A Love That Drowned in Silence

After Jessica Morrison hung up on me again, I stopped calling.

Our daughter, Emma Channing, was curled up on the hospital bed in the hallway. She pointed at the payment window across the way and looked up at me.

"Daddy, is that Mommy?"

I looked over and sure enough, there was Jessica, holding her precious son in her arms.

When our eyes met, she froze for a second. Then she set the boy down in Mark's arms, whispered a few instructions, and walked toward me.

The moment she saw our daughter, she let out a little sigh and immediately turned on me.

"Ryan, you know how weak Emma is. You left her out here in the hallway on purpose? Is the hospital out of rooms?"

I bit back a bitter laugh. The anger in my chest was burning hotter by the second.

"Emma has a high fever. I called you dozens of times. Why didn't you pick up? You drained every cent from my paycheck—thousands of dollars. And you really think this is about whether there's a room?"

My voice carried, and people started to stare. Jessica's face went pale, like I'd hit a nerve.

She lowered her voice and warned me, "We're in a hospital. Don't you have any shame?"

Then she knelt down, felt Emma's forehead, and smirked.

"Ryan, if you're going to lie, at least make it believable. She doesn't have a fever.

"I'm very busy. Oliver started coughing again yesterday. I don't have time for your little show."

She pulled a card out of her purse and shoved it into my hand. "There's a thousand dollars on this card. If she's really sick, use it."

The card was cold in my palm. But not as cold as the feeling spreading through my chest.

I gripped it tightly, disgusted by how ridiculous this was. A thousand dollars wouldn't even cover a single month of our daughter's treatment.

The diagnosis report for acute leukemia was still in my pocket. Even if I showed it to Jessica right now, she'd just accuse me of putting on an act.

For five years of marriage, she handed over every paycheck to her ex-husband—and she cleaned out mine too. All for the sake of that "sickly" son of hers.

I looked at Emma, her face sallow and tired, and felt like my heart was being ripped apart.

When I didn't say anything, Jessica frowned. "Kids get sick. She'll be fine in a few days. One grand isn't enough?"

My voice cracked as I asked her, "She's your daughter too.

"You've got a son with asthma. Have you ever once thought about your other child—the one born with chronic health problems?

"I've covered every household expense and every medical bill for Emma for years. And you? What exactly have you contributed to this family? Besides subsidizing your ex-husband and his son? Then why did you bother divorcing him?

"Jessica, Emma is like this because of you. Because of you, goddamn it."

A loud crack echoed through the hallway.

Before I even finished speaking, Jessica slapped me hard across the face.

"Ryan, have you no sense of how a father should act?"

Her voice was so loud that everyone in the corridor started whispering. Emma burst into tears.

The crying clearly irritated Jessica. She jabbed her finger hard into our daughter's head.

"What are you crying about? You're way too young to be this manipulative. Stop faking."

I shoved Jessica away and pulled my sobbing daughter into my arms.

That's when Mark Tatum walked over.

"Hey, Jess, there you are."

His eyes landed on me and Emma, and he looked surprised. "Emma's sick? Why is she in the hallway? Are there no rooms available?"

Mark's presence seemed to calm Jessica down a little. She forced herself to stop glaring at me.

"She's faking it," Jessica said. "Don't worry. How did Oliver's tests go?"

When she heard he was fine, she let out a huge sigh of relief. She tapped Oliver on the nose.

"Let's go home, baby. Mommy's making your favorite steak."

She never looked at me or Emma again.

My cheek throbbed. And watching the three of them walk away, I felt the tears burning in my eyes.