Page 13 of Twisted Fate

I cursed under my breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I should've told you she doesn’t go anywhere without it. That’s on me.” How could I have forgotten? Sarah would’ve remembered. She never would’ve forgotten something so important. Then again, if she were here, Charlie wouldn’t need that damn bear like she does.

Delilah’s head tilted to the side, her eyes filled with questioning.

“Sarah gave her that bear just before she passed. It makes Charlie feel safe, like her mom is watching over her.” Delilah’s throat bobbed, and her lips trembled before she nodded in understanding.

“That makes sense. She was panicked over the bear. I thought I could distract her with the park, but she wouldn’t even let me get her out of the car.” She described the episode just as Charlie’s teachers had at her last daycare, and I knew it was time to take their advice. We needed to consult with a specialist because as much as I wanted to be the one to help her through this, I didn’t know how. I hated that I hadn’t been there to comfort her and had no idea what had transpired until I arrived home.

“If something like this happens again, I want to know about it immediately. Don’t wait until I get home. Call me.” Delilah’s eyes widened, and an uneasy surprise filled her face. Perhaps I’d been too harsh, but this was my child we were talking about. I wanted to know what was going on with her at all times. I ignored the voice in the back of my mind telling me that Delilah was technically her mother and had shown that she had nothing but her best interest at heart. Charlie wasmydaughter, and I was responsible for her happiness.

“Of course,” she said, averting her gaze as hurt filled her eyes. “My apologies,” she murmured. My chest squeezed at the dejected look on her face, but I stood firm. Charlie was my priority, and if that meant Delilah got her feelings hurt, then so be it.

* * *

The next fewweeks went by without incident. Delilah hadn’t asked to take Charlie to the park again, and I suspected it was because of what had happened last time and that I’d basically scolded her. That hadn’t been one of my finer moments, and I still felt a twinge of guilt over the way I reacted.

I decided I would broach the subject with her and give her some ideas of places and activities I knew Charlie enjoyed. She didn’t need to be cooped up in the house all the time. My mom rarely took her places on the days she watched her. Since she’d had her knee replacement surgery, she complained that she couldn’t keep up with Charlie anymore, and it made her nervous to take her out in public.

I pulled into my driveway at half past four. It was the earliest I’d made it home in weeks, but it was Friday, and I was finally caught up at work. I was ready to enjoy the weekend with Charlie. It finally felt like spring, and there’d be plenty of activities to do now that it had warmed up.

Grabbing my suit jacket and bag, I climbed out of my car and headed for the door. I could hear music playing from the kitchen and assumed that was where I’d find Charlie and Delilah. Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table gluing shapes onto a piece of construction paper when I stepped into the room. My eyes scanned the space, landing on Delilah. My mouth turned down into a frown when I noticed what was in her hands. She moved the mop back and forth across the floor a few times before dipping it into the bucket next to her feet and wringing it out all while dancing to the beat of the music. I was flooded with memories of Sarah doing the exact same thing. She liked to place her phone on the dock and let her favorite playlist blast through the speaker on Saturday mornings while she cleaned. It was all too much. The memories, the images of her dancing while she cleaned, the sight of the nanny doing the exact same thing.

“What are you doing?” I snapped.

Delilah jumped at my harsh command. She turned as I strode toward her, wondering why she was mopping. She reached over and grabbed her phone off the counter, silencing the music before stuffing it into her pocket.

“Just cleaning up,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face. The inky tresses were pulled into a high ponytail, exposing the length of her slender neck. I could have almost sworn I could see the pulse thrumming against the creamy skin.

I eyed her suspiciously, wondering why she suddenly decided to take on more duties in my home. What was she playing at? First it was cooking. Now she was cleaning. Did she want me to increase her pay? Another possibility— a more disturbing one—crossed my mind. No. It couldn’t be. Could it? Was she trying to fill Sarah’s shoes, somehowreplaceher? Did she want to insert herself into our lives and take over the role of Charlie’s mom? Was she trying to get Charlie back? I couldn’t imagine the sweet, mild tempered Delilah doing something so nefarious, but you could never really know what someone was capable of.

“You don’t need to do that. Not only do I have a cleaning service come twice a month, but I’m perfectly capable of cleaning my home in between.”

Irritation flitted across her face, and she planted her hands on her hips as color rose to her cheeks. “I’m sure you are. However, Charlie accidentally spilled juice all over the floor, and since I didn’t want to leave a sticky mess, I decided to go ahead and mop it up. I apologize if you feel I’ve overstepped.”

With that, she propped the mop in the corner and snatched the bucket off the floor and walked out, returning a moment later with it empty. Without sparing me a glance, she returned the mop and bucket to the closet.

Walking over to where Charlie sat, she bent and kissed her on top of the head. “That looks great,” she praised, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked over Charlie’s shoulder at her artwork. “I’ll see you next week,” she promised, and with that she was gone, once again leaving me feeling like the asshole.

Why was I so suspicious of Delilah, constantly doubting her intentions? She’d never once given me a reason to. Perhaps it was my insecurities fueling my distrust. Until the adoption was final, Sarah had worried Delilah would change her mind, and even after the papers were signed, she’d wake up in a panic over the prospect of losing Charlie. That was why she offered the open adoption. She thought that if Delilah was able to see her daughter and watch her grow and thrive, she’d be content with her decision and never try to get her back. Some of her anxieties had clearly rubbed off on me.

But Delilah wasn’t trying to take Charlie from me. She was simply here to help, and if I was being honest, she had been our saving grace. Without her, I didn’t know what I would’ve done. I needed to stop letting my insecurities cloud my judgment and quit thinking the worst of Delilah. She didn’t deserve it. What she did deserve was an apology.

12

Delilah

“How’s the new job going?”Shayla asked, bringing the salt-covered rim of the margarita glass to her lips. It was Saturday night, and although I’d stewed on what happened with Vance all day, it finally slipped my mind while hanging out with my friends. However, with Shayla’s mention of my new job, it all came back in startling clarity. I forced a smile.

“It’s going well. The pay is great, and I only work three days a week.” Guilt twisted my insides at what I hadn’t shared with my friends. They knew I’d gotten pregnant by accident in college. I couldn’t exactly hide it from them when I ran into Haley at my twenty-week OB appointment with an unmistakable baby bump. The shock and hurt on her face nearly cracked the wall of numbness I’d built to protect myself in the aftermath of Charlie’s conception. But they believed it had been a rando at a party. They also didn’t know that my cousin and her husband had been the ones to adopt my daughter. At the time, I hadn’t been prepared to answer any questions about the situation. It was a tangled web I didn’t have the heart or energy to unravel.

Even without knowledge of my precarious situation, my friends still knew something wasn’t quite right. I avoided them for a long time after I gave birth as I tried to come to terms with all that had happened. Everyone blamed postpartum depression for my self-isolation and morose demeanor when in truth, I was drowning. I was overcome with grief, guilt, anxiety, and trauma from all that had transpired in the previous nine months. In less than a year, I’d gone from a carefree college student to sexual assault survivor who’d given birth to a child that was a result of said assault. It had been a lot to take in, and no matter how hard my friends tried, I wouldn’t let them see the devastation that plagued my soul.

For nearly six months following the birth, I made excuses not to see them. I ignored their calls and brushed them off over text, telling them I couldn’t hang out for some fabricated reason or another. Then finally, one day Brynlee came to my house, and my brother, too young to understand what was wrong yet knowing something wasn’t right, let her in. She came into my room and found me lying in my bed in three-day old pajamas at noon, and she forced me out of bed. She was relentless. After practically shoving me into the shower, she stripped my bed and threw my linens in the washing machine, leaving the mattress bare so I could no longer hide beneath the covers.

When I emerged from the shower, she shoved a cup of coffee under my nose and instructed me to get dressed. The clothing she laid out for me was looser than it had been before I’d gotten pregnant. She eyed me wearily as I slid a belt through the loops on my jeans to keep them in place.

“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing my hand and leading me down the stairs. That day, she took me to my favorite bistro with the decadent pastries I had once devoured during Sunday brunch with the girls. At her urging, I ordered one along with my favorite sandwich, and she sat there until I finished every last bite.

“Talk to me, Delilah,” she’d said, and my chin wobbled. I’d been determined not to cry, but I couldn’t conceal the emotion welling up inside me. When she saw I couldn’t speak, she sighed and leaned forward, steering the conversation where it needed to go without me divulging more than I was willing. And I would forever be grateful for that.

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