Seeing how fast that toy is going, Gordie’s anxiety is incredibly high.
 
 The pain in my heart increases.
 
 I did that to her.
 
 Why didn’t I see before? Why did I keep pushing and pushing her? I’d noticed that she was getting reluctant about the calls and asking more questions about where her mom was, but I keptpretending everything was okay. I kept pushing off any difficult conversations.
 
 And for what? All for my own ego. I wasn’t fully thinking of Gordie. Deep down…I was worried about other people’s opinions of me. I was terrified that people would thinkIwas the one stopping my daughter from having a relationship with her mom.
 
 Maybe I even felt a bit guilty about being the one who “won” Gordie over her mother. In most divorces, the mother ends up with the child, not the father. I felt that people would think I had stolen Gordie away and that she would think the same eventually.
 
 I never realized I was putting so much pressure on her to ignore her feelings of dissatisfaction. It never even crossed my mind.
 
 “I’m sorry, Gordie,” I say, my eyes turning red. I pull her in for a hug. “Daddy’s so sorry.”
 
 “It’s okay.” Gordie pats my back. “Did I make you sad, Daddy?”
 
 “No, you were honest, and that made me very happy. From now on, whenever you have angry or sad feelings, I want you to tell me. Daddy will listen, and he won’t get angry, okay?” I hold out a pinkie to her. “Promise.”
 
 She links our pinkies together. “Promise.”
 
 I give her a big kiss on the cheek. “I love you so much.”
 
 “I love you too.” She smiles. “And I like Delia a lot.”
 
 “Me too.” It feels good to admit it out loud.
 
 And it’s about time I let Cordelia know that my daughter and I have been waiting for a “special friend” like her.
 
 Chapter Seventy
 
 Cordelia
 
 It’s Saturday, and I’d usually be at the garage since weekends are the busiest, but I have amassiveheadache from last night.
 
 Not only did Inotsleep a wink, but I also bawled my eyes out of their sockets. I’m surprised my tears didn’t flood the room.
 
 I became conscious just long enough to send an “I’m sorry, I’m sick today” text to my bosses and then conked out.
 
 A few hours later, I wake to sunshine and a ton of snot-filled crumpled tissues piled all around me. My sister’s baby shower speech did me in.
 
 First, I cried for all the years I wasted misunderstanding Gwen’s heart.
 
 Then I cried all over again from the fact that I lost her too young.
 
 And then there was a fresh amount of tears for the life that ended with her.
 
 It’s a new day, and I’m drained, dehydrated, and have a throbbing headache, but I feel empty in the best way. Like I’ve turned a new page in my life, and I get to write the rest of my story without the shadows haunting me.
 
 The first thing I reach for is my phone. Groggily, I scroll through my notifications and notice two missed calls from Renthrow. Shooting upright in bed, I stare at my phone screen.
 
 He called?
 
 Renthrow finally called, and I wasn’t even awake to answer.
 
 “Oh no.” I moan. Navigating to my texts, I see two new messages.
 
 One is from Mom, probably to schedule our seafood date.
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 