My Ex-Husband Took Our Daughter on “Father-Daughter” Weekends, but What Fell from Her Backpack One Day Made Me Follow Them

I Followed Them

I waited two minutes after they drove off.

Just enough time to not be obvious.

Then I grabbed my keys and got in my car.

I told myself I was being paranoid.

I told myself I’d follow for five minutes, confirm it was some normal weekend activity, and turn back.

I lasted twelve.

Because James didn’t head toward his apartment.

He didn’t head toward the park or the zoo or the pancake place he kept bragging about.

He drove toward the hospital.

The same hospital system printed on the badge.

I felt my stomach drop in a slow, sickening wave.

He parked in the visitor lot.

Lily hopped out, holding his hand, cheerful and trusting.

James looked around before they walked in.

Not casually.

Like a man checking whether he was being watched.

That detail sealed it.

This wasn’t innocent.

I sat in my car with my hands clenched around the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

Then I did the one thing I was terrified to do.

I got out and followed them inside.

I stayed far enough back to look like just another person in a hallway.

A woman with a coat and a neutral face.

A woman trying not to panic.

James tapped his phone at the entrance kiosk.

A badge printed.

He clipped it to Lily’s jacket like it was no big deal.

Then they walked toward elevators marked with one word that made my throat close:

Oncology.

I didn’t think. I moved.

I got into the elevator behind them, turned slightly away, and prayed he wouldn’t look back.

He didn’t.

Because he was holding Lily’s hand too tightly.

And staring at the floor like he was walking into a confession.

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