Page 95 of Who's Your Daddy?

I take the stairs two at a time, fully expecting to walk into my bedroom and find her packing. But she’s not there.

“Lia!”

Panic begins to escalate inside me as I run from room to room and find nothing. From the bathroom to the kitchen to the living room and then back up to my bedroom. I check my closet and her clothes are still in there, so where the hell is she?

I whip out my phone and call her. It rings twice, then disconnects. I try again, and the same thing happens. With shaky hands, I go into my messenger app to tell her to answer a phone and encounter a message from her instead.

Lia:Peter, I’m really sorry for everything that I’ve done. I never should’ve lied to you, but it was never to use you or trick you. It was a stupid circumstance that I allowed to get out of control. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, and I hope that one day, you’ll be able to find it in your heart to forgive me.

Lia:I took a few things I shouldn’t have. Some of the maternity clothes you bought for me because those are the only things that fit me now, $200, and some food. I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I get back on my feet again. Thank you for everything.

That second message shatters me. I mean, absolutely destroys every fucking thing inside me. I kicked her out, and she has nothing. No family. No money. Nothing!

I need to find her. A few weeks ago, I asked the security company to give me access to the footage of all the cameras installed across the complex. I tap on the app icon and pull up the various cameras linked to the DVR. I select the one closest to my house, then scroll backward until I see her on the screen.

She left at 20:06. I check the time. That was almost forty-five minutes ago. She could be anywhere by now. I watch her walk away; her steps unsteady. She’s carrying one trash bag over her shoulder, so she left the same way she got here...but with less.

As she moves out of the view of one camera, I swap to the next and rewind to the right time stamp to find her again. I track her as she moves through the complex toward the exit.

A few feet away from the main gate, she drops the trash bag and falls to her knees as if her legs give out from underneath her. She stays there, crouched over, crying bitterly. After a minute or two, she slowly drags herself back up. It takes a few tries because her stomach is an added strain, but eventually, she gets back up on her feet. She dusts herself off and continues to the gate. As soon as she leaves the premises, she turns left and disappears from view.

I rewind and watch it again, pausing the video when she falls to the ground. I zoom in and the look on her face wrecks me. She looks utterly defeated...lost. But worst of all, she looks scared.

I did that to her. With one reckless statement, I stripped her of a safe space. She deserved my anger and my rage, but I should’ve handled it better because I don’t think she deserved that. The weight of my shame and my guilt are too heavy to carry. I slump down against the wall.

“What have I done?”

I try calling her again, and this time, it goes straight to voicemail. My knee-jerk reaction is to fling it across the room, but I take a breath and call Scott instead.

“Hey, Pete,” he says when he answers. He’s still at the charity dinner, so I can hear music in the background. “What’s up?”

“I need you to come over.”

That’s the only thing I need to say before he replies, “Coming.” And hangs up the phone.

I’m already waiting in my driveway when I see his headlights pull up in front of my house. He and Dylan jump out at the same time, and they wait for an explanation because they know something is wrong. They watch me expectantly, but I don’t even know what to tell them. Where do I even start?

The result of the argument is more important than the argument itself, so I start there.

“Lia and I had a fight, and...uh...I told her to...” My jaw ticks because I’m riddled with guilt, but at the same time, I am seething right now. “I told her to leave...and she did. And now she won’t pick up her phone or—”

“What?” Dylan looks like he’s ready to punch me in the face. “What the hell is wrong with you, Peter? She’s pregnant!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” I bite out.

“Clearly not if you kicked her out in the middle of the fricken night!”

Dylan may seem nice on the surface, but he’s a loose cannon. His temper can spiral into violence with very little provocation. And he gets ten times worse if there’s ever a damsel in distress somewhere. He punches first and asks questions later, so I’m not misinterpreting his body language when his hands clench into fists. I know exactly how this is going to escalate.

“Dyl, I didn’t call you guys over to get a lecture, so save your holier-than-thou bullshit for—”

“Okay, both of you need to calm down,” Scott intervenes, stepping between us. He looks over at me. “C’mon, get in. Let’s go look for her.”

I nod, then get into the front seat, slamming the door shut.

“Do you know where she could’ve gone?” Scott asks.

“No, but we can start at...at this motel she used to stay at.”

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