Tough Tower
Three months after our daughter, Aria Kirk, is born, she ends up in the ICU.
That's when my wife, Leyla Saunders, sends her childhood friend and secretary, Kamryn Benton, to hand me 50 bucks.
She wants me to get rid of our baby, claiming that "a poor man's genes aren't worth passing on".
I tear up the agreement, scoop Aria into my arms, and leave Leyla.
I run into her again five years later.
She's donating 30 million dollars to the municipal children's hospital, while I'm working as a caregiver at the hospital, with Aria by my side.
My baby girl is starving.
The moment she spots half a leftover drumstick on a tray, she reaches for it.
I grab her frail wrist and pull her back. "Aria, what did I tell you? We don't pick up food other people leave behind."
She stares longingly at the chicken. "But it's just on the table. It didn't hit the trash can yet. If you wipe it off, I can still eat it."
My throat tightens, and I feel a heavy weight pressing against my chest.
Just as I'm about to pull out the half-eaten bread from this morning, a familiar voice calls out from behind us, "Jason?"