Chapter 4

ANNA

The moment I step through the door, I spot my little girl in her high chair, happily munching on animal cookies.

“Anna,” Auntie Liz greets me.

Olivia swivels her head toward the door. “Mama,” she beams. I stride over to her and plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Hey, Auntie. Hey, Lovebug.” I slump into a chair, letting my head fall into my hands.

He’s here. Shit. Now that he’s seen me, I know he won’t let me be. He’s after answers. Damn it, James. Why couldn’t you just let me be?

But he still looks so good, his brown hair styled back, a bit longer than I remember. His bright emerald-green eyes still have that piercing quality. I know he knows I lied. Shit.

“Mama,” Olivia pipes up. I lift my head to see those same emerald-green eyes looking at me.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Of course, Lovebug. Mama just has a little headache. But guess what?” Her eyes light up at the question, knowing a surprise is coming. “It’s pasta night, and Uncle Jim said he’ll come too.” Her face lights up. “Uncle Jim?” I nod, and she breaks into a grin. Liz and I can’t help but laugh.

“Pasta?” Liz asks.

“That’s okay, right?”

“Your pasta is the best I’ve ever had, so of course it’s okay.”

I can tell she wants to ask me something, but she holds back.

“Liv, why don’t you go play in the living room?” I suggest.

Olivia nods and raises her arms so I can lift her out of her high chair. As soon as her feet touch the floor, she’s off to the living room.

“Spill it. What’s going on?” Liz asks once Olivia is out of earshot.

“I saw him today,” I confess.

Liz knows who Olivia’s dad is. She’s furious with him for how he left me. But she also understands that the opportunity he had was one he couldn’t pass up.

“Oh, God.” I nod.

“So…,” she starts.

“I couldn’t tell him about Olivia. I just can’t—he’s living his dream. I can’t take that away from him,” I admit. I hate how he left things, but that doesn’t mean I want to ruin his life.

~If one of us gets to live our dream life, I’ll be happy. Hell, I am happy. I love my daughter more than anything.~

Liz shakes her head. “That’s not for you to decide. He deserves to know.”

“Just kill me now, please.”

“Where is he now?”

“At the school, I think.”

“You’ll have to tell him sooner or later. He deserves to know,” she repeats.

I nod. “I know, but he broke my heart. I couldn’t confront him with this today. I told him that I want him to leave me alone,” I confess.

“He needs to know. Olivia deserves a father—do it for her.”

I sigh, defeated, knowing she’s right. But that doesn’t make it any less painful.

“Fine. Next time I see him, I’ll tell him.”

I start dinner while Liz plays with Olivia in the next room. I still have laundry to do, Olivia’s bed to make, and a bath to give her. It’s going to be a long night.

Seven o’clock rolls around quickly, and Uncle Jim walks through the front door.

“Hi, pumpkin!” he calls. Olivia bolts toward the door and practically tackles Jim. Liz and I burst into laughter at the sight of them.

“God, pumpkin. You’re getting strong.”

Olivia nods. “I’m a big girl. I’m this old,” she says, holding up three fingers.

“Hi, Anna, love,” he greets, and he kisses Liz.

“Food’s almost ready,” I inform them.

Uncle Jim takes a seat at the dining table. I hand him a glass of wine, knowing he appreciates one after a long day.

“So I heard about your encounter with James Brown after class. Professor Peterson was shocked.” I sigh.

“Seeing James was tough, Uncle.”

“But why?” he asks, taking a sip of his wine.

“He’s Olivia’s father,” I reveal. Jim almost chokes on his wine and spits it out.

“Jim?” I rush over to him and pat him on the back.

“The CEO of JB is her father?”

I nod. “I didn’t know he was back.”

I sigh, feeling a tear trickle down my cheek. I wipe it away and head back to the kitchen.

“So that’s why you were emotional?”

I nod. “I tried to keep my cool, but it all came flooding back.”

He sighs. “You know he deserves to know, right?”

Yeah. Yeah, I know.

“I’ll tell him when I see him again. God, I wish he’d just stay gone. I don’t want him in my life. I have it good, and he has the dream. That should be enough.”

Uncle Jim shakes his head. “You deserve more than good, honey. You deserve to be comfortable, and not to work so much just to cover the bills.

“And after the hospital, I can only imagine that the bills are piling up.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him.

I know he means well, but I don’t need the help. Yes, the hospital bills are a lot, but that’s why I had money saved. Is it all paid? No. But I’ve made arrangements to pay it off.

“I took care of it, don’t worry,” I tell him with a smile.

“I’m not saying you can’t handle it. I’m just saying you deserve someone who can help take care of you, too.”

I give a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve got you and Auntie. What more do I need?”

I gather everyone at the table and pour us some wine, while Olivia gets her little cup with a straw. I’m not a fan of her having too much sugar, so instead of soda, I give her water with a hint of strawberry syrup.

Before long, dinner wraps up and it’s time for Olivia’s medication. I grab the syringe and draw up the medicine.

“Alright, sweetheart, this is the last one,” I coax her. The medicine isn’t tasty, but she understands it’s necessary.

“Can I have ice cream?” she asks hopefully.

“If you take all your medicine, you get a scoop of strawberry ice cream.”

She eagerly opens her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut. I’d made a promise when she started her medication that if she took it all, she’d get strawberry ice cream as a reward.

She grimaces as she swallows the last dose.

“Good job!” I cheer, raising my hand for a high five. She slaps it with a grin.

“Ice cream time!!”

I stand and retrieve the ice cream. “Anyone else want a scoop?” I ask Jim and Liz, but they decline.

“Alright, Lovebug. Here you go.”

“Thank you,” she replies, digging in immediately.

Olivia’s verbal skills are impressive. Just like her dad, she’s got a way with words. She’s doing well for her age, and spending time with Liz is great for her development.

Sometimes, I take her to the campus daycare. It’s good for her social skills and exposes her to the usual childhood illnesses.

I can’t expect Liz to always be available, and the school is kind enough to offer a discounted rate since I’m a student. They only charge thirty dollars a day.

The daycare is on the opposite side of the campus, so no one has discovered that I have a three-year-old. I’m not embarrassed, but I also don’t feel it’s anyone else’s business.

Liz and Jim head out around eight, after helping me clean up.

“Remember what we talked about.”

I nod in agreement. “I’ll do it.”

“Now, get that little one to bed.”

I nod again and bid them goodbye, closing the door behind them.

Olivia is sprawled on the couch, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. Are you sleepy?” She nods.

“Let’s get you bathed and tucked in.” I scoop her up and head upstairs to the bathroom. I undress her while the bath fills.

“Alright, time to hop in.” I help her into the bath, washing her hair and body before rinsing her off.

“Do you want to play a bit, or are you ready to get out?” I ask, already knowing the answer—she’s exhausted. I think she’s the only three-year-old who willingly admits when she’s tired, which I’m grateful for. No bedtime battles.

“Out, please,” she requests. I lift her out and dry her off.

“Let’s pick out some pajamas.” I present her with two options: ladybug-themed or purple.

“Ladybugs,” she decides, just as I’d predicted. She believes those pajamas were made just for her since I always call her Lovebug and they feature ladybugs arranged in a heart shape.

I help her into her pajamas. “Want me to braid your hair?” I ask.

After bath time, I usually braid her hair. She loves how it gives her curls the next day—just like her mom. She nods, so I sit her between my legs and start braiding.

A few minutes later, I finish the braids—two on each side of her head. I enjoy braiding her hair; it keeps it tidy and out of her beautiful eyes.

“All done,” I announce, tucking her into bed.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too,” she murmurs back, and I switch off the light, leaving her to dream.