“I am responsible. Although I may not be able to prevent the worst from happening, I am responsible for my attitude toward the inevitable misfortunes that darken life. Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have – life itself.”-Walter Anderson

That fucking bitch.

How dare she dismantle my life with her displaced trust and ridiculous assumptions. And now where was she? Where was she to sort through the mess she had created?

Spencer.

She had never learned.

I shouldn’t blame her. But most nights, as I lay awake clutching my pillow and wishing it was the one thing in the world I had done right, I do. Madeline was everything I couldn’t be, the reflection of the best parts of myself so unbelievable it was as though she took on prism-like perfection and untouchable innocence in the light of my eyes. And to her, I was invincible simply because I was hers. Her naiveté allowed her such an emotional privilege. She had never known loss. She had never known the fear that’s sparked by sudden reality as long as she was under my constant, vigilant gaze. I had sheltered her, yes. But now my gaze only connected with the uniformed men of the local police department, miniature bottles of scotch, and a worn, tear-stained photograph of her.

I blame her. God help me but I can’t help but blame her.

I felt like a failure and a fraud, sitting alone in a youthful, blue room, waiting for mistakes to be realized. Waiting for Madeline to be returned to the moment that was stolen from me and yet etched in my unfortunate memory, illuminated by the liquids I ironically swallowed in order to forget. I waited for something…a moment I was starting to lose hope of ever seeing realized.

How could I have let this happen? How could I have been so blind?

Maybe I’m still blind. Maybe I’ve blinded myself to all the signs. Maybe if I could stop the drinking, stop sleeping just to see visions of her, stop being such an absolute fucking coward, I could chase the clues and arrive at a door with her behind it. Waiting for a father that she saw as perfect. Waiting for the fraud that I had always been, hiding away every part of myself that wasn’t someone worth her adoration.

Ashley and I were never in love. There were no promises. Just casual nights and awkward days for a few easy months. It was supposed to be simple. But everything meant to be simple grows complicated, and soon I was looking at the curved, smooth belly where my daughter was growing in terrified awe. She wanted to keep her. I wanted to be done with the entire situation. I wanted to be done.

I blamed her.

Some things never change.

I prepared myself for her permanence in my life No abortion meant Ashley Davies indefinitely. For a short time, I wrestled with the idea of making our union legit. But that wasn’t what she was after.

There was someone else all along.