Page 22 of Salvation
Ivy stops talking, marching past me toward the back of the house.
“Where are you going?” I call, but when she doesn’t answer, I storm after her. “This conversation isn’t over, Ivy. Not this time.”
My long legs eat up the space between us, and when I reach the kitchen, I grab her arm, spinning her to me. We clash together, leaving destruction in our wake.
Ivy looks up at me with fire in her eyes. “You’re right. It’s not over because we’ve both been lied to.” She pulls out of my hold and reaches over to the counter, grabbing an envelope and slamming it into my arm. “Read that, and then we’ll talk.”
______________________
My hands tremble as I flip through the papers again and again until the words and pictures of a blonde, curly-haired little girl with a pair of honey eyes blur together, and I can no longer make sense of what I’m seeing.
It’s lies. It has to be lies because if it isn’t—
Looking up across the kitchen, I find the same pair of eyes already staring back at me. The girl in the picture looks so much like Ivy, but I know it’s not because when I look close enough, I can see the pieces of me, too.
“When did you get these?” I ask, holding up the papers.
“A few days ago, but I just opened it today.” Her eyes pierce through me, the weight of their judgment stabbing straight through my chest, and with that one look, I know everything I’ve read is true.
“I—I have a daughter?” I ask.
The thought of everything I’ve missed out on over the years because I didn’t know tears me apart from the inside. I’m no longer numb. I’m angry. It’s an anger so bright that it blinds me, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Except there’s no one to take my anger out on because the man who caused this—who took away my right to be a dad—is dead.
“Yeah,” Ivy whispers. “We do.”
“What’s—” I stop, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “What’s her name?”
Ivy’s lip trembles. “Willow. Her name is Willow.”
The name hits me in the sternum, cracking it in half.
“I don’t understand, Ivy. Help me understand.” I beg, willing to fall to my knees if I need to.
A single tear slips from her eyes, and I follow the path down her cheek, watching until it drips onto her neck. Then I’m up and moving, standing in front of her like a man possessed. I brace both hands on the counter beside her hips, boxing her in. My fingers grip the smooth marble, a lifeline when I know I can’t touch her. Her head tilts back, looking up at me. That one tear turns into a pool of tears that may drown us both.
“They told me she died.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the words are delivered with the force of a nuclear bomb.
Everything freezes. Air whooshes out of me, and I don’t move—not even to breathe. Her words ring in my ears.
They told me she died.
All this time, I thought—I’m ashamed of what I thought.
“What?”
A sob slips past her lips, and I’m not sure how I’m still standing because all my strength has seeped out of me with her confession.
She swallows and looks at something over my shoulder, but I keep my eyes on hers. The spark is gone again, and now I know why. She’s dissociating, hiding from the pain—a tactic I’m all too familiar with.
Lifting one hand, I gently twirl one curl around my finger, just like I used to, and tug on it until her amber eyes look into mine.
“Talk to me, sunshine.”
The nickname slips naturally from my lips, but I wish I could take it back—shove it back in and pretend I didn’t say it—because I haven’t forgotten that ring on her finger. She’s not the sun that brings light to my darkness anymore. She’s someone else’s.
This moment isn’t about that, though. We aren’t those two kids who used to love each other. Instead, we are two parents,grieving the life we lost with our daughter because of someone’s selfish lies.
Her hands come up to my chest, but instead of pulling me closer, she pushes me away. I reluctantly let go of her hair, and when there is space between us, she starts talking.
