Page 50 of Love on the Edge
So I don’t answer.
Instead, I pull my wrist free from her grasp, step away from the wreckage left behind, and walk out the door.
I call Valeria again.It goes straight to voicemail. She blocked me. I can’t blame her. My life is a mess—a ridiculous, spiraling mess, and it’s only getting worse.
Margo’s return wrecked everything. I rejected her. Told her to sign the papers, told her we had nothing left to talk about, that if she needed to communicate, she could go through Ryan. She didn’t take it well.
Now she wants time with CC, and maybe she should get it—but only if CC wants to. For now, my parents are supervising their visits. It seemed like the best option until I heard CC start crying.
I shift on the couch, turning toward her, concern tightening in my chest. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
She sniffs, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her pajama top. “I don’t wanna see Mommy.”
The words stop me cold.
I expected hesitation. Maybe some fear. But not this.
I keep my voice gentle, careful. “Why not, honey?”
Her small hands twist in her lap, fingers tangling together, like she’s trying to hold something in. For a long moment, shedoesn’t say anything. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, “She doesn’t like me.”
A slow, sinking dread spreads through my chest, wrapping tight around my ribs. I grip the couch, trying to process what she just said, trying to figure out how to fix something I don’t even understand yet.
I tuck a curl behind her ear, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Sweetheart, what do you mean?”
CC sniffs again, looking down as she picks at a loose thread in her pants. “She’s only nice when people are watching. When it’s just us… she doesn’t care.”
My stomach twists. I clear my throat, swallowing back the anger already simmering beneath my skin. “Baby, tell me what happened.”
She hesitates, shifting in place, her little shoulders curling inward. “She forgets things, Daddy.”
I exhale slowly. “What kind of things?”
She shrugs, but it’s not careless—it’s defeated. “She forgot my birthday.”
A sharp, cold weight settles in my stomach.
“She didn’t even know how old I was,” CC murmurs, voice small, like she’s embarrassed to even say it out loud. “Grandma told her. And then she said happy birthday. But she didn’t mean it.”
I don’t say anything because I don’t trust myself to speak.
“She forgets my favorite color, too,” CC adds after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s pink, Daddy. It’s always been pink.”
She shouldn’t have to explain that. She shouldn’t have to remind her own mother.
But then she exhales sharply, like she’s been holding something in, like the words have been sitting on her tongue fortoo long. “She says I talk too much.” I still. “She says I ask too many questions. That I whine. That I should stop being so loud.”
A deep, burning rage coils inside me, tightening with every word.
“She says I act like a baby,” CC continues, her voice wobbling. “I try to be good. I try really hard. But she still gets mad.”
I inhale carefully, keeping my voice soft, even as my hands clench into fists. “How does she get mad, baby?”
“She sighs a lot. Like I’m annoying. And she rolls her eyes. And…” CC’s voice drops to a whisper. “She yells sometimes.”
I fight every instinct to react, to let the fury clawing up my throat break free, to stand up and destroy whatever control Margo still thinks she has. Instead, I force my voice to stay even. “Did she ever… hurt you?”
CC shakes her head quickly. “No. Not like that.”
