I know he can’t. Well, more like he won’t.
I stare at him, my face as docile as I can make it. “Do you really want the baby, or do you just need a way to help get back the roles you’ve lost?”
“I want my life back. I don’t have ... time ... I can’t give up my life for a kid. I’m sorry, Vi. I just can’t.”
It’s what I thought. He really doesn’t want the child. He just wants the good PR that would come with it.
I have never hated him as much as I do right now.
His blue eyes find mine, and I continue to do what I have to in order to protect my child. If Dylan doesn’t walk away, signing his rights away, he will be a deadbeat father. He’ll abandon the baby anytime it suits him, and it’ll break their heart each time he doesn’t show up.
He should know better than most.
I lean forward, resting my palm on the cool table. “Please don’t do what your father did. Don’t come around, asking for things, and not wanting a relationship. I’m asking you, for once in this entire situation, to put me or even the baby first. To think about what you’re asking and willing to do. This baby will need a father. One who will do anything for them. One who will love them, give them attention, and whatever they need. If you can’t be that father, then please, don’t do this.”
“Violet, I can’t ... fuck, I can’t walk this back.”
“We can.”
Hope flares in his gaze. “What?”
“You can put out a statement. You can do what you wanted from the beginning, but do it so it’s what’s best for the baby.”
thirty-two
Everett
I’m sitting in the coffee shop, watching the phone, willing for it to ring.
This has been the most agonizing two hours of my life.
Violet has a plan, but it hangs on her ex being a decent human being or being selfish enough to take the offer to better himself.
Either way, it’s out of all of our control.
I look up, watching the people pass by, talking, laughing, earbuds in as they listen to music, all while I stare at the building.
The door opens, and I see Dylan first. He puts his glasses on and is ushered into a black SUV. Then I see Violet.
Her beautiful brown hair is pin straight. She’s wearing a light-green dress and a blazer over it.
She looks radiant.
I get up, walking out the door, ready to cross the street when my phone rings and her name appears.
“Hi, how did it go?” I ask, standing fifty feet from her.
Fifty feet too many.
“Good, he ... agreed. He signed the paperwork, and the divorce papers are being refiled now. It’s over. He ...” I see her shoulders slump from relief. “God, he agreed.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so happy. Are you happy?”
I can hear her choking back the tears, and I cross the street this time, needing to pull her into my arms, to hold her so she doesn’t fall apart.
“I’m more than that. I’m coming home. I’m coming back to you, and we can put this all behind us.”
Fifteen feet.
