One afternoon I was swamped at the cart and missed the call that school had let out early. It was Reginald who sprinted through the pouring rain, searching more than a dozen streets until he found my lost little girl.
After that, Moira finally let him in.
And now I had to tell her the truth—tell a child who'd only just begun to trust again that none of it was real.
I stumbled back to the apartment in a daze. It was already the dead of night.
My daughter had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for me to come home.
My heart ached so badly it nearly crumbled. I was about to carry her back to her room when I realized her whole body was burning up, her little face flushed scarlet with fever.
I rushed her to the hospital by cab. It wasn't until the next morning that her temperature finally started to come down.
The doctor fixed me with a stern look. "This child had a fever for half the night before you thought to bring her in. A few more hours and she would've been severely dehydrated. Pills wouldn't have fixed that."
Guilt and fear gnawed at me. I hadn't slept all night and didn't dare close my eyes, staying glued to the chair beside her hospital bed.