My Dad Left Us to Die While Cheating With Mom’s Sister

The year I turned five, Mom took me to catch Dad cheating. When the hotel room door swung open, Dad—Mark—was lying in bed with Mom's adopted sister, Rachel. Mom scooped me up and left. Minutes later, our car lost control at an intersection and was hit by a truck. By the time I woke up, Mom—Lily—was still alive. But her mind would be stuck at four years old forever. Dad quit his job and stayed by her side all day. He brushed her hair, tied her shoes, sat with her by the window while she drew pictures. He held her hand and promised her over and over: "Lily, I'll be with you for the rest of my life." I used to believe him. Until the day I saw the ultrasound photo Rachel had sent to Dad's phone. In the black-and-white image, there was a tiny shadow. I recognized that kind of shadow. Before the accident, Mom had prepared a similar photo. She said it was going to be a surprise for Dad. Soon after, Rachel sent another message. "Mark, I'm pregnant too." "If you don't come be with me, I'm going to jump off the roof with this baby." Dad stared at the screen for a long time. Then he glanced at Mom, who was still drawing, walked over, bent down, and wiped the paint off her face. "Lily, Emmy, you two stay home and be good. If you get hungry, eat the cake on the table." He grabbed his coat and walked out the door. The lock clicked shut from the outside. But what he didn't know was that it would be the last time he ever saw the three of us together. At noon, Mom took me to the kitchen to find the cake. She was wearing her old apron, her hair pulled into two crooked little braids I'd done for her, and she held my hand like a child even smaller than me. "Emmy, Daddy said there's cake on the table." "Yeah, strawberry." I stood on tiptoe and pulled back the white cloth on the dining table. The surface was bare—nothing but a single unwashed glass. Mom stared at the table for a long time, as if she'd suddenly forgotten why she'd come. I tugged her hand. "Mommy, where's the cake?" She blinked. "Daddy said it was here," she whispered. "But it's not." "Then we'll wait for Daddy to come back." She pulled me over to the window, picked up her crayon, and drew a wobbly figure on the paper. "This is Daddy." Then she drew a smaller figure. "This is Emmy." Last, she drew an even tinier round head beside them. "This is your little sister." I froze. "Mommy, little sister is still in your tummy. How can you draw her?" Mom touched her slightly rounded belly and smiled like a four-year-old. "She'll come out." Then she drew a line in each of the little figures' hands. "If we hold hands, nobody gets lost." Dad said Mom couldn't understand anything after the accident. But she knew I got scared, and she knew to draw my unborn sister right there between us. She'd forgotten a lot of things, but she never forgot how to love us. At twelve o'clock, my stomach started growling. Mom jumped to her feet. "Emmy's hungry?" "Yeah." "Daddy said there's cake on the table." It was the third time she'd said it, but her voice wasn't so sure anymore. We searched every inch of the kitchen. The fridge held nothing but a half-empty carton of milk that had gone sour. The cupboard had a few slices of bread so stale the edges were spotted with mold. I picked up Mom's old phone and called Dad. It rang and rang. No one answered. On the third try, someone finally picked up. It was Rachel. "Emmy, stop being difficult." I clutched the phone and asked quietly, "Auntie Rachel, where's Daddy?" "Your father's busy." "There's no cake on the table. He said he left cake for me and Mommy." Rachel let out a laugh. "What game are you two playing now? Mark doesn't even have time to sit down. You think he has time for your little games?" I rushed to explain. "It's not a game. There really isn't any cake." "That's enough. Don't call over something like this." The line went dead. Mom stood beside me, staring straight at me. "Daddy said there was cake." "But Daddy won't answer our calls." She slowly lowered her head and looked at her belly. "Daddy doesn't lie." I didn't argue. Because back then, I didn't believe Daddy would lie either. But there really was no cake on the table. At one in the afternoon, Mom's face started going pale. She gripped the edge of the table and sank into a squat, clutching her stomach. "Emmy," she said softly, "Mommy's tummy hurts." I ran over and wrapped my arms around her. "Should we go to the hospital?" She shook her head. "Daddy said we can't go out. If we just wait, he'll be back soon." I called Dad again. Still no answer. I watched the screen go dark, and for the first time, it occurred to me that maybe Dad really didn't want to pick up.