Page 71 of Keeping Score

“And would you have those two young ones sleeping on their uncle’s floor half of the week?” He tilted his head at me in question.

“I got air mattresses,” Mr. Reilly’s voice cracked beside me. “We could turn it into a fort. We make them all the time. They’d love it.”

My heart shattered. He wanted this so bad. I had promised, foolishly, that I could make it happen.

Why had I done it? Wishful thinking? Because I thought myself more capable than I had any right to believe I was?

“My decision is final. We will reconvene at a later date. Mr. Reilly will be granted his temporary visitations, but until he has a residency of his own, those children will stay where they are. Court adjourned.”

I lost my breath. My mind scrambled as I thought of what else I could’ve done. A different method. A more impassioned argument. I should’ve played dirtier. Found more against Mrs. Reilly.

But I hadn’t. I had wanted to keep it civil, and some foolish part of me believed that people would see the sense in letting a father be present in his kids’ lives.

Mr. Reilly dropped to the bench, head in hands as he cried. Mrs. Reilly left, a smug look on her lawyer’s face as he led them out of the room.

I didn’t know how I looked exactly, but I knew how I felt.

Like a failure.

Because I had failed.

Failed. Failed. Failed.

Because of me, Mr. Reilly’s children would be wondering why they only saw their father on weekends. Because of me, two children wouldn’t be getting tucked into bed by their daddy. Because of me, a little girl would grow up and not know how to trust in love.

Because of me.

I didn’t know what to do. I felt unraveled. Desperate.

I had failed. I had failed miserably at something I’d let myself want. It was enough to set me over the precarious edge I’d been balancing on.

I needed something real to hold onto. To stabilize me back to reality. I needed answers.

I drove to my father’s house, feeling ashamed even as I sped all the way there.

He had never told me where he lived, and I had never felt comfortable enough to ask, but I’d looked it up in the public records, just to have an idea in my head of the type of place he called home.

I pulled up to the address, not knowing if it was still accurate, or if it ever had been in the first place. But I had to try.

I needed to see him. To ask him the questions that were bubbling over inside of me. The ones I’d kept at bay for so long for the sake of not wanting to disrupt the carefully constructed peace we’d managed to build over the last few years.

I’d been too scared of making a wrong move and losing him again. Afraid that any pushback might result in losing him for good.

But tonight, it didn’t matter.

Tonight, I was ready to know.

“Dad,” I banged my fist against the door, hearing a trace of mania slip into my voice.

I let out a shaky breath, knowing I had to collect myself before he answered. I had to stay calm. He didn’t like emotional women. It was why he and my mother never stood a chance.

“Dad,” I repeated, banging again, this time more collected.

It took a minute, but I heard the footsteps. Heard the sound of the deadbolt unscrewing and then the creak of the door.

“Margaret,” he opened the door just a crack, peering out with suspicious eyes. My eyes. “What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?”

“Can I come in?”