Chapter 3

The call from the hospital came two weeks later. It was a nurse from a Portland hospital.

"Are you Ethan Lester?" she asked, her voice clipped and urgent.

"Yes."

"Your daughter, Molly Anderson, has been in an accident. She was hit by a car. You need to come to the ER immediately."

The world tilted. Despite everything, a raw, paternal instinct surged through me. I dropped my tools, jumped into my truck, and drove the two hours to Portland faster than I ever had before.

I found Molly in a small room in the pediatric emergency ward. Her leg was in a temporary cast, elevated on a pillow. Her face was pale and tear-streaked. A doctor intercepted me at the door.

"She has a severe compound fracture of the tibia," he said, his expression grim. "She's lucky. A few inches higher and it would have shattered her kneecap. A few feet further into the road and... well. She's going to need surgery, pins, and a long recovery." He looked at the clock on the wall. "Her mother isn't here yet?"

"I'm her father," I said, the words feeling foreign.

I walked to her bedside. She was awake, her eyes wide with pain and fear.

"I'm thirsty," she whispered.

I poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the table and helped her drink. She looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time I could remember.

"Dad?"

The word was a quiet, questioning sound. It hit me with a force I didn't expect. For a brief second, the ice around my heart thawed. It was the first time she had ever called me that.

Then the years of being "Ethan" rushed back in. The emotional distance I had fought so hard to create was a shield. I couldn't let her pull me back in. It wouldn't be fair to either of us.

I hardened my expression. "You should memorize your mother's phone number, Molly," I said, my voice colder than I intended. "In an emergency, you need to be able to reach her. And you should call me Ethan. It's what you're used to."

Her face crumpled, the small flicker of connection extinguished.

Just then, Nicole burst into the room. She wasn't wearing hospital-appropriate attire; she was in a cocktail dress, her hair and makeup perfect. She reeked of expensive perfume and wine.

"Oh my god, my baby!" she cried, rushing to the bed. She ignored me completely. "Are you okay? Does it hurt? I brought you your favorite teddy bear and some candy!" She produced a giant gummy snake from her purse, a completely inappropriate gift for a child in shock and on pain medication.

"She needs water, Nicole. Not candy," I said.

Nicole finally acknowledged me, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "I'm her mother, Ethan. I think I know what she needs." She turned back to Molly, fussing over her blanket. She was more concerned with playing the part of the worried mother than the reality of the situation. The doctor had said Molly was wandering near a road. I knew what that meant. Nicole had been distracted, probably on her phone, living her high life.

I looked at the scene, at this woman who was a stranger to her own daughter's needs, and I felt nothing but a vast, empty distance.

"The doctor said she needs surgery," I said, my voice flat. "Her care is your responsibility now."

Nicole looked up, a flicker of panic in her eyes. "Wait, you're not staying?"

"No," I said. "This has nothing to do with me."

I turned and walked out of the room, leaving her to deal with the consequences of her own neglect. I didn't look back.