My 6-year-old granddaughter phoned me in panic just after midnight. “Mommy says the baby is coming! Help!” I asked, “Where’s daddy?” She answered, “He k!cked mommy’s tummy and left.”…..

She lost a lot of blood, but she’s young and strong. She’ll recover fully with time. And the baby, a boy, born premature at 34 weeks, but his vitals are good. He’ll need to stay in NICU for a while, but I’m cautiously optimistic. Harry felt something tight in his chest finally loosen. Can I see her? She’s asking for you.

Cassidy looked small and pale against the white hospital sheets. Machines beeped softly around her bed, monitoring heartbeat and oxygen levels. Her eyes open when Harry entered the room. Lydia’s hand held firmly in his. Dad. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Right here, sweetheart. Harry pulled a chair close to the bed. How do you feel? Like I got hit by a truck.

She managed a weak smile. The baby, he’s fighting. Doctor says he’s got a good chance. Cassidy closed her eyes for a moment, tears leaking from the corners. I’m sorry, Dad. I should have listened to you about Trent. I should have seen what he was. This isn’t your fault, Harry said firmly. None of it. I let him around Lydia. I let him.