Chapter 5
I let Noah sleep on the couch that night.
Gave him an old blanket and a pillow that had seen better days.
Madison took Lila into her room.
I lay in my own bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
The video was everywhere now.
I checked my phone every five minutes.
Five million views.
Six million.
Seven.
News outlets were picking it up.
*Teen Mom Graduates With Newborn, Viral Speech Stuns Nation.*
*“I Am Just Like My Mother”: The Graduation Speech Heard Round the World.*
*Lincoln High Graduate Challenges Stigma With Baby In Arms.*
My own phone was blowing up.
Texts from people I hadn't spoken to in years.
Coworkers from the diner.
Neighbors.
Even my older sister, Linda, who hadn't called me since Madison's fifth birthday party.
*Saw the video. So proud of you both. Call me.*
I stared at her name.
Linda was four years older than me.
Married to a dentist.
Two perfect kids.
Perfect house in the suburbs.
Perfect life.
She'd made it very clear eighteen years ago that I'd ruined everything.
That I'd shamed the family.
That I was on my own.
I didn't call her.
Not yet.
I rolled over and checked the time.
2:47 a.m.
I was about to put the phone down when a new notification popped up.
A Facebook friend request.
From Brandon.
Brandon Hayes.
Madison's father.
The man who'd left me with a text message and nothing else.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
My heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted to escape.
I hadn't seen or heard from him in eighteen years.
Not a birthday card.
Not a Christmas gift.
Not a single dollar of child support.
Nothing.
He was a ghost.
A story I told Madison when she asked about her dad.
*He was young. He was scared. He made a choice.*
That was all I'd ever said.
I'd never told her how much he'd hurt me.
I'd never told her about the nights I cried into my pillow while she slept in the crib beside me.
I'd never told her about the eviction notices or the food banks or the times I'd walked to work in the snow because I couldn't afford bus fare.
I'd just told her he was scared.
Because the alternative—telling her he simply didn't care enough to stay—would have broken her.
And now here he was.
Requesting to be my friend on Facebook.
Because of a video.
Because Madison was famous for five minutes.
Because his daughter had done something extraordinary, and suddenly, he wanted to be part of it.
I didn't accept the request.
I locked my phone.
Put it face-down on the nightstand.
And I cried.
Quietly, so no one would hear.
Eighteen years of anger and grief and loneliness all bubbling up at once.
I'd done it.
I'd raised her.
Alone.
Against every odd.
And now that she was something the world wanted to celebrate...
Everyone wanted a piece of her.
Everyone wanted to be her family.
Everyone except the people who'd actually been there when it mattered.
I fell asleep sometime after four.
Woke up at seven to the smell of coffee.
Noah was in the kitchen, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, hovering over our ancient coffee maker like it might bite him.
“Sorry,” he said when he saw me. “I couldn't sleep. Found the coffee. Hope that's okay.”
“Coffee is always okay.”
I poured myself a mug.
Black.
Bitter.
Just how I liked it.
“Madison still sleeping?”
Noah nodded. “Lila woke up around five. I changed her. Gave her a bottle. Let Madison rest. She hasn't slept through the night since... well, since Lila was born.”
I studied him over the rim of my mug.
Grease under the nails.
Dark circles under the eyes.
A scraped knuckle from punching the wall.
But he'd gotten up with the baby.
Made coffee.
Without being asked.
Brandon had never once gotten up with Madison.
Not in the six months he'd been around before he left.
“Thank you,” I said.
He blinked.
“For what?”
“For getting up with her. For letting Madison sleep. For... being here.”
He looked down at his feet.
“It's the least I can do. I should have been doing it for weeks already.”
Before I could answer, there was a loud, insistent knock on the door.
Three sharp raps.
Noah and I exchanged a look.
We weren't expecting anyone.
I walked to the door and peered through the peephole.
A man stood on our welcome mat.
Late thirties.
Dark hair starting to gray at the temples.
Wearing a button-up shirt and nice jeans.
Holding a phone in one hand.
I would have known him anywhere.
Even after eighteen years.
Even if he'd gained twenty pounds and lost most of his hair.
Brandon.
My blood turned to ice.
“Rebecca?” His voice came through the door. “I know you're in there. I saw the car in the parking lot. We need to talk.”
I gripped the doorknob.
Every instinct screamed at me to lock it.
To pretend I wasn't home.
To call the police.
But then I heard Madison's bedroom door open.
She padded down the hallway, Lila in her arms, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Who is it, Mom?”
I couldn't lie to her.
Not about this.
Not anymore.
I took a deep breath.
Unlocked the door.
Pulled it open.
Brandon stood there.
He smiled when he saw me.
A practiced, charming smile that used to make my knees weak.
Now it just made me sick.
“Rebecca. You look... exactly the same.”
His eyes drifted past me.
To Madison.
To the baby in her arms.
And his smile faltered.
Just a little.
“Madison,” he said. His voice cracked. “Wow. You're... you're beautiful. Just like your mom.”
Madison froze.
She looked from him to me.
Confusion written all over her face.
“Mom? Who is this?”
I stepped aside.
Let him see her fully.
Let her see him.
May you like
And I said the words I'd been dreading for eighteen years.
“Madison... this is Brandon. Your father.”
