Last week, I flew overseas for work. On day five, Aurelia called to say she’d driven down to surprise me. I was thrilled, though still abroad. I told her to make herself comfortable.
What I didn’t tell her was that my meetings had ended early.
Aurelia was curled on a thin air mattress in the hallway. Her blanket had slipped, her pregnant belly exposed. Her face was tense, even in sleep.
I dropped my suitcase. “Aurelia?” I whispered.
She stirred, eyes glassy. “Dad?” she croaked, trying to sit up.
“You’re back early,” she said, wiping her cheeks.
“Why are you out here?” I asked. “Where’s your bed?”
She hesitated. “Because of Vionna.”
My stomach twisted.
“She said there were no beds left. She and Sarelle took the rooms. Said the couch was broken. This was the only option.”
She nodded, trusting me. That trust cut deeper than Vionna’s betrayal.
I checked the guest room. Bed untouched. Crib unmoved. Vionna had simply shut the door and lied.
I didn’t wake anyone. Aurelia needed rest more than I needed confrontation. But by dawn, I had a plan.
I drove to a motel, bought a cardboard box from the gift shop, and wrapped it in cheap blue ribbon.
At 8 a.m., I returned. Vionna was in the kitchen, sipping coffee, scrolling her phone. She smiled sweetly. “Back already? Got gifts?”
“Sure did,” I said.
Continue reading…
