I meet Nate at the diner a few blocks down from the park. He and Tatum are already inside, seated at the bar. I plop down onto the stool to the right of my girl. Her eyes widen at the sight of me. “Daddy! You comed for breakfast!”

“I sure did, pretty girl. Uncle Nate has to go to work, but I wanted to make sure you still had your big day.”

She pitches herself my way and hugs me tight. “You’re the best daddy ever.”

My heart pinches. This kid. She is everything.

Nate stands and hugs his niece before clapping me on the shoulder. With eyes locked on mine, he says, “I’m glad it was you.”

His approval hits me all the way down to my marrow. My eyes glisten with emotion, and he doesn’t miss it. He chuckles and mouths the word pussy before heading out the door.

“Whatcha gonna get?” I ask my daughter.

“I want a big bowl of cheese grips!”

“Cheese grits, huh? I think I want the same thing.” I place our order, and within minutes, two large bowls of steaming, cheesy goodness are placed before us. I doctor them both up with butter, salt, and pepper, and we happily devour them.

I pay the tab and help Tatum down from her stool. “Let’s see. You wanted to go to the park today too, right?”

She jumps up and down—which I understand is the universal toddler sign for yes! and occasionally for I have to potty!

“Wanna walk there?”

She nods rapidly, and hand in hand, we set off for the playground, which is luckily less than a block away. This isn’t the same one we went to last time, but Tatum looks excited all the same. At first, I keep right on her, moving from one piece of equipment to the other. Eventually, she tires of my stalking. “Daddy. I’m big. I’m”—she holds up four fingers—“three! I can pway alone.”

“Are you sure? I’m having fun playing with you!”

She looks over toward a group of similarly aged kids all playing together. “I’m sure.”

I hesitate, but ultimately give in. After all, Natalie and I hung out on a bench the last time we came to the park. “All right, pretty girl. But stay where I can see you, okay?”

“I will, Daddy!” She kisses my cheek and darts off toward the group of kids playing.

I keep my eyes laser-focused on Tatum as she plays. She and two of the other kids are playing on a little jungle gym. It’s decked out with two slides, a mini suspension bridge, and a pint-sized plastic rock wall. The sound of her laughter floats my way on the breeze. She looks so happy and carefree that I can’t help but want to capture the moment forever.

I shift slightly and grab my phone. When I unlock the screen, a text from Natalie pops up. It’s nothing more than a blowing kisses emoji. I smile and toggle over to my camera.

Except before I even have a chance to snap a pic, a scream rings out, coming from Tatum. I shove my phone back into my pocket and haul ass to my girl. A few other parents rush over as well. When I reach her, she’s on the ground, wailing and clutching her arm to her chest.

I drop down to my knees. “Tatum! Tatum, baby, are you okay?”

She’s crying too hard to reply, and the sound of her sobs is soul shattering. I only looked away for one minute. Oh, Jesus. This is all my fault. Natalie is going to murder me—and rightfully so.

Tatum tries to reach for me, but the motion sends her into another fit. She’s crying so hard she can hardly breathe. As carefully as possible, I gather her into my arms. She clutches my shirt with her uninjured hand, her tears wetting clear through my shirt. “Daddy, it h-h-hurts!”

Guilt churns in my stomach like the sea during a raging storm. “I know, pretty girl. I’m so sorry. Daddy’s gonna make it all better.”

The mom of one of the kids she was playing with stops me. “She was about to slide and tripped. Fell from the top.” I thank her for the info—info I should have known without being told, because I should have been watching.

My heart sinks. How could I have let this happen? All of this because I wanted to take her picture. How stupid could I possibly be? And then I remember we walked here.

“It’s okay pretty girl, Daddy has you.”

With painstakingly careful steps, as not to jostle her, I set off for the car. What was a quick, two-minute walk here feels like an unending journey back—like in a horror movie when the hallway keeps getting longer, extending on endlessly.

When we finally reach my car, I’m faced with an entirely new debacle. Her car seat. As softly as possible, I place her in the seat. She doesn’t want to let go, though. “I have to put you down, pretty girl. We need to go to the doctor, and you need to be safe.” I keep my tone soft, whispering the words into her ear.

She releases her hold on my shirt and allows me to set her down. I slide her good arm through the harness, opting to leave her rapidly swelling arm that is very obviously broken out. I secure her buckle as best I can and fly around to the driver’s seat.

“I want Mama!” Tatum wails, and my heart splits clear in two. Of course, she wants her mom—and truthfully, I do too. Natalie would probably be cool as a cucumber, whereas I’m on the verge of Hulking out or breaking down. Hell, I doubt this would have even happened on her watch. Which reinforces the fact that she’s so going to kill me.

I turn on my flashers and pull out into traffic—luckily, it’s Sunday and still church hours, so there’s next to no traffic. As soon as my phone connects to my car’s Bluetooth, I dial Natalie.

She doesn’t answer.

I call again.

No answer.

Fuck. Nat, answer!

Tatum’s cries have turned to heaving sobs.

I try Natalie one last time, and when she doesn’t pick up, I have no option but to leave a message and to try her parents. “Nat, you need to call me. I’m on the way to the emergency room with Tatum. I’m pretty sure she broke her arm. Please call me. Better yet, meet me there.”

Here’s to hoping she gets that.

Immediately, I dial Luke, remembering that Melanie was helping at church.

He answers on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“Luke, Tatum is hurt. We’re on our way to the E.R. I can’t get ahold of Natalie.”

“I’m on my way,” he says, ending the call. Thank God!

All of this is strangely reminiscent of when Natalie broke her arm—mainly because that, too, happened on my watch.

I make it to the hospital in what has to be record time, and I manage to score a parking spot near the entrance. I use the same great care to unbuckle and lift her into my arms.

She turns her face into my chest. She’s still crying and begging for her mama, and I’m still an emotional disaster of epic proportions. “Just hang tight, Tatum. We’re almost there. The doctors here will be able to help you. And Popsie is on his way.”

“B-but I want Mama!” She conveniently screams the words at the top of her little lungs just as we pass through the automatic doors. Several heads swivel our way—some with concerned looks, some offering empathy, and others looking perturbed by the noise. Let me just say, that last group can fuck right off.

I march directly to the sign in desk, clutching my crying girl to my chest. “She needs a doctor. My daughter needs a doctor!”

The nurse looks up. “Sign in.”

“My hands are a little full,” I grit out. I mean, Jesus, would it kill her to help?

She huffs and spins the clipboard to face her. “Patient’s name? Date of birth? Reason for visit? Your name?”

I rattle off her info, and the nurse tells us to have a seat in the waiting area. My blood boils. Doesn’t she see my girl is hurt? “We need a doctor!” I implore, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Yeah, and so does everyone else here.”

My shoulders sag in defeat, and I walk over to a small cluster of chairs. In between trying to calm my still sobbing daughter, I’m shooting death stares to nurse and checking the clock on the wall, wondering when Luke is going to get here and when Natalie is going to call. Basically, I’m damn near crawling out of my skin.

After what feels like two lifetimes, the nurse calls my name, her voice monotone. I’m hopeful she’s calling us back, but my hope deflates like a sad balloon when she passes me a clipboard and a pen. “If you could fill this out.”

I’m sure this lady has seen it all and then some, and that this job is trying on the best day. But right now, I don’t have it in me to care. I clench my jaw to keep from telling her exactly where she can shove her paperwork and softly shift Tatum so I can take it from her.

The movement causes Tatum to let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing squeal, once again earning us a mixed bag of looks. “Shh, it’s okay, pretty girl. Daddy just had to get this paperwork that is apparently more important than actually helping you.” My attempt at comfort ends in a feral growl.

Back in our seats, I try my best to fill out the forms, which is no easy feat with a whimpering toddler in your lap.

The forms themselves present an entirely new problem. Insurance…no clue. Social security number…nope, don’t know that either. Family medical history…well, I know the paternal side. Allergies to any medications…that’s going to be another nope, with a capital ‘N.’

My panic spirals as I realize how little I know about my own child. My head swims, and my vision blurs. I think I’m shaking, but it could be Tatum, too. It’s probably both of us. Why didn’t I ever think to ask Natalie any of this? A good dad would know these things. Hell, a good dad would have never let this happen. Will Natalie ever trust me with her again? Should she?

I’m about twenty seconds away from passing out when the swoosh of the doors followed by Luke’s bellowing voice. “Alden!”

I lift my hand, alerting him to where we are, and he rushes over to us, swooping in and saving the day—or at least a piece of my fragile sanity. “What happened?” he asks, gruff and all business.

“She fell at the park.”

“Popsie,” Tatum cries and I pass her to him.

“I swear, I was watching her. I didn’t mean—”

“Son. Take a breath. It could have happened to anyone.”

“No, this is my fault. If I—”

“Alden. Listen to me. You’re a good man—a good dad. You didn’t hurt Tatum. It was an accident and could have happened to anyone.”

My shoulders slump. “But it didn’t. It happened to me.”

“Did Natalie ever tell you about the time Tatum fell in the bathtub?”

I shake my head, wondering where he’s going with this.

“Tatum wanted out, and apparently Natalie wasn’t moving fast enough, so she tried climbing out on her own. Nat only turned around to grab the towel from the sink, but in that blink of an eye, Tatum slipped, fell, hit her head on the faucet and went completely under the water. Natalie called us, crying her eyes out, saying she was an unfit mother, which we both know is untrue. My point is, accidents happen. It sucks, but that’s life. At the end of the day, Tatum’s okay. She’s happy, healthy, and loved. Cut yourself some slack, son.”

His words make me feel marginally better. “That may be true. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t even fully fill out these forms—there’s still so much I don’t know.”

Luke chuckles. “Son, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. I couldn’t fill them out either—to this day, Melanie even fills out mine. Quit worrying.”

Easier said than done.

“Did you get ahold of Natalie?”

“She didn’t pick up for me. Mel didn’t answer either, but I called the church and got ahold of her that way. She’s on her way to Natalie’s place. They’ll be here soon, I reckon.”

We slip into a comfortable silence. It’s strange how just his mere presence is comforting to me. After what feels like another eternity, Tatum’s name is called. Luke and I both stand and walk to the desk. The nurse motions for us to step behind it into this little triage area.

“All right, we’re gonna get a few vitals really quick.”

“And then we’ll see the doctor?” I ask.

“And then you’ll head back to the waiting room.”

I inhale deeply, trying to remain calm—mostly because I don’t want to scare Tatum. The nurse verifies our identities and slaps matching bracelets onto Tatum and me before checking her temperature. She attempts to clip some little device to the index finger of Tatum’s uninjured hand, but my girl’s not having it. She thrashes and screams so hard it takes both Luke and me to calm her down.

The nurse moves to try again, but I’m pretty sure my snarl stops her in her tracks. “Let’s…let’s try her big toe.”

I remove one of Tatum’s shoes, and the nurse is able to successfully get the readings she needs.

Once she logs all of Tatum’s stats, she turns to us and asks what happened.

“We were at the park, and she was going to slide but tripped and fell from the top.”

The nurse looks from me to Tatum and then asks her, “Is that what happened?” I’m sure it’s something she has to ask, but it pisses me right off—as if she doesn’t believe me.

Tatum sniffles and mumbles, “Yes.”

The nurse hesitates briefly and then enters the information into her computer. “Okay. Y’all can go have a seat.”

I want to rant and rave and riot and demand for someone to see her immediately, but I know it won’t help. In truth, the only thing it will accomplish is the nurse calling hospital security on me—and then Nat would really kill me. As is, regardless of Luke’s reassurances, I’m fairly certain she’s going to have my balls.