Page 18 of Written with Regret (The Regret Duet 1)
I hadn’t thought about Hadley much over the years. Not surprisingly, the cops had never found her, and if I was being honest, I didn’t care if they ever did. The fiery hate I had for that woman was only tolerable because of the way I loved our daughter. No. Strike that. My daughter. Hadley didn’t factor into any of that.
When Rosalee was three, she’d asked if Alejandra was her mommy after watching some silly cartoon on her iPad. It had broken my fucking heart, because not only did she not have a mother, I didn’t even have an explanation for why.
The truth—Your mommy was a selfish bitch who didn’t care about anyone but herself so she abandoned you and never looked back—seemed a tad harsh for a child. So I went with a slightly gentler approach and told her, “Well, there are all kind of families in the world. Some kids have two daddies, some have two mommies, and some have a mommy and a daddy, but the extra special ones? They just have a daddy who loves them double as much.”
Alejandra had given me a disappointed scowl, which I’d strategically avoided by tickling Rosalee into exhaustion.
No. It wasn’t my finest parenting moment. One day, she’d realize that I lied and I’d have to find a way to tell her the truth. But that day could wait. Hopefully forever.
I cleared my throat and removed the necklace from the box. “No, this isn’t my mom’s. That one was lost a long time ago. I had this one made just for you. It’s identical to hers though.” I draped it around her neck, clasping it with bumbling thumbs.
“It’s so pretty,” she whispered, toying with the heart.
Dodging the crown, I kissed the side of her head. “Just like my Rosie Posie.” I walked back around to my seat. “Now, am I forgiven for being late?”
She aimed a bright, white smile my way. “Maybe. Did you remember to get the pony?”
I tipped my head to the side. “I was supposed to get a pony?”
Panic contorted her round face, which was more little girl than baby now. “Yes! You promised you’d get one for my party. I told Molly and everything.”
I abandoned the joke when her eyes started to fill with tears. “Hey, hey, hey. Relax. Of course I got the pony. She’ll be here at two, so you’ll have her to yourself for a whole hour before your friends get here.” I scooted my chair around to sit beside her and placed a donut on her plate. “Stop stressing. Okay? The party is going to be great. Molly, Ava, and Paisley are coming. Plus about fifteen other kids from your gymnastics and dance classes. We’ve got plenty of food and flowers on their way. And before you even ask, yes, you can decorate the door.”
“Did you remember the goodie bags?”
I gave her hand a squeeze. “Your faith in me is insulting. Of course I remembered the goodie bags. I personally filled them with cigars and whiskey.”
“What!”
“I’m joking. Every bag got two glow-in-the-dark bracelets, a pack of scented markers, one lip gloss, and enough candy to ensure no parent will ever allow their child to come back to our house again.”
She smiled, which made my mouth stretch too. I’d do anything for that smile—this included spending my Friday night filling two-dozen glittery, pink bags with over a hundred dollars’ worth of junk that would all be in the trash can by the end of the weekend.
“Did you get the unicorn cake?” she asked.
“Not yet. I’m supposed to pick it up at noon. I have a few more errands to run too, like picking up the balloons and ice. I texted uncle Ian though, and he’s going to come over and help you and Ale decorate. Okay?”
“Okay, but if he tries to bring Star Wars stuff, I’m not inviting him to my next party.”
I laughed. “Fair enough. I’ll be sure to warn him. Now, what do you say we stop worrying about the party and just eat our breakfast? It’s Rosie Posie Day. And on Rosie Posie Day—”
“We eat sweets,” she finished for me.
“All day long.”
She giggled, and instead of tearing into her donut, she climbed into my lap, sliding her plate over next to mine.
When she was younger, she’d insisted on sitting in my lap at every meal. Alejandra had told me that it was a bad habit to form. I didn’t mind though. I loved being close to her just as much as she loved being close to me. Over the last six months, she’d been doing it less and less, opting for her own chair at the table rather than my thigh. It was bittersweet. I missed my baby girl who needed me for everything, but I was so damn proud to see her growing up and embracing her independence.
