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.
