Page 87 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

My mouth opens and closes once. “He is,” I say. “He’s in the hospital, and he needs help.”

Ivy’s eyes stay locked on mine. “Why do you look like that?” Her voice turns smaller. “Is he going to die?”

The fear in her tone snaps something in my chest, and I pull her tight again. “No,” I say, firmer. “No. He’s hurt, and he’s being taken care of. I just—I think you should know everything.”

Ivy goes very still in my arms, then her head tilts. “Everything,” she repeats.

I take a slow breath and feel the next words line up like a cliff edge. I promised myself I’d tell her carefully, on a day that wasn’t drenched in panic, in a moment where I could be calm and steady and sure.

Life doesn’t care about my preferred timing.

“Ivy,” I say quietly, and she looks up. “Nathan isn’t only pancake man.”

She nods, waiting.

“He’s your dad,” I say, and the words leave my mouth like I’m finally setting down something too heavy to carry alone.

Ivy’s face goes blank for a beat, then her eyes widen until the gray looks almost silver. “My dad,” she repeats, like she’s testing the sound.

“Yes.” My voice steadies as I keep talking. “He didn’t know about you for a long time, and I didn’t tell you sooner because I wanted to keep you safe, and I wanted to make sure I did it right.”

Ivy stares at me, then her gaze darts to the hallway like she expects him to appear. “So he’s real,” she whispers.

My voice feels thin. “He’s real.”

Ivy’s hands press against my shoulders, and she leans back to look at my face properly. “Why wasn’t he here?”

The question lands hard, and I hold her gaze even though it hurts. “I made choices,” I say carefully. “He made choices. Some of them were bad, and some of them were made out of fear. We’re trying to do better now.”

Ivy processes that with a seriousness that makes her look older than six. “But he’s hurt,” she says, and her voice turns urgent. “He needs you.”

“Yes.” I drag a hand through my hair. “And I need to get you to school tomorrow, and I need to figure out who can pick you up, and I need to pack, and I need to⁠—”

Ivy’s eyes narrow slightly. “Mom,” she says, like she’s about to correct me.

I pause.

“It’s Friday,” she patiently reminds me, like she’s teaching me my own schedule. “And the start of our vacation.”

I frown at her, and relief hits so hard I have to press my fingers to my forehead. I’ve been so caught up in my own head that I’ve forgotten her school will be off for about three weeks.

“Oh,” I whisper.

Ivy nods firmly, as if she just solved a puzzle I should’ve been able to solve myself. “So we can go,” she says. “We’re going to save Daddy.”

The word Daddy lands like a punch and a prayer at the same time, and I pull her into my chest again. “We’re going,” I say, and my voice steadies. “We’re going.”

I wipe my face quickly, then I reach for my laptop with hands that still shake. Ivy climbs off my lap and drags her stool over like she’s my assistant, then she sits and watches the screen with fierce concentration.

“We need the soonest flight to Boston,” I say, and I force my fingers to type.

The options load, and the earliest one is ugly, early morning with a layover that makes my patience ache. I take it anyway, then I add two seats and keep moving before my brain can argue.

Ivy points at the screen. “Do we need snacks?” she asks, businesslike.

“Yes,” I reply. “We need snacks. We need chargers. We need clothes for a few days, maybe more.”

Ivy nods like she’s already packing in her mind. “And my bunny,” she adds.