Too Late, My Ex-Wife: Her Regret After Our Daughter's Death

Chapter 6: Not For Her

Nathan's POV:

Four days passed.

Vivienne didn't call.

I didn't call her either. Not once. I stayed in that hospital and gave every part of myself to the one person in my life who had never once made me feel like loving her was a burden.

On the second morning I was dozing in the chair when I heard her.

"Daddy."

I was awake before she finished the word.

"Hey." I pulled the chair closer. "How do you feel?"

She thought about it, eyes still half-closed. "Okay, I think. My chest feels a bit heavy."

"That's normal. The doctor said it would for a while."

She looked at the ceiling a moment. Then, "Daddy, I'm sorry."

"For what."

"For falling down. For making you bring me here again. I know it's expensive, and you already have a lot to worry about."

"Lily." I waited until she looked at me. "You don't apologize for being sick. That's not something you have to be sorry for. Do you understand me."

She nodded slowly. Then she picked at the edge of her blanket, the way she did when she was working up to the real question.

"Is Mommy mad at me?" she said quietly.

"No."

"Because I got sick again."

"She's not mad at you. She could never be mad at you."

"Then why hasn't she come."

I looked at her small face against the pillow. Pale. Waiting.

"She has a lot going on right now," I said. "But she'll be at your birthday. I promise you that."

"Okay." She settled back. "Daddy, can you bring me paper and the good pens. Not the ones from the microwave drawer, those are all dried out. I want to make Mommy a card for her birthday present."

"Her birthday's not for months, Lily."

"I know, but I want to be ready," she said seriously.

I looked at her a moment.

"I'll bring the good pens," I said.

~.~

The doctors said she was stable enough to go home on the fourth day. They were careful about the word stable. They reminded me again about emotional distress. They reminded me about the timeline. I thanked them and packed her things.

On the drive home, Lily watched the streets pass and said, "The hospital smells like the inside of a rubber glove, and I've been thinking about that for four days."

"That's extremely specific."

"I had a lot of time."

She was quiet a moment. Then, "Daddy. Tomorrow's my birthday."

"I know."

"Can we get the pink cake from the bakery on Clement Street. The one with the flowers."

"Already ordered."

She pressed both hands against her cheeks. "You did not."

"I did."

"When."

"Yesterday."

She made a sound between a gasp and a laugh and looked out the window like she'd just received very important news.

I turned onto our street and she had the door open before I'd even cut the engine. She was halfway up the front path when she stopped completely.

I got out. Through the window I could see it. Banners across the doorway. Balloons clustered pink, yellow, and white. Streamers down the hallway.

Her colors. The ones she'd told me about six months ago.

I hadn't ordered balloons.

Lily turned around, mouth open. "Daddy." She grabbed my arm. "Mommy did it. She came home and did it for me." She was already pulling me toward the door. "She remembered my colors."

"Lily, wait."

She had it open already.

I followed her in and looked at the banner across the living room doorway.

Happy Birthday, in large letters. And below it, a name.

Not Lily's.

Before I could say anything, a voice came from the living room.

"Hey. Don't touch that."

Roman's son stood in the doorway holding a remote-control car against his chest, looking at Lily with the authority of a child who'd been told this space belonged to him.

Lily's hand hovered near a balloon cluster. She pulled it back. "I wasn't touching it," she said quietly.

"You were about to."

I stepped forward. Roman came first, unhurried, hands in his pockets. Vivienne behind him.

She saw me and her expression didn't change. "You're back early."

"We were discharged this morning." I looked at the banner, then at her. "What is this, Vivienne."

"I invited Roman and his son to stay a few days."

"His name's on the birthday banner in our house."

"Their apartment's being renovated. And tomorrow happens to be his birthday too. I thought the children could celebrate together."

Roman stepped forward, hands slightly raised. "Nathan, I know how this looks. But it's just a birthday. The kids are the same age. It made sense to combine it. Nobody's trying to take anything from Lily."

I looked at her.

She hadn't moved from the hallway. She was looking at the banner, reading the name on it. I watched her understand. She reached out slowly and straightened the corner where it had come loose, carefully, like it was something precious that belonged to someone else.

Then she put her hands at her sides and said nothing.

"You promised her," I said to Vivienne. "You stood in our kitchen and promised. She's spent four days in a hospital bed holding onto that."

"I'm not breaking the promise. She can still have her birthday. Both children can celebrate together. It's one day, Nathan."

Roman's son had been watching this from the doorway. He crossed his arms. "I don't want to share. It's my birthday. I don't want to share it with her."

"Hey," Roman said mildly. "We talked about this."

The boy's face crumpled, fast, practiced. "You said it would be special," he told Vivienne, voice going wobbly. "You said it'd just be us. I don't have a mummy. I never get anything. You promised you'd be there for me, and now it's all ruined."

The hallway went quiet.

Vivienne's face did the thing it always did around this child.

I watched the decision happen before she'd even finished making it.

"Nathan," she said. "Why don't you take Lily somewhere nice for her birthday. A restaurant. The park. You're good at making things special for her."

I stared at her.

"She's your daughter," I said. "She's sick, she's seven years old, and the only thing she's asked for this whole time is one birthday with her mother. One. That's all she wanted."

Vivienne didn't look at Lily.

"Take her somewhere she'll enjoy," she said. "You can do that."