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“Thank you, Trina,” Miranda said with all the politeness edged with a nine-year-old’s enthusiasm. “My sister didn’t want to do it for me. She’s too busy. She’s always too busy.”
Emily was busy buying companies and firing people, Katrina was aware of that.
“Are you done crying?” Miranda asked, her head slightly tilted to the side, looking so much like her father that Emily’s tears threatened again.
“I’m fine,” Katrina lied again.
It wasn’t Miranda’s fault.
“I guess I’ll see you out there,” Miranda said with a shrug, and she turned and left the washroom as another guest walked in.
“Oh goodness,” the stranger said as she saw Katrina. “I have some tissues. Here.”
“Thank you,” Katrina said, her voice sounding strangled.
She needed to get out of here.
She needed to leave this building and not look back.
She inhaled a shaky breath, praying her tears would wait until this building was in her rearview mirror. The moment she left the washroom, she turned towards the entrance. Her mother could be as angry with her as she wanted; she had to leave.
“There you are!” She heard Miranda exclaim and stood in shock as the little girl hugged her.
She couldn’t hug her back.
She couldn’t bring herself to put her arms around this child, no matter that it wasn’t her fault.
It wasn’t her fault.
And that’s when she saw him.
Standing in the doorway in ripped jeans and a t-shirt, a pained expression on his face as his eyes met hers.
“Lorenzo,” she whispered, and Miranda must have heard him, because she turned from Katrina then to stare at the figure in the doorway.
He merely shook his head and turned from them, pushing his way through the throngs of people, back down the steps into the parking lot.
“Ren, wait!” Katrina tried running after him, but could only walk quickly in her heels. When she reached the doorway, she took her shoes off and began to run, trying to reach him. By this time, he was on his motorcycle, helmet in hand. “Ren, please!”
She didn’t know whether he heard her.
He put his helmet on and tore out of the parking lot, weaving around the cars trying to get in.
“Oh no...oh, no.” She put her shoes back on and fished her keys out of her bag. By this time, the commotion had caused several people to gather.
To stare.
To whisper.
To look at the little girl who had watched her biological father drive away, confusion etched in her features.
“Trina!” Justin was running out the door up to Katrina, whose tears were falling again.
“I have to find him,” she said, her voice wavering. “I have to go.”
“Go.”
“I don’t know where.”
