Page 5 of Fighting Chance

She clears her throat. “Natasha Callaghan was found in her bed after an overdose.”

My brows skyrocket in surprise.

An overdose.

I know I’ve had a fair share of women in my life, but I would have never affiliated myself with someone doing drugs.

“Was it a suicide?”

“Heroin.”

The wind is knocked from my lungs, taking me deeper into the chair as I fall backwards. Surprisingly, the matron isn’t reveling in my reaction any longer.

My tongue has a mind of its own as I ask, “You said her name was Emmy, right?”

The matron dips her head.

Emmy.

My daughter’s name is Emmy.

Was she with her mother?

Has she been exposed to heroin?

How long was her mother on drugs?

How neglected was Emmy?

Swallowing thickly, I tell myself to get a grip.Get all the information you need right now and then you can process and break down and allow yourself to feel when you’re alone.I sure don’t want to cry in front of this abusive piece of shit.

“How old is Emmy?”

I don’t even remember a woman by the name Natasha, but I have to admit, I never try to remember the names of the women Isleep with. The further away they are from me emotionally, the better. There’s no point memorizing someone’s name when I have a one-night-only rule, but I’ve never given them the impression they couldn’t tell me about a child though…right?

“Emmy turned three in February.” She purses her lips. “You should also be made aware that she seems to have delayed speech for her age.”

My brows lower, a frown creasing my skin. “What do you mean?”

“She hasn’t said a single word since she’s been with us.”

My head rears back. “She hasn’t spoken? Is it the trauma?”Oh my fucking god.“Please tell me they didn’t find her mother with her there in the home.”

“Emmy was present, yes. She was found in the bed beside Natasha, presumed to be alone for four days.” She sighs before taking off her glasses. “It’s a miracle she’s alive. I was informed she was living off?—”

“Cereal,” I finish for her, sounding like a shell of myself.

She cocks her head. “Yes…how did you know?”

I shrug off her comment. “Just a hunch.” I’m not telling this woman shit.

“Well then. Do you wish to claim her, or should she remain in our care? If you’d like to relinquish parental rights, I can have the documents drawn up in?—”

“I’m taking her,” I’m quick to blurt.

There is not a single ounce of me that will ever allow a child of mine to go through what I did. She’s almost the same age as when I was brought here, I was four turning five.

“I’ll sign whatever you need for me to make that happen, but I’m taking her today. She’s not spending another minute here.”