Page 32 of His Long-Lost Baby

I scoff. “Legally? So if you could get away with not hiring parents, you would. Nice.”

I shake my head and turn for the door, aware that I’ve pissed him off but not giving a rat’s ass.

“It’s why I never had children,” James says quietly. “They get in the way of success.”

I freeze, my hand on the door handle. Red clouds my vision. So that’s why he walked away from Quinn. He didn’t want her to get in the way of his “success.”

“How can you say that?” I spin around to face him. “Children are not obstacles to be removed. They are human beings with their own lives, their own emotions. They are not objects to be discarded when they become inconvenient. God forbid someone had treated you that way as a child.”

Something flashes in his eyes. Hurt.

I pause. Did I imagine it?

A moment later, and his cool facade is back. He raises his eyebrows at me. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well, it sure sounded like it,” I snap. “I have to go take care of my daughter, but you stay here and focus on your precious success.”

I slam the door behind me and storm out of the building. James’s words echo in my head, and I feel a deep anger bubbling up inside of me. How can someone be so callous towards their own child? It’s unconscionable.

But I can’t dwell on it now. I have to focus on getting to Quinn and making sure she’s okay.

I speed through traffic, my mind racing with worry. When I finally arrive at the school, I rush inside and make my way to the nurse’s office.

Quinn is sitting on the bed, her eyes puffy and red from crying. My heart drops at the sight of her. I rush towards her and wrap my arms around her.

“Oh, baby. It’s okay. We’ll get you home and feeling better.” I touch her forehead. She’s burning up.

“Her fever is a hundred and one,” the nurse tells me. “I recommend fluids and rest, along with some medicine to take the fever down.”

I nod. “Thank you. I’ll take care of her from here.”

The nurse hands me a small bottle of medicine and a sheet with instructions before we leave the office. I hold Quinn close to my chest as we make our way to the car, her small body feeling so fragile in my arms.

As I buckle her into her car seat, I can’t help but think about James and his vile attitude towards children. It’s fine to not want kids, but it sounded like James actually hates them.

How can anyone view their own child as an inconvenience? As something that gets in the way of success? It’s unfathomable to me.

I start the car and we begin the drive home. Quinn is quiet in the back seat, her head resting against the window as she dozes.

As we pull into the apartment complex’s parking lot, I feel grateful for the simple things. For the roof over our heads, for the medicine that will help Quinn, for the love that surrounds us. It’s easy to get caught up in the pursuit of success, but at the end of the day, what truly matters is the people we care about.

I carry Quinn inside and tuck her into bed, making sure she’s comfortable. Then I sit beside her, my hand on her forehead, monitoring her temperature.

James might very well fire me for today.

I want to say it was worth it, but was it? I’m doing all of this for Quinn, and every health scare she has terrifies me a little bit more.

As I sit there, watching my daughter sleep, my mind drifts to James again. It’s hard to imagine what could have happened in his life to make him so bitter towards children. Maybe he had a terrible childhood himself. Or maybe he’s just a selfish person who doesn’t care about anyone else’s needs.

Either way, I know that I’ll never be like him. I’ll always put Quinn first, no matter what. And I’ll always cherish the simple things, like holding her hand or reading her a bedtime story, because those are the moments that matter.

James doesn’t know anything about that, and he never will. So while he may have billions of dollars and hundreds of employees at his beck and call, and I live in an apartment and get clothes off the discount rack, at the end of the day I’m the fortunate one.

CHAPTER11

JAMES

Standing at my office window, I stare out at the busy street below. It’s eight thirty, and Billie is half an hour late.

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