Page 183 of Ice Me Out

“You abandoned us! You had three fucking chances to get it right. Three. And now you’re sitting here telling me you’re gonna be a better father because you’ve got a baby girl on the way?”

“I can’t change the past, Son.”

“Oh, this is un-fucking-believable,” I muttered, finally standing from the bed. My legs felt like jelly, and for a second, I considered sitting back down, but I didn’t. I had to get the hell out of here before I lost what was left of my mind.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“But you knew you would. You didn’t come here to make things right with me. You came here because you’ve got another kid on the way, and suddenly you feel guilty about the ones you already fucked up.”

“That isn’t fair, Hart.”

“What is fair when dealing with you?”

He looked up at me with sorrowful eyes that didn’t move me. If anything, it made me angrier, because in that moment, I realized the best thing he could’ve ever done for me was leave. That was mercy—he saved me from himself. And I spent all these fucking years bitter and angry, and wanting him to get his shit together when I had loving and adoring adoptive parents. I had the Youngs, and they were the best thing that could’ve happened to me given the circumstances.

“I’m trying, Hart,” he said, his voice cracking.

I shook my head. “Stop trying with me—try with your daughter.”

The words came out harsher than I’d intended, but I didn’t take them back. “Be there for your little girl. Take good care of her, and don’t make her spend her childhood wondering why her dad doesn’t love her.”

Tears spilled from his eyes as I held mine at bay. I checked my watch.

“Your five minutes are up,” I announced, heading toward the door.

“Hart, wait,” he said, catching up with me.

“What?”

“There’s one more thing.”

“I don’t think I can take much more of you.”

He pulled out an envelope from his back pocket, and for one irrational second, I thought he was about to show me an ultrasound and get cussed out.

“Your mama wanted you to have this.”

My heart thundered in my chest when I saw my name written in my mother’s handwriting on the envelope that had yellowed with age.

“W-where did you get that?”

He avoided eye contact, which only deepened the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“She wrote it before she passed.”

I swallowed hard. “You mean she wrote it before she blew her brains out because of you.”

He drew in a sharp breath and held out the envelope. The edges were worn, but I was surprised that the flap was still sealed.

“How long have you had this?”

He didn’t answer, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest.

“You… you’ve had a letter from my mom all these years?”

“Hart, I can explain.”

I shook my head while tears fell down my cheeks. “Dad… I’m over your explanations. Whatever your reasoning? Keep it. I’m through.”