One Missed Call Killed Our Baby

Chapter 2

"Emily, Milo died. I was a wreck, so I asked Andrew to stay with me. Please don't be mad,"

Claire said gently, voice soft, but laced with steel.

God. Gotta hand it to her, she's good. That sweet tone? All an act. Her eyes were daring me to react.

Like she was proudly showing off: Look who's with me now.

"Wow. Lucky you," I said, voice flat, giving her nothing.

"Must be nice, having such a stand-up guy."

Andrew's jaw clenched. "Emily, come on. Claire just lost Milo. Can't you show a little compassion instead of being so passive-aggressive?"

There it was. Sir Andrew, the white knight, riding in for his damsel, and her dog.

I looked at him, stunned by how laughable he'd become. How many versions of this man had I lived with over the years?

Without another word, I walked past them both. No tears. No breakdown. Just calm. For once.

And of course, two steps later, he was at my heels, like some confused mutt.

"This is about me not picking up Matthew, isn't it? You're seriously still mad? God, you're being petty," he muttered.

Right. Classic Andrew logic. He messes up, and I'm the unreasonable one.

"Yup. All my fault, obviously," I said without even looking at him.

He sighed. "Look, Milo's death really messed Claire up. I didn't want her to be alone. Matthew's a good kid, he'll understand. I'll make it up to him."

Make it up to him? If he cared even a little, he'd know what happened by now. But no. Claire comes first.

"Make it up to him?" I laughed bitterly. "Newsflash, you're out of chances."

I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm, his voice suddenly desperate.

"Come on, Em. I'll pick up Matthew every day if that's what you want. Just stop being mad."

Andrew, begging. Now that was new. If only he hadn't broken the one thing I can never get back.

"You wanna be with Claire? Go be with Claire. Sign the divorce papers and quit wasting my time," I said, yanking my arm free and walking away without a second look.

As I walked off, I felt his eyes burning into my back.

Then I heard it. That voice. So casual. So infuriating.

"Tricia, get me the best toy you can find. Something flashy, like a Transformer. Send it to my son, maybe it'll help calm his mom down."

And just like that, he proved it again: Andrew thinks everything can be fixed with a receipt.

How utterly delusional.