Page 7 of His Surrender

I pick up the phone and walk into my office, leaving the door open so I can hear Liana if she wakes.

My thumb hovers over my dad’s number. If Mom were alive, she’d probably be my first call. Without another thought, I press Call.

“Hello, son,” my dad says after the second ring. “You’re calling early this weekend.”

“Yeah.”

A brief pause settles between us.

“Is everything all right?” he asks. “Are you working?”

I let out a quiet laugh. “For once, no.”

“Well, now I’m really concerned.”

I pace up and down my study with my hand squeezed into a tight fist at my side as I look out at the rising sun over Manhattan. A week ago, this view made me feel invincible.

Now all it does is remind me of how alone I am.

“Dad …” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “I, uh, need to tell you something.”

His tone immediately changes. “What’s wrong?”

I try to take a deep breath, but it gets stuck. I just need to say it.

“I have a daughter.”

Silence stretches for long enough that I pull the phone from my ear to see if we lost connection, but he’s still there. I put the phone back to my ear.

He finally responds. “You … what?”

“I have a two-month-old daughter.”

There’s another long pause before he speaks. “I’m going to need you to explain that one.”

I run a hand through my hair. “I only found out last Friday.”

“You only …” His voice trails off. “Start from the beginning.”

I swallow hard. “The mother and I … we weren’t in a relationship. We saw each other a couple of times a year ago. She never told me she was pregnant.”

“So, she just showed up at your door with your daughter?”

“She passed away. Overdose. Child Protective Services contacted me because I was on the birth certificate.”

His sharp intake of breath tells me he understands the rest without me having to spell it out. I’m doing this on my own.

“So, she’s with you now?”

I nod my head, though I know he can’t see me. “She’s been with me for a week.”

“A week?” he repeats, disbelief clear in his voice. “Dean, why am I just hearing about this now?”

“I didn’t know what to say. I thought I could figure things out first before I told anybody,” I admit, feeling foolish now for thinking I was capable of doing this alone.

“So, you haven’t been to work all week?”

“No, I have a temporary daytime nanny. She comes Monday to Friday for eight hours. But next week is her last week. She has to go to a family she already committed to. And every agency I’ve contacted in the city said there’s a wait list.”