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Oh my God. Rage fills me. I stand from my kneeling position, eyes blazing. Placing a hand at Ceecee’s shoulder, listening to the saddest cry I have ever heard in my life, I repeat a severe, “What did you say to her?”
The woman stutters, “I-I-I-I…shouldn’t have come here.”
Watching this pitiful excuse for a mother look at her child as though she’s offensive, I whisper, “Then why did you?”
She steps away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.” Without another word, the woman turns her back and walks away, leaving behind a completely devastated child.
Kneeling once more, I wrap my arms around Ceecee and hold her tight as she wails, heartbroken, weeping from pure agony. How could she just walk away? Again? I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel wetness trail down my cheeks. I pull out my phone and text Max.
Me: Come home. Now.
I just hope I can get her home in one piece.
It takes a while to get Ceecee back into the car. She’s quiet. Way too quiet. And I don’t like it. Not that I blame her. The stupid bitch she called Mom really did a number on her. From her brokenhearted rambling, I manage to find out the mother has a new family and doesn’t want Ceecee to be part of it. I tried to ask how she found her, but all she said was something about a box. It was hard to make out.
As soon as we arrive at the house, Max is waiting for us. Looking about as worried as a father should be, he rushes over to the van. “What happened?” Before I can answer, he spots Ceecee’s blotchy, tear-stained face, and without waiting, he grips the sides of the wheelchair and pulls her down to the ground. Kneeling, he brushes a hand over her hair. “Baby girl, what happened?” When she doesn’t answer, he looks back up at me, eyes wild. “What the fuck happened?”
That’s when Ceecee croaks, “She doesn’t want me,” tears trailing her cheeks.
My heart silently breaks. Max looks confused. “Who? Who doesn’t want you, baby?”
Her sad eyes peer into his. “Mom.”
Max stands then, as rigid as a pole. Gritting his teeth, he turns to me and hisses, “What the fuck did you do?” My mouth gapes. Me? “Ceecee, go on into your room for a while, baby. I need to talk to Helena.”
I look down at the pretty little angel, and face void, she does as her father says. As soon as she walks through the front door, he sucker-punches me with words. “Maddy was at the park? That’s who you met?” I nod and open my mouth to speak, but I’m cut off. He booms, “You had no right! You should’ve come to me. I would have never let that bitch near her. How could you go behind my back?”
Shock turns my body rigid. I had expected a thank you for protecting his daughter, not a third degree. “Max, I thought—”
He paces. “No! You didn’t think!” He jabs at his temple, eyes cold and uncharacteristically narrowed. “You didn’t fucking think, Lena.”
I step away, not from fear, but from hurt. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
He forces a venomous laugh. “Oh, you didn’t?” He points towards the house and shouts, “How the fuck do I fix this, Lena? What do I say to her now? ‘Sorry, baby, but surprise! Your mom, the woman who left you before you were a year old, is responsible for your injuries, and she doesn’t give a flying fuck about you’?”
I have never heard Max talk this way. I have never seen Max angry, or talk hatefully, or look at anyone the way he’s looking at me right now. I want to walk away from this, just turn and walk out, but I can’t. If I could only explain it to him, surely he’d understand. “This is all a big mistake.”
His nostrils flare. “No. The only mistake I made was dating you.”
I stumble back, hit by the force of his statement. I blink up at him, stunned at the hurt he’s trying to inflict. Trying and succeeding. His eyes shut tight, his knuckles turning white. His breathing heavies. I know panic when I see it, and Max is overcome right now. I try to reason with him and utter gently, “You don’t understand, Max. It wasn’t like you think.”
All of a sudden, his eyes shoot open, he leans into my face, and he roars, “You are not her mother! You aren’t a parent; you don’t know what it’s like. I will do whatever I need to do to protect her, because I love her. You don’t get to make calls about my daughter. You are not her mother!”
A thick silence cocoons us. We stand in it a long while, trapped before I find my voice. “Thank God for that.”
The look of fury on his face tells me he misunderstands me. I immediately continue. I need to explain, but my voice sounds weak, even to me, “There is no way I could ever be her mom.” I take a step back as my eyes begin to burn. “If I were her mom,” I breathe in a ragged breath, “nothing could keep me from her.”
Max’s face morphs from angry to empty. I take another step back. My voice, quieter than before, says, “If she were mine, I would spend my life protecting her.” Another step back. “I would do anything to see her sweet, crooked smile.” One more step. Tears blur my vision; my voice cracks. “I would die before I hurt her. I would die for her.”
I turn to walk away, but stop mid-step. Not looking back, I utter, “If she were mine, I’d spend my life letting her know how grateful I was for her. She would never b
e forgotten,” I pause a moment, “but you’re right. She’s not mine. I’m not her mother,” my feet carry me away slowly, “but sometimes, I wish I were.”
He doesn’t stop me when I leave. He doesn’t chase me down, or apologize. As I reach the street, I tuck my hands into my pockets and just walk. My heart stutters with the realization that things have changed.
And not all change is good.
***
