Page 21 of Wrong Number, Right Single Dad

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I try again the next day. And the day after that.

Eventually, I get the message:This number is no longer accepting calls or texts from this contact.

She blocked me.

I search for her on the app. Her profile is gone.

“There’s gotta be another way to find her,” I mumble.

I have friends who can pull a criminal background check at the last minute. Surely they can get me in touch with her.

Except, that would be a huge betrayal of her trust.

The ultimate betrayal.

I know the sound she makes when she laughs at one of Hannah’s jokes.

I know how she likes her coffee.

I know what she looks like when she’s trying not to cry.

And I know the way her voice softens when she talks about her mom.

But I don’t know how to find her without being a creep.

How the hell did I let this happen?

I scroll through our old messages. How they start as toe-curling and end up heart-warming during her days of nannying.

No strings.

That was the whole point.

So why does it feel like I cut the most important thread of my life?

And why couldn’t I have realized it before I pushed her away?

Heart aching, I check on a slumbering Hannah. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a book peeking out from under her bed.

I lean down to pick it up. A bright pink folded paper falls out of it.

Frowning, I open it.

OPEN MIC NIGHT – SINGER/SONGWRITERS WELCOME – WEDNESDAY @ 7PM

That’s tonight.

I stare at it. The edges are crumpled like it’s been folded and unfolded a dozen times. Maybe it’s just something Hannah picked up. Maybe it’s nothing.

But maybe it’s something.

Maybe it’s a clue that Delaney left behind.

There’s only one way to find out.

I call the nanny and ask if she can come back.

Then I change my shirt three times before leaving the house.

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