Page 65 of Sins of the Father

“You can stay in bed,” he repeats.

“I’ll go, too.”

“All right.” He puts on a pair of shorts, and we go down the hall and into Hope’s room.

“Hey, sweet girl,” I softly coo.

Big tears drip down her face, and she continues to scream.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetie,” Steven whispers.

I pick her up and hold her tight.

“Maaaaa,” she belts out.

“Shh.” I try to calm her while sliding my finger under her diaper to check it. “She’s wet.”

Steven grabs a diaper and wipes, and I put her down on the changing table.

When she’s clean and dry, I pick her up and sit down on the rocking chair. She slowly stops crying and snuggles into the curve of my neck. “You can go to bed. You have to work tomorrow. She should be asleep soon,” I whisper.

He hesitates.

“Go.” I playfully kick his shin.

He bends down and kisses both of us then leaves.

Within fifteen minutes, Hope is back asleep. I put her back in the crib then rejoin Steven in bed.

“She asleep?”

“Yep.” I remove my robe and crawl under the sheets.

He scoops me into his arms. “You’d be a good mom.”

My heart breaks a little. I’m already thirty-five and don’t know if I ever will be. I thought Ian and I would have kids, but he always had an excuse for why we shouldn’t start a family.

“Thanks,” I quietly reply and avoid looking at him. “You’d make a good dad.”

He doesn’t respond, only strokes my hip.

“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”

“I get there around six thirty.”

“In the morning?” I screech.

He chuckles. “Yep.”

“Are you done working at three?”

“Nope. I leave around seven.”

“Every day?”

“Yep. I’m going to be backlogged, too, since I took the weekend off.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised. I worked eighty-hour weeks for my law firm, but I didn’t get to the office until eight and left at six. Weekends were expected, too, along with work at home after dinner for several hours a night. Still, I say, “Who created those horrible hours?”

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