I couldn't get the words out.

"Where's Vivien's daddy? Why didn't he come?"

The host leaned down toward the mic and asked.

From below, a child's voice piped up.

"Vivien doesn't have a daddy!"

"Her daddy doesn't want her!"

"Hahaha."

Vivien stood frozen halfway up the steps.

She dropped her head, lips pressed tight.

Her small hand crushed the red tie until it lost its shape.

I saw her shoulders shaking.

I shot to my feet.

A few quick steps and I was on the stage, crouching down, pulling her into my arms.

"Mommy's here."

"Mommy's right here."

Vivien didn't sob, but the tears came down in fat drops, splashing against my arm.

I lifted her up and reached toward the host.

"Give me the microphone."

The host blinked, then handed it over.

I took it.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Vivien's mom."

"Vivien's dad had something come up at work today. He couldn't make it."

"But that's okay. Because I love Vivien more than he does."

I looked down at her and kissed her forehead.

"Sweetheart, will you put the tie on Mommy?"

Vivien stared for a few seconds, then nodded.

With trembling hands, she looped the crumpled paper tie around my neck.

A few parents in the crowd started to clap.

When the performance ended, I led Vivien down off the stage.

My phone buzzed.

I looked down.

Zachary had sent me $5.20.

The note read: Thanks for all your hard work, babe. I'll make it up to you tonight.

It was his hundredth transfer.

Three years. A hundred of them.

Every missed event, every broken promise, every disappearance ended with this same number.

I pressed the screen dark and took my daughter's hand, walking us toward the door.

Vivien tilted her face up, her eyes still red.

"Mommy, is it true that every time that boy cries, Daddy goes and is his daddy?"

My steps stopped.

"So if I stay good and never cry, will I end up without even a pretend daddy someday?"

In that instant, something inside my chest clenched tight.

I crouched down and held her.

"No, baby. That won't happen."

"Starting today, we don't want this pretend daddy anymore."

By the time the event let out, it was pouring outside.

The other parents drifted off in twos and threes under their umbrellas, and the cars in the lot pulled out one after another.

I hadn't brought an umbrella.

Zachary had said he'd drive over and pick us up, so I hadn't bothered.

How laughable.

I stood under the eaves holding Vivien and opened my phone to call an Uber.

In the queue. Estimated wait: twelve minutes.

The rain came down harder, and Vivien burrowed against me and sneezed.

A black sedan turned in through the curtain of rain and rolled to a slow stop at the bottom of the steps.

Zachary rolled down the window and waved at me.

"Hurry, get in. The rain's too heavy."

There was a smile on his face.

Vivien's grip suddenly tightened, her whole body shrinking behind me.

"Mommy, I don't want to get in the car."

Her voice was tiny.

Zachary didn't hear it.

He pushed open the door and came over under his umbrella.

A white paper bag dangled from his hand.

"I brought Vivien a cake. Strawberry, her favorite."

He held the bag out in front of me.

I didn't take it.

I stared at the collar of his coat.

There was a gold sticker stuck to it.

Exactly the same as the one from that amusement park in Dorothy's social media post.

He followed my gaze, glanced down, and peeled the sticker off without a word.

"Jake spiked a high fever today. He was crying and carrying on, insisting I come."

He said it smoothly, not even a flicker in his eyes.

"I was at the hospital all afternoon. Just left."

"The hospital?"

I spoke up.

"Mm."

"Which one? What department did you check in to?"

For half a second, Zachary's expression went stiff.

"The ER. Pediatric ER."

"A kid burning up with a fever, and you take him to an amusement park?"

The smile finally slid off his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I pulled out my phone, brought up the screenshot of Dorothy Henson's post, and held it in front of him.

"See for yourself."

Zachary took the phone, glanced at it, and his throat bobbed.

"June, is all this really necessary?"

"So I watched someone's kid for one afternoon. What's the big deal? That boy doesn't have a father. It's pitiful."

"Your daughter didn't have a father today either."

I said.

"While she was standing on that stage getting laughed at by her whole class for not having a dad, you were buying another kid cotton candy."

His face changed.

"Here we go again, right? You're starting this nonsense again."

"I was just being kind, helping someone out. Can you stop blowing every little thing out of proportion?"

He reached out to scoop up Vivien.

"Come on, Daddy's taking you both home. Don't stand here getting rained on."

Vivien shrieked and locked her arms around my neck.

"No! I'm not going with him!"

Zachary's hand froze in midair.

"Vivien?"

"You're not my daddy! You're the brother's daddy!"

Zachary's face flushed red.

"That's ridiculous! Did your mom teach you to say that?"

"June, don't push it too far."

I stepped back, putting distance between us.

"Zachary."

"Let's get divorced."

"Tomorrow. The county clerk's office."

He went blank.

Standing there in the rain, holding the umbrella, and then he laughed.

"What did you say? Divorce?"

"You want a divorce just because I did somebody a favor?"

"June, do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?"

He took a step forward.

"What are you going to do without me? Raise a kid alone?"

"You don't even have a job."

Headlights flashed twice behind him.

The ride I'd called had arrived.

I didn't say another word.

I turned, pulled open the back door, and climbed in with Vivien in my arms.

"We can go, please."

The car pulled away, and Zachary was still standing where I'd left him.

We were home soon enough.

I carried Vivien up the stairs.

I was reaching for my keys when I noticed the door wasn't locked.

I remembered throwing both deadbolts when I left this morning.

I pushed the door open. The entryway light was on.

Three pairs of unfamiliar shoes sat scattered by the shoe cabinet.

A pair of women's heels, a pair of kids' sneakers, and a pair of fuzzy slippers.

Those fuzzy slippers were mine.

The limited edition I'd bought and never let myself wear.

Every light in the living room was on, and the coffee table was buried under snack wrappers.

Vivien's building blocks were strewn across the floor, the couch cushions dragged down onto the carpet.

The TV was on, playing a cartoon.

Then I saw Dorothy.

She was wearing my silk pajamas, her hair pinned up high, walking out of the kitchen with a plate of sliced fruit.

When she saw me, she blinked.

"Oh, you're back?"

She smiled and set the plate down on the coffee table.

"Traffic was bad, huh? I cut up some fruit for you two. Sit, sit."

What was she doing in my home?

I was about to ask when Vivien suddenly tore free of my hand and rushed inside.

"Mommy!"

I followed where she ran. Dorothy's son, Jake Abbott, had a black marker in his hand and was scribbling all over Vivien's drawing board.

That drawing board was my birthday gift to Vivien.

On it was the family portrait she'd spent a whole month drawing.

Now it was buried under black scribbles.

“No! That's mine!”

Vivien lunged to grab it back.

Jake shoved her away with one hand, and she hit the floor full force.

The back of her head cracked against the corner of the coffee table with a dull thud.

Everything in my head went silent.

Three strides and I had her up off the ground.

No blood at the back of her head, but a swollen lump.

Vivien sobbed from the pain.

Jake still clutched that marker, not a care on his face.

I slapped at his hand and sent the marker flying.

“Ow——”

Jake let out a wail, dropped onto his backside, and started throwing a fit.

Dorothy shot up from the couch and rushed over, scooping Jake into her arms.

“What do you think you're doing?!”

She glared at me.

“A grown adult, hitting a child? Have you got no decency at all?”

I looked at her.

Wearing my pajamas, living in my house, drinking from my cup.

Her son knocked my daughter to the floor, and she was asking me about decency?

“Who let you into my home?”

“Zachary did.”

She smoothed the wrinkles out of her clothes, smug as anything.

“My rental's leaking, and Zachary felt bad for Jake, so he told us to stay here for now.”

I picked up the juice off the coffee table and threw it straight at her.

Dorothy shrieked and jumped up.

“You're insane! June, you're insane!”

“Get out.”

I pointed at the door.

“Take your son and get out. Right now.”

"What gives you the right to throw me out? Zachary said we could live here!"

“This is my house.”

My voice was flat.

“My name is the only one on the deed.”

“Zachary Gilbert has no right to cram anyone in here.”

Dorothy opened her mouth, ready to say more.

The elevator dinged out in the hall.

The door opened.

Zachary stood in the doorway, arms full of bags, soaked through.

He saw Dorothy's face dripping with juice, saw Jake crying on the floor, saw me standing in the middle of the living room.

His first reaction wasn't to ask what had happened.

It was to rush over and put Dorothy behind him.

“June, what did you do?”

There was an accusation in Zachary's voice.

“You're asking me what I did?”

I pointed at the pajamas on Dorothy, pointed at the scribbled-over drawing board on the floor, pointed at the lump on Vivien's head.

“You should be asking what she did.”

Dorothy hid behind him, sniffling and crying.

“Zachary, I just moved in like you told me to, and the second she got home she started swinging.”

“I never laid a finger on you.”

I said.

That was when Jake wrapped his arms around Zachary's leg.

“Daddy! She hit me! It hurts so bad!”