spite of myself. He had figured it all out and would make it better. I trusted him.

 

We gazed into each other’s eyes for long minutes before he blinked, the joy fleeing his expression. Looking away timidly, he asked, “What about us, then?”

 

I didn’t know if it was the sudden wave of emotions his words stirred or the general uneasiness of the circumstances, but I needed to get up and rush to the bathroom. I barely made it, bending over the toilet bowl and letting the sickness take over. But nothing happened. I chalked it up to a false alarm and started to open the door when it hit again. This time, my stomach heaved.

 

Weakened and shaken, I leaned against the sink. The taste of bile and gastric acid nearly gagged me, and I shivered, rinsing with water as I reached for the mouthwash. It took several rounds to douse the disgusting taste.

 

After splashing cold water on my face and taking an aspirin, I stepped out of the bathroom and nearly ran into Dawson. Ginger was just coming out of her room, bag overstuffed with toys and clothes.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, stopping to look at me.

 

I cringed.

 

“Are you sure you’re all right? A mild concussion wouldn’t last this long. Maybe I should take you to a hospital.” He took my wrists, concern darkening his features.

 

“Hospital? What’s wrong, Mari? Do you have the flu, too?” Ginger came close and tried to hug me.

 

I shrugged it off, saying something about lack of sleep and no breakfast. I didn’t want to add to their worries by making a scene.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked again, more sternly. I nodded. “Then it’s all set. You stay for breakfast. I made these delicious pancakes for both of you, and after you eat, you’ll be fine. Right, Ginger?”

 

“You made pancakes?” she exclaimed as she rushed to the kitchen.

 

He picked up her bag and stood there, close to me as I sought his eyes. As if he wanted to repeat his earlier question but couldn’t bear to utter the words, he bent his head toward me and brushed his lips over mine. He waited for my answer, and when I tried to pull away, he wrapped me in his arms, gracefully accepting my refusal with a chaste kiss atop my head. I felt like crying again, reminded that I was the bad guy.