Twenty-Eight Days Too Late
"I know exactly what you're trying to do. If Ruby were really that sick, you'd have been on your knees begging me by now. The fact that you're this calm tells me everything—you're just trying to scare me."
I slowly lifted my eyes to look at the man standing in front of me. Familiar, and yet utterly foreign.
I had begged him for twenty-eight days. I had dropped to my knees, sobbing until I lost my voice, pleading with him to come back and save our daughter. I had called and texted endlessly, throwing away every shred of my dignity.
And all I ever got in return was a dismissive "just wait a little longer."
Now, he had the nerve to say I'd never begged at all.