I don’t know why I’m trying to justify my behaviour. I’m only digging my hole deeper. Fuck—I know I was wrong.
He throws two fistfuls of letters onto the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me, Jessa?”
What’s left of my heart deflates in my chest as I watch him discard something that means so much. Those letters mean so much to me.
His eyes narrow on my face. “Fuck those letters. You are not the woman I sent those to. I don’t even know who you are.” Every word he says to me is a poisoned arrow through my heart.
“Eli,” I beg, angrily wiping a tear from my cheek. “I promise. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to…” I can’t seem to find the right words. I feel awful. I don’t know how to make this right.
“Trying to what?” he booms.
“I…I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”
He shakes his head, those dark eyes shooting me with utter disappointment. I hate the way he’s looking at me right now.
He grinds his jaw. His arms shake at his sides as rage vibrates through him. “Get out, Jessa. Or whoever the hell you are.”
My breath quickens, out of control. No. No, no, no. "You can’t do this. You have to hear me out." He has to understand where I was coming from. Why I did what I did. “Eli, let me expl—”
“Jessa,” he growls quietly. It’s the calm, hushed tone of a man at the end of his rope. “Take your shit and get out of my house. Get away from my daughter. Get away from me. Now.” Abruptly, he turns to exit the room.
“Eli—I…” When I speak, he pauses in the doorway. “I’m sorry…” The words feel so inadequate, but it’s the truth.
He doesn’t look back. He just thunders out of the room.
Sobs try to crack free of my chest as I gaze at the crumpled mess of letters on the wet floor, ink bleeding through the soggy sheets of paper.
I’ve ruined everything for us.
Left with no other option, I do what he asked me to. Taking only what can fit into my suitcases, I get into my rickety car and drive away…leaving my broken heart on Eli’s bedroom floor.
53 Eli
That deadline I was so hung up on? I missed it by a mile.
That sensitive email about budget cutbacks I tried sending to just Cannon? Yep, I emailed the whole fucking office.
Those out-of-town meetings I’d been considering traveling to? That definitely did not happen.
To say that my work performance has been shit would be the understatement of the year. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Cannon is reviewing our partnership agreement right this minute, looking for a way out.
I want this, I do. Taking back my career is a big part of gaining control over my life. It’s a big part of setting Callie and me on a successful path. But it’s hard to stay focused and committed to a job when the rest of my life is falling apart.
However, I’m a single dad so I can’t afford to sit around and lick my wounds. And I already let one woman’s deceit upend my entire life. I’m not about to make that a trend.
So, I suck it up. Hold my head up like a fucking man. I can handle this on my own.
After firing the nanny, I made a genuine attempt at working from my house. But teleworking didn’t go too well for me thanks to the spotty internet connection on my side of the family property. Every video meeting was a garbled, incoherent mess. I didn’t get anything worthwhile done during that time, except for some lunchtime father-daughter fishing and some unattractive finger painting right before bed.
The truth is I was terrified to ask for help out of fear that someone might try to take my daughter away. Eventually, I caved and hired help. A cranky old bat who answered my Help Wanted ad in the local newspaper.
Anyway, now that I’m finally back working from the office, I spend a good portion of my days checking in on the nanny cams I installed at the house. I guess you could say that after getting screwed over back-to-back by the last two women I relied on, I’m not exactly in a trusting spirit anymore.
The lady seems decent enough, but I’m not crazy about her. She was just the best option we could get on such short notice.
She doesn’t seem crazy about me either. She spends all day watching crime TV shows, and when I get home, she stares at me like she expects to bust me committing some unspeakable act. There’s no telling what rumors she’s heard about Eli Kingston, the black sheep convict son.
When she’s not busy clutching her purse, she lectures me about how I parent my daughter, the cartoons Callie watches, and the untidy outdoor messes she gets into.
Plus, I don’t think Callie likes her much either. Last night when I was tucking her into bed, she told me the old woman smelled bad. Like old potato chips and dead flowers, Callie said.
The thing I’ve come to learn about my daughter in the past weeks? She has one of those mirror personalities. If someone else is happy and laughing, she positively glows. But, if you're being a sourpuss, well, she’s got that figured out too. Now, she barely says a word over dinner. She just sits there pushing her food around her plate or stirring her unwanted cup of milk with her finger. All of my moping around is wearing her down, and I hate it.
I don’t know what the hell to do. I don’t have time to fire the caregiver, start over, and hire someone new. I can’t miss more work, especially when I’m so far behind. But Callie’s my everything, and her happiness and safety rise above any missed
