Page 75 of Second Chance Daddy
Islam the office door so hard the hinges scream.
The scotch burns my throat raw as I pour a second glass, then a third, but the fire isn’t enough to drown the fucking betrayal crushing my chest.
What the hell was Cassie thinking? Had she asked, I would have told her she’d never make a good liar.
Three years. Three goddamn years of my daughter’s life—gone. Stolen. Erased like I never had the right to them in the first place.
My daughter.
The words, when I say them out loud, feel like my tongue’s been shot up with horse tranquilizer. That’s how foreign and unfamiliar.
I sit alone in my office, bottle on the table, silence crowding the walls. The house creaks under the weight of the mountain wind, the fire in the hearth hass gone to embers, and I can still hear the way she said it—voice cracking like glass underfoot.
I didn’t know how to protect her and tell the truth at the same time.
And me? I didn’t know how to stay.
I swirl the glass slowly, knowing I made mistakes.
But none as big as what Cassie kept secret. She lied to me. Let me walk through the world not knowing I had created life. That somewhere, a little girl with my eyes was learning to walk, to talk, to exist—without me.
I pour myself some more scotch. Getting drunk’s the only way through this mess, it seems. If there is a way through.
I’ve buried men for lesser sins than keeping a man’s kid from him. But Cass?
She isn’t just some reckless mistake I can right on an impulse of rage. She’s every wrong turn I took, and somehow I still want her like I’m starving.
But the betrayal? It’s wedged under my ribs like a ticking grenade—just waiting for someone to pull the pin.
First steps. Words. Smile. Tears.
All gone. Moments I’ll never get back.
I down the scotch in one burning swallow. My hands are shaking, and I hate it. Hate that I’m losing control, the one thing I was under the illusion I always had.
I close my eyes and see her. Aria. Curled against my chest that morning, tiny and trusting, like she somehow knew all along that blood calls to blood.
And Cassie knew. All this time, she knew.
“Fuck,” I drag a hand down my face.
Cassie’s words echo in my head: “I was scared.”
The scars on her skin. The terror in her eyes every time Gino’s name got close. The way she flinches—small, automatic—like the ghosts of his hands never really left. You don’t learn to react like that unless loving the wrong man damn near buries you.
“You should’ve trusted me,” I had muttered, but even I knew how that sounded. Hollow. Cheap.
The kind of words a hypocrite sells on discount.
Trusted me? The guy who ghosted after sex like it was a professional sport? Twice? Hell, I practically wrote the manual on disappearing.
Maybe I’m the last person she should have trusted.
Maybe it’s time for me to fight for what I want.
I pull out my phone, no longer able to sit with my thoughts.
Action.
