VANNESSA

"I heard you got a C on your progress report." My father said to me as I sat at the dining room table in our old house. I was doing my homework when I heard him get home from work about a half-hour ago. Apparently, it didn't take long for word to get around about my poor grade.

I didn't glance up from my papet. I was only thirteen, and because my dad wasn't around often, I didn't want to talk to him. He didn't make time for me, so why should've I made time for him, right?

"You normally make A's. What's wrong, V?" He asked before sitting down right across from me. He moved his hand forward as if he was going to touch my hand, but I shrunk back.

"Why do you care?" I had replied.

I could tell it took my dad by surprise because he didn't respond for a long moment. Then, he cleared his throat and said, "Because I care for you, V. You're my daughter, and a smart daughter at that. Is something going on that's bothering you? Are you being picked on at school? Your mom said something about girls being mean-"

"It's not them." I finally looked into his brown eyes. I could tell just by the emotions filtering through his irises that he had no idea what I was feeling and that what I was feeling was because of him. "Dad, you're never home any more. We used to do things together, but now, you never have time for me."

"I have to work." My father said back, his voice wavering slightly. "I told you this, sweetheart."

"Right." I fired back. I raised a prissy little eyebrow. "Doing what exactly?"

"You know my job is important, and it's important if I keep it a secret." He said to me.

"Okay. Well, if you really wanted to know... those girls were picking on me because they said that they think you're a drug dealer." I had started crying then because I had recalled the mean things they said, and what was even worse was that I couldn't defend my father.

"Well, don't listen to them, honey. You know what kind of person I am, and I would never do something like that. I help people, not provide them with things to harm themselves with." My father's intricate response didn't help ease my mind, so I gathered all my homework papers and slammed my binder closed.

"I'm going to my room, dad. And by the way, I had a good day. Thanks for asking." I walked away then, not looking back. I could feel my dad's eyes on me almost as if they were staring into my soul. But I didn't mind—I knew he wouldn't put in effort to chase after me.

It's almost as if I knew I had to start detaching myself from him. It's almost as if I knew he was going to leave.

And the day he left, I wasn't surprised.

That fateful day, I dropped my book bag off in the foyer of our old house after getting off the bus. The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside the house was the sound of sobs—my mom's sobs.

I had walked straight into her room, and as soon as I saw her, my heart shattered into pieces. She was lying in her bed among masses of blankets and tissues, tears running down her face. Her brown eyes were puffy and tired, her nose runny.

When she saw me, she wiped away her tears and tried to stop crying, but she choked. I frowned at her and said, "Mom, what's wrong?"

I had seen her cry before but not like this. Never like this.

I stayed standing by the door. I was scared, sad, and anticipated the worst before she said, "Your father has left us, Honey."

I sucked in a breath, letting a shaky one out as I glided over to her. I got in bed with her, letting her wrap her arm around me comfortably. I could feel her trembling chest against me.

"He's been gone for a whole week. He's never gone this long." My mom cried, squeezing me gently. "And this morning, I got a letter from him saying that he had to go and that he was sorry."

I closed my eyes and made sure no tears fell from my eyes. There was pain laced in her voice, and my heart burned at the sound of it. "He didn't even have the guts to say bye to your face."

My mom scoffed as tears met my hair. She replied. "I know." Then, she kissed my head. "That's not the first thing you should think, honey."

I remember wanting to cry then, yet I didn't. "Well, I'm thinking that dad is a jerk. Any man who has you and leaves you is a fool."

My mom rubbed my arm sweetly. "Well, it's my fault honey. This is all my fault. I told him to choose between his job or me."

"He chose his job." I completed her thought. "He chose his job over you and over me."

"I'm sorry." She said softly, her tone losing enthusiasm. "I shouldn't have told him to choose. I should've just kept quiet."

"No, mom." I moved a little ways away so that I could look her in her sad eyes. "You're important, and if you are not happy, you have the right to say so."

"Honey..." her tone trailed off as if she didn't know what to think.

"Don't honey me, mom." I lifted a hand and cupped her face. "It's just you and me. The two amigas. I want what's best for you, and you want what's best for me. Right?"

My mom glanced from eye to eye as if one of them was telling a lie. I said, "If what's best for you is expressing your unhappiness to father, then I'm with you. No regrets, ma."

"No regrets." She repeated as I brought her face to mine. Our foreheads rested against each other's, and she said, "How did I get the chance to have such a wonderful daughter?"

"You made me who I am." I told her, trying to cheer her up.

"But, Honey, this is going to be tough." She informed me slowly, gazing softly into my eyes. "I'm going to have to work my ass off, and we're not going to be able to keep this house."

My throat caught. I loved that house so much. Our cat had lived and died there, her little nooks and crannies memorably cute. I remembered all of the wonderful times we had painted our walls and decorated the house. Thanksgivings were full of love and Christmas was beyond joyful. In the last year, nothing was that vivid, and it was because of my father.

I couldn't blame my mother for opening up. I couldn't blame her for wanting to be happy. I couldn't blame her for anything.

For him, it was a different story.

He betrayed me and my mom, especially when I found out the whole reason my mom wanted to be picked over his job was because she was pregnant again.

My mom told me three days after she told me father had left. In those three days, she worked her ass of in trying to find a job, trying to get money right, and trying to take care of me. She had failed miserably, and we basically lived in the dark so that our power bill would be low.

After those exhausting days and when my mother finally found a minimum-wage job, she said I had a baby sibling inside of her.

She glanced at me from where she stood in our fancy kitchen and said, "I meant to tell you earlier, but that day we talked about your father leaving, I felt like too much was going on at once."

I had disagreed with her on that because I believe honesty is the best policy, but I kept my mouth shut and stared at her stomach. "How long have you known?"

"Three weeks." She mumbled before shifting her weight. "I had to make sure it wasn't a false alarm."

"Are you going to tell dad?" I asked quickly, glancing away.

"How?" She started fingering a nearby towel. "I don't even know how to reach him."

"How are we going to afford a baby sister or baby brother?" I had asked her then.

The look my mom gave me was sympathetic. "Oh, you don't need to be worrying about those things."

"Okay..." I said shortly, not knowing how to feel or what to even think. I had never thought I would have a little brother or sister. Never in a million years.

And then? When everything was going to Hell?

I groaned on the inside when I thought about the apartment we were planning on moving into and the way a baby would fit in. If my father and mother were still together, I wouldn't have thought that way. I would've been in my own world doing my own thing, but I had to grow up. I had to grow up real fast to be there for myself and for my mom.

And for that baby.

I sigh and shake the memories from my mind. I need to focus on training today. I am beyond sore as a result from Felix's workout. I can't imagine Drake's will be any easier.

I just got off work and am gladly sliding into the ride my dad set up for me. I get lost in my thoughts as the busy streets of the city pass by.

Today, I worked on 7 patients, including a little girl who needed her kidney removed. I met her before she fell asleep on the anesthesia, and I know for a fact that I will never forget her.

That little girl owned the most precious soul in the world. She had big brown eyes and reminded me of myself, especially when she gazed up at me and said, "You look sad."

I had tilted my head and smiled in response. I was in the middle of putting on my latex gloves while she continued, saying, "It's okay. Everyone gets sad sometimes."

She was nearly out, but I reached over and placed my hand on her shoulder. "Rest now."

Yet, her words stuck in my brain. She was only ten, but she could read me like a book. She must've been a genius because nobody else I worked with noticed the drag in my step or the sag in my smile.

It made me think of all the little things I probably miss daily. Of course my coworkers have bad days, but I've never noticed a single one. I don't know why I ever expected them to notice my bad days in return.

It also made me think of E and his crew. They are probably sad all the time. They're all basically alone while they work. I should probably be nicer to them.

Not like I've been mean or anything...

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when my father opens the car door for me. He stands back and watches as I climb out of the backseat with my duffle bag in hand. I still wear my scrubs, and my father glances down at them, saying, "I hear you're a great doctor."

My insides churn as I sling the bag over my shoulder and shut the car door behind me. I don't look my father in his eyes as we walk toward the entrance of the gym. The gym takes up the basement space of a huge office building, and I bet my father works in one of those little offices on the top floors.

"And I hear you're a great leader. You take care of people when they really need it." I say, staring straight ahead. "But maybe everything we hear through the grape vine isn't true."

My father looks away from my grim expression as we near the front doors. He opens one for me, not hesitating to follow me inside. We walk through a hallway, and when we are mere feet away from stepping into the area where we know Drake is waiting, my dad grabs my arm.

"Honey, look. I really don't like this between us." My father says softly, turning me around to him.

"What? This distance?" I jerk my arm out of his grasp, the action bringing my father to fold his lips into his mouth. His dark skin tightens and worry lines form above his brown eyes. "You created this distance, dad. And once again, I will remind you not to call me honey."

"Okay, I'll take full responsibility for creating this distance. I'm sorry, Vanessa, for making our relationship so complex." He responds, breaking my heart into a million pieces.

"You left me. You left me without saying goodbye." My throat suddenly starts burning as my emotions boil. I comb a few strands of curly brown hair from my face so that I can look my dad straight in the eye. "You never said anything since the day you left. Not a single word. Not a single letter. For all I know, you could've died the day after you left."

My father glances to the floor as a tear slips from his eye. "I know. I should've said something. I-I was too ashamed."

"Too ashamed of what, dad?" I toss my hands in the air, catching a few people's attention who walk by. "Walking away from your family as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do?"

"That's not true." He immediately retaliates as another tear springs from his eye. "It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do."

I nod, but I make sure I display in my expression that I don't believe a single word that comes from his mouth. "And I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to do is forgive you, Dad. But you're not asking for forgiveness. In fact, you're not sorry for the choice you made."

My father closes his eyes as a hot, salty tear finally escapes my eye. I sniffle and wipe it away quickly, hating showing him weakness. "So, I'm sorry if you don't like the distance between us, but it wouldn't be there if it wasn't for your choices. And, don't try to small talk with me like you want to be friends."

"Mom told me to never be friends with someone who betrays their trust." I continue heatedly. "She actually taught me a lot of things in your absence, which is why I am the 'great' doctor I am today."

I pivot on my heel and rush into the nearest women's locker room without glancing back.

I hide in a stall and lock it, letting the tears flow like rain on a stormy night. I try to bottle it up for later when I'm alone, but the sobs escape me as if they've been held in for ages.

I can barely breathe as I weep and strip. I change out of my scrubs and into an outfit made up of leggings and a long sleeved shirt. I angrily shove my extra clothes into my duffle bag and exit the stall.

I make it to the sink and gather up a handful of water. Bending over and trying to stop the tears, I let my face sink into the water in my palms.

When I let the water go, my face drips, and I use my sleeve to dry myself off. That's when I notice that there's a woman standing next to me. I immediately recognize her as the doctor who saved my life after I nearly froze to death.

Her auburn hair is pulled back into pigtails, and her freckles on her face are glittered with sweat. Her gray eyes twinkle as they stare at me. "Vanessa Creech. Didn't think I'd be seeing you again."

I glance away as I begin pulling my curly hair into a bun. "I don't think I ever got your name..."

"Aubrey." Her country accent bounces off the locker room's white walls. Her thin eyebrows draw together. "How have you been feeling lately?"

"Great." I lie with an easy nod. "I'm still sore all over, but I'm fine. I'm a doctor myself, so I can tell if there's something not healing. I'm good, though. Promise."

She stares at me for a moment. "How are you mentally?"

"Splendid." I grin, but out of the corner of my eye I can see in the mirror's reflection that I still have tear stains on my skin. "Aubrey, I have to go. But it was nice talking to you."

I can feel Aubrey's eyes boring into my back as I walk away.

I normally don't lie so much, but I just don't want to talk to her right now. I don't want to talk to anyone at all for the rest of the day. I want to go home and slip into my bed until the covers descend me into my own comforting blankets of darkness.