“He’s the only dad who ever stayed.”
I sat down on the kitchen floor. Didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Because she was seven years old and she’d already figured out what I’d been pretending wasn’t true.
I hadn’t stayed. Not really.
After the divorce I got Lily every other weekend. That was the deal. And for the first year I kept it. Every other Friday I’d pick her up. Take her for pizza. Watch a movie. Drop her off Sunday night.
Then I started missing Fridays. Work got busy. Overtime paid better. I told myself I’d make it up next time. Then next time became next month. Then next month became whenever I got around to it.
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