A Second Chance to Save My Daughter

The bare model unit was nothing but empty bed frames and tattered quilts. A handful of workers sat around a rickety table, drunk and bleary-eyed, playing poker.

"Two of hearts! Warren, your turn. What are you staring at?"

Warren Pendleton blinked slowly, his gaze sliding over the cards without really seeing them. He played a card. "Eight of spades."

"Thanks for that eight of spades! I win!" The man across from him crowed with laughter and slapped the table, scattering the cards. "Pay up, Warren! No welching now!"

Warren had drunk too much. His head throbbed, swollen and heavy, and the world felt wrapped in gauze. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a few crisp bills, tossing them onto the table without a word. How did he lose again? The alcohol made everything distant and slow. He stared at the scattered playing cards, but they refused to come into focus. The last thread of clarity in his mind was fraying fast.

The other workers had been drinking just as hard. Now that they'd won, they saw no point in continuing, especially with Warren looking ready to pass out. They leaned back in their chairs and started talking among themselves.

Their voices were right beside him, loud and rough, but to Warren they seemed to come from somewhere far away. Yet even through the haze, he could hear every word.

"Why doesn't Warren ever find himself a wife? Look at the way he lives."

"You didn't know? Warren's a coward. Drove his wife off years ago. No one's heard from her since. Who knows if she's even alive."

"And the daughter, left behind in the old village. He doesn't even bother with her."

"We make decent money on this site, and Warren sends her just enough to scrape by. He wastes the rest on booze and gambling."

"Tch, you're one to talk. Warren's poker money all ends up in your pocket anyway, you sly bastard."

"All right, enough about him. Bad luck to talk about it. Hey, did you hear? Some kid from Crestview High is threatening to jump into the river."

"Probably just messing around. Kids these days love the drama."

"I don't know, man. Sounded serious to me. Crestview's way across town, but the kid came all the way out here to the bridge by our site."

"That explains why the site's so empty today. Everyone went to watch."

The workers laughed and kept talking, but Warren didn't move. It was as if they weren't talking about him at all. And why shouldn't they? Everything they said was true. He was exactly the kind of man they described, a waste.

Some kid jumping off a bridge? What did that have to do with him? He was already living like mud at the bottom of a ditch, a wasted man whose daughter probably hated him anyway.

Still, through the fog of his thoughts, something stirred. Today was the Harvest Festival, wasn't it? A day for families.

"Molly," he muttered under his breath, staring blankly at the scattered playing cards on the table. "You're so heartless. Our daughter's fifteen now, and you've never even looked back."

Molly Pendleton had been gone for more than ten years. Just like the workers said, no one knew if she was dead or alive. And the daughter she'd left behind, the one who looked just like her, was fifteen today.

At that moment, his battered old flip phone began to vibrate violently on the table, buzzing like an angry wasp. Warren's foggy brain told him to ignore it. But the relentless buzzing sent a spike of unease through his chest.

He struggled upright and grabbed the phone just before the call cut off. The screen displayed a name: Daisy Pendleton.

Why would his daughter be calling him now?

He pressed the phone to his ear. "Daisy, sweetie, what's wrong? Do you need more money? I'll send you some right away."

His words slurred together, clumsy with drink. "It's the Harvest Festival today. I'll buy you something nice, and we can celebrate together tomorrow. Make up for it, okay?"

But the voice that came through the old speaker wasn't his daughter calling him Dad. It was a raw, hoarse sob.

Warren jolted, his drunken haze lifting just enough for panic to creep in. Molly had been strong. Daisy had inherited that strength. She never cried. So why now?

"Daisy? Daisy, why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?"

His tongue felt thick and clumsy, but he shouted into the phone anyway. "Don't cry, baby. Tell me what happened. I'll make it right!"

His heart hammered in his chest. For all these years, he'd ignored her, drowned himself in alcohol and refused to face what he'd done. But she was still his daughter. A child with no mother and no father, who'd suffered in silence for fifteen years without shedding a tear. What could possibly have broken her like this?

Then, through the phone, he heard something else: voices in the background, shouting through the chaos.

"Little girl, come down from there!"

"You're too young for this! Don't jump, please!"

"Did someone call her parents? Where are the lifeguards? Did anyone call the police?"

"Hello, 911? There's a student about to jump into the river! Hurry!"

Warren's blood ran cold. A bridge, Crestview High, and a kid.

The words his coworkers had said came crashing back. Daisy was a student at Crestview High. Could the kid threatening to jump be his daughter?

No, it was impossible. His daughter was strong. She got good grades. She didn't need anyone. She wouldn't do this.

But then Daisy's voice exploded through the phone, raw and broken.

"Dad!"

"Today's Harvest Festival. Do you even remember?"

Her voice cracked, shaking with emotion. "I know you do. Today's supposed to be for family, but I miss Mom so much."

"Why don't you ever come see me, Dad? All the other kids have their parents with them today. When are you and Mom coming back?"

"I miss you both so much. But I don't think I can wait anymore."

"I'm on the bridge closest to you. I'm giving you ten minutes. If you don't come, I'm jumping."

The line stayed open. Her sobs echoed in his ear.

Warren lurched to his feet, shirtless and reeking of alcohol, and bolted for the door. His voice was frantic as he shouted into the phone.

"Daisy, listen to me! Don't do anything stupid! I'm coming right now!"

"Just wait for me, baby. Wait for Dad. I'm coming to get you."

He didn't stop to grab a shirt. Didn't notice the workers staring at him in shock. Didn't care that he'd lost a shoe somewhere in his panic. He dragged his bad leg behind him and ran, limping and stumbling out of the construction site, charging toward the bridge like a man possessed.

The years played back in his mind as he ran, tears streaming down his face.

He'd been the first in his village to go to college. His mother had raised him alone, scraping by for years to afford his tuition. When he graduated, he thought of her, aging and alone, and decided to come home instead of chasing opportunities in the city.

Mabel Pendleton hadn't said a word. She'd simply arranged a marriage. Molly, a girl taken in by distant relatives after being orphaned, quiet and unpolished. A college graduate and an uneducated village girl. It was a mismatch from the start.

After the wedding, Warren barely acknowledged his wife. But then Daisy was born, small and perfect, and something in him thawed. For a while, he thought maybe things could be different.

Then the accident happened.

A car crash that left him with a ruined leg. He lost his job. The medical bills drained what little savings they had. Everything fell apart.