Chapter 30

Christian

I shuffle through another stack of résumés, the edges of the paper fraying under the stress of my thumb. Addison sits on the floor, her small fingers fumbling with the buttons of a doll’s dress, uninterested in the parade of potential caregivers that has come and gone. Each one leaves with the same polite smile, a facade barely concealing their relief at escaping the scrutiny of a toddler who refuses to be won over.

Miller Crawford leans against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest, watching the latest applicant make an awkward exit. “You know,” he begins, the lawyer’s tone casual but eyes sharp, “it wasn’t Taylor who left Addison on your doorstep. It was her sister.”

I feel a tightening in my chest, the involuntary acknowledgment of a truth I’ve been reluctant to face. Taylor, despite her failings, did care for Addison well before it all fell apart. The silence that follows Miller’s statement is heavy with implication.

“Look,” he continues, shifting into his professional persona. “I’ve been working on the counter proposal to Taylor’s petition, and I think we should consider joint custody.”

“No.” The word echoes through the high-ceilinged room. “Taylor isn’t responsible. She promised her sister a few days, and that turned into weeks. She was using drugs. Her sister couldn’t handle it anymore, and Taylor didn’t even call to check on her own daughter. Not once in four months.” The frustration boils within me. How could anyone claim to love their child and yet walk away so easily?

“I understand,” Miller soothes. “But we have to think about what’s best for Addison in the long term. You need help with her care, and perhaps her mother is the obvious solution.”

I look down at my daughter, whose innocent blue eyes flick up to meet mine. She’s all that matters. And as her father, it’s up to me to protect her, even if it means standing alone against everyone else’s advice.

I carefully balance Addison on my hip as I knock on my father’s door. It’s been two weeks, and I still haven’t found anyone who meets my expectations to care for her. I haven’t worked, and she’s not been her best. She doesn’t like the change in her routine and calls for Hailey regularly.

“Damn it,” Dana’s voice slices through the thick air as soon as we step inside. This is supposed to be family dinner. “You’re such a self-centered asshole! All I asked was for you not to sleep with my best friend. Was that so hard?”

Her words are like whips, lashing out with disappointment and anger. I wince. “Dana, I—”

But she’s relentless, her face flushed with fury. “You took advantage of Hailey when she was vulnerable! And you’re too old for her, you sack of shit. You should know better.”

The rebuke is a gut punch, leaving me momentarily breathless. Addison tugs at my shirt, her small voice chiming in amidst our heated exchange. “He he he he he.” Each syllable is a plea, a call for the one person who isn’t here.

“Your daughter needs you to be better than this,” Dana spits before storming off.

“What the hell happened?” My father’s voice booms from the hallway.

“Dana’s mad about Hailey… But she betrayed us,” I manage, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“Betrayed how?” He steps closer, his gaze searching mine for answers.

“By talking to Taylor, by…” I explain the whole thing—the lawsuit, my reaction, Hailey’s dismissal, and the subsequent chaos. The details feel sordid now, irrelevant in the face of Addison’s incessant calls for he he he he he —a mantra that grows more desperate with each repetition.

“He he he he he,” Addison chants again. The sound is a dagger, a reminder of the gaping hole left behind by Hailey’s absence.

“Addison wants Hailey,” I admit, feeling a twinge of guilt as I speak the truth aloud. “She keeps asking for her.”

“Then maybe you need to think about what that means,” my father says, his voice softening. “You should be sure you’ve assessed the situation the right way. For Addison.”

I nod, swallowing past the lump of uncertainty lodged in my throat. Addison’s persistent calls for the woman who’s no longer here is a clear message. My actions have consequences. But she was going to leave eventually anyway , I reason with myself.

“Hailey betrayed us,” I snap, my grip on Addison tightening ever so slightly. “She told Taylor things she shouldn’t have. Now, I have this giant custody battle, and it’s all her fault.” The words are a shield raised against the doubts creeping into my mind.

“Did Hailey tell you she’d spoken to Taylor?” my father asks.

“Yes, she told me.”

“And was what Taylor quoted her as saying true?” he presses, undeterred by my defensiveness.

“No,” I start, faltering, then admit with a reluctant sigh, “Yes, some of it. Hailey… She took Addison to all her appointments because I have a full-time job.” I look away, unable to hold my father’s gaze.

My father lets out a long breath. “Son, I can’t imagine Hailey would do anything to hurt you or Addison deliberately. Tasha and I could tell she loved Addison.”

I shift uncomfortably, not ready to face that.

“Your mother cut me out of your life, and I left because I thought it was better for you. We can look back at that and decide it was a mistake, but I thought I was helping you at the time. All I wanted was to be a part of your life.” His words are gentle, coaxing me to understand. “Whatever your choice about Hailey, maybe it’s time to reconsider your stance on Taylor. She was a good mother. You’ve said that. And before things got to be too much, she handed Addison over to her sister to protect her.”

I shake my head, even as my resolve begins to crack, my decisions now murky and uncertain. “Hailey was supposed to be on my side, not theirs. Not Taylor’s.” The thought makes my blood boil, but deep down, something else is simmering—fear. Fear that maybe they’re right, that I’ve messed this up, that I’m the one who’s wrong.

Addison nestles against my chest, finally seeming to settle, but then I hear it, a wheeze with each breath she takes, subtle but undeniable.

“Hey, what’s this?” I ask, though I know she can’t answer. I look her over carefully and decide not to take a chance.

I dial Cordelia’s number. The phone rings, and she picks up.

“Christian? What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Addison, she’s…she’s wheezing.” The words tumble out. “I’m at my dad’s house. It just started. I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, bring her in,” she says calmly. “I’ll meet you at the ED. We’ll take a look at her as soon as you arrive.”

“Thank you. We’re on our way.” I end the call and look at Dad. “I need to go.”

He nods. “We’ll be right behind you.”

I grab the diaper bag, check for her favorite blanket, and hustle to the car. Every breath she takes sounds like a ticking clock in my ears. As I secure her in her car seat, I whisper promises I can only hope to keep. “You’re going to be okay, baby girl. Daddy’s got you.”

When we reach the hospital, I dump my car in my reserved parking spot and nearly sprint to the ED. I can’t tell if I’m imagining that her lips are slightly blue. As Cordelia promised, we’re ushered into an examination room as soon as we arrive. I place Addison on the bed, and Cordelia snaps her gloves on and starts listening to Addison’s chest.

“Christian.” Davis greets me as he walks in and then turns his attention to Addison. He works with methodical precision, conducting the echocardiogram. He clicks through images, measurements, and waveforms, each a silent testament to the battle raging within my daughter’s chest.

“Her heart is weakened,” Davis finally says. “The endocarditis from her previous infection… It’s taken a toll. We need to operate to repair the damage.”

My vision tunnels, the words echoing in a void where time slows. Surgery . My mind recoils. I knew this was inevitable, but we were working to get her strong enough. She’s vulnerable on an operating table. I’m supposed to protect her, not throw her into danger. “But is she ready? Will she be strong enough?” I ask.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Davis says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to do the best I can. She’s a fighter. Don’t give up on her.”

“Okay,” I agree. “Do whatever you need to do.”

I step out into the hallway as nurses come in to work with Addison. I lean against the cold wall and slide down to the floor, hands clasped tight. I look up to see concern on my father’s face and soft empathy in my stepmother’s eyes.

“Christian,” my father breathes, offering a hand to help me to my feet.

Dana arrives as I stand to face them.

“They need to do the surgery on Addison’s heart now,” I choke out, my eyes flooding with tears.

Dad’s arms circle me, and I can’t hold back. Tears stream down my face. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. “Addison may be an infant, but we know she’s strong.”

Davis appears with some paperwork for me to sign. “We’re going to take her up to the OR,” he says when I’ve finished. “She’s been sedated, and her numbers are in a good range to do the surgery.” He goes on to tell me what he’s going to do. It’s a little different than working with an adult heart, but I know he’s done this a dozen times this year alone. “The surgery will be a few hours,” he concludes. “Do what you need to do. I can page you when we’re done.”

I nod. “We’ll be in the surgical waiting area.”

I pace the sterile hospital corridor, each step a silent prayer. Then a shadow appears at the periphery of my vision, halting me. There, distancing herself from the cluster of family, stands Hailey.

“Hailey?” I approach, though caution tightens every muscle. “Why are you here?”

She swallows hard. “Dana called me… I had to come. I love Addison.” A pause, heavy with resignation. “Even if…even if I’m not part of her life anymore.”

The words sting, a reminder of the chasm my actions have created. Before I can navigate this fresh wave of guilt, she extends a hand, offering a book bound in soft leather.

“Please, take this,” she urges.

I scan the room, finding my family’s eyes on us, and look back at Hailey. “It’s going to be hours, Hailey. You should go.”

She nods and looks around the room. Dana hardly meets her eyes. I have no doubt Hailey got a similar earful about our relationship. But she doesn’t leave. “I’ll just sit over here,” she says. “I won’t be in the way.”

She takes a seat in the corner, and reluctantly, I look down at the scrapbook. For a brief moment, I contemplate discarding it, but curiosity wins over bitterness.

As I flip through the pages, memories flood in unbidden—images of Addison and me at the aquarium, her tiny hand pressed against the glass, wonder in her eyes; snapshots of VanDusen Gardens filled with vibrant blooms and laughter. Each image is a memento of joy we shared, moments captured through Hailey’s lens, a narrative of a life that once felt whole.

There’s more—candid shots of Addison asleep on my chest, notes scribbled in margins, detailing her first words, her favorite foods, the days spent nestled in the sanctuary of home.

It bowls me over—the care, the love poured into these pages. The scrapbook is a reminder of all that’s precious, all I’ve jeopardized.

“Join us,” I find myself saying to Hailey. “Please.”

She hesitates only for a heartbeat before moving closer. Together, we pore over the scrapbook. Even in the midst of uncertainty, this collection of memories binds us, a reminder of our shared love for Addison. I know I shouldn’t have doubted that.

The moment Taylor walks through the door, I feel a familiar knot of anger in my chest. Like she has any right to be here. She doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t be here, Taylor,” I tell her. “You don’t get to waltz in now, pretending to care.”

She meets my eyes with a smug smile. “Well, the hospital thought differently. They seemed to think a mother should be informed about her daughter’s condition.” She practically spits out the word mother , taunting me.

I grit my teeth. “The hospital shouldn’t have called you. You gave up that right the moment you walked out on Addison and dumped her with Erica.”

Taylor’s smile fades slightly, but there’s still that cold, calculating look in her eyes. “I love my daughter, and I will be in her life. Get used to it.” She steps closer, her voice lowering to a menacing tone. “I’m ready now. And you’re not going to keep me out of her life, no matter how much money you throw at me.”

Her words hang in the air, and my heart goes cold. “You think I’m going to let you pretend to play the role of mother?” I hiss.

Her expression shifts, her eyes narrowing. “You have a nanny raising our daughter. The courts won’t care how long I’ve been gone. They care about biology. And I am her mother.” She crosses her arms. “You don’t get to erase me.”

I feel Hailey step up behind me, but I keep my focus on Taylor, the weight of her threat sinking in. She’s right. She has rights. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up. Not after everything I’ve done to protect Addison.

“This isn’t about you,” I say. “This is about Addison, what’s best for her. And what’s best is for you to stay the hell away.”

Taylor laughs. “You think you know what’s best for her? What’s so scary about me being part of her life? Why can’t you consider that as something good for her? Are you worried I’ll take her from you and move down to LA?”

“Take her to the U.S.?” My heart pounds in my chest. “You’ll never take her.”

“Well, I have every right to be here,” she says.

“Taylor,” Hailey interrupts. “You’re right. And you should be here. Take a seat and get comfortable. It’s going to be a while.”

Taylor wipes a tear from her eye and huffs across the room.

Hailey turns to me.

“She’s not going to take Addison,” I insist.

Hailey nods, her eyes searching mine. “She only wants to be part of Addison’s life. I think she wants what’s best for her too. You just have to work together to agree on what that is.”

“But she left. She just went down to LA for a job.”

“Yes, but she was suffering from postpartum depression. She could have done a lot of things, but she took care of Addison. You hated your father for leaving you for too long. Don’t do the same thing to Taylor your mother did to him.”

I can see the compassion in Hailey’s eyes, the silent strength that’s always characterized her. She’s not perfect, but she’s a fierce advocate for my child. And I realize I’m not perfect either. I can’t cut people out the moment I feel myself losing control. I’ve made a huge mistake, and I’m lucky Hailey’s love for Addison has brought her back here.

I pull her into an embrace, wrapping my arms around her with a need to convey everything I’ve failed to say before. “I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “When I told you to leave, I’d panicked. I was scared, and I lashed out. You deserve more than this, more than just being Addison’s nanny and waiting on me.”

She pulls back slightly, enough for me to see her face, read the emotion there. “Caring for Addison, for you—it was more than a job.”

I nod. “I know that, and I’m so grateful. I want you to be in our lives. I want to do this together.”

She smiles, and when I take her hand, she doesn’t pull it away.

We sit back down together, the seconds stretching into eternities. But Hailey keeps our fingers laced together.

“Hi.” Sometime later, Griffin Martin’s voice cuts through the fog of worry. His arms are laden with bags. “I brought some dinner for everyone.”

I manage a tight smile. “Thanks, Griffin. That’s… Thank you.”

“Of course, man,” he says, setting the food on a nearby table. His gaze meets mine, steady and reassuring. “Davis is the best pediatric cardiologist there is. And Cordelia is right there with him. Addison’s in good hands.”

I know he’s right, but I still worry.

“Your little girl is going to be just fine,” he assures me.

I nod, trying to draw comfort from his words as I take a sandwich. We don’t talk much as we wait.

Kent and Chance, doctor friends from the ED, join us soon after, slipping onto the vinyl seats with quiet solidarity. I’m not used to being on this side of a surgery, and it’s awful. Going forward, I need to be quicker to give families updates on my patients and be more thoughtful in my approach.

As the hours trudge by, even my mother appears. Her eyes are wet, the lines on her face deepening as she approaches. “I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice hoarse with emotion.

“Mom…” It’s all I can muster, the complexities of our relationship dwarfed by the current crisis.

She takes a seat as well, and then finally, Davis emerges. He has the telltale signs of fatigue around his eyes, but his smile… His smile tells me everything before his words do.

“Addison’s going to be fine,” he announces, and the tension breaks.

Relief crashes over me, and I can breathe. Really breathe. “Thank God,” I exhale as my family erupts into cheers and hugs. Amidst the chaos, I look for Hailey, needing her to share this joy. But she’s not beside me.

I scan the room, catching just a glimpse of her slipping out the door, her eyes red-rimmed, her expression unreadable. My heart tugs, but I’m rooted to the spot, surrounded by celebrating loved ones.

“ Where are you going, Hailey ?” I want to call after her, but the words don’t come. Instead, as soon as I have a moment, I pull out my phone.

My hands shake a little as I dial her number. It rings and rings, a sound that grows hollower with each echo. The call diverts to voicemail, and her voice—bright and cheerful—feels like a punch in the gut. “You’ve reached Hailey Spencer. Sorry, I can’t take your call right now…”

“Hailey, it’s me,” I start, but then I hesitate. What do I even say? Please come back? I need you? Instead, I end the call, unable to put into words the turmoil that’s churning inside me.

My thumb hovers over the keypad. I type out a message, delete it, and type another one. They all seem wrong. Finally, a simple text forms beneath my fingers.

Me: Can we meet? There’s so much I need to say.

I hit send, watching as the message hangs in digital space, waiting for the little Delivered to pop up beneath it, but it doesn’t. Seconds stretch into minutes, and the silence from her end is deafening. My chest tightens. She’s always quick to respond, always there when Addison or I need her. The absence of her reply is an ominous void that fills the room.

“Everything okay?” Griffin claps me on the shoulder with brotherly concern.

“Fine,” I lie, slipping my phone into my pocket, trying to ignore the weight of it against my thigh. “Just sending an update out to others.”

As the noise of relief continues to swirl through the surgical waiting room, I’m caught in a stillness, a private purgatory of waiting for a word that doesn’t come.