Because my mind refused to accept that this was real.
“Erica?” Riley’s voice was soft, careful. “Are you okay?”
I looked at her—but it felt like looking through glass. “Where’s Sam?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “A nurse came for him after you left. Said there was paperwork at the front desk.”
My heart started pounding.
“Did he say anything?”
She shook her head. “Not to me. But he kissed the girls on their foreheads. His gaze lingered.” Her voice caught slightly. “I asked if he wanted me to call you. He said no. He said to let you eat first.”
Let you eat first.
I handed her the note with shaking hands.
And I was already dialing.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Voicemail.
Then Gia.
She answered too quickly.
“Hello?”
“Where is he?”
Silence.
“Who, Erica?”
“Your son left me in a hospital room with two newborns and a note. Where is he?”
Her voice turned cold. Controlled. Calculated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You should try sounding surprised.”
“Erica—”
“If you know where he is, tell him this: he doesn’t get to disappear and pretend it’s a good decision for me and my girls.”
I hung up.
Because if I didn’t, I was going to break in a way I wouldn’t come back from.
I cried once that day.
Just once.
In a hospital bathroom that smelled like antiseptic and something bitter.
When I came back, Riley was holding Lily, gently rocking her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Me too,” I said.
And then I did the only thing I could.
I washed my face.
Stacked the discharge papers.
Picked up my daughters.
And kept going.
Because the only other option… was to collapse.
The early years weren’t just hard.
They were relentless.
Lily wouldn’t sleep unless I touched her ankle—like she needed proof I was still there. Nora rejected every bottle unless it was perfectly warm.
I went back to work too soon.
Because grief doesn’t pay for diapers.
When people asked, “Where’s their dad?” I gave them the simplest answer I could survive:
“Unavailable.”
When the twins were six, Lily asked, “Did our dad die?”
I turned off the sink slowly. “Why would you ask that?”
“Emma said kids only don’t have dads if they die or go to jail.”
Nora chimed in, completely serious, “I said maybe ours lives with a bear.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
I crouched in front of them. “Your father is alive. He made a selfish choice.”
Lily’s face tightened. “He left us?”
“Yes, baby.”
Nora’s voice softened. “Did he leave you too?”
That question hurt in a different way.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “He left all of us. But I never will.”
Leave a Comment