And this was what that promise was worth.
A friend request notification popped up on my phone. No message attached. I recognized the sender from her latest Instagram story.
Fiona.
She'd posted a live photo of herself pouting, pressing a kiss to Reginald's cheek. In the background, clothes were scattered across the floor beside a sheet stained with smudges and water marks. When I tapped the photo, her coy, breathy voice filled my ears.
"Your phone's been ringing nonstop since we started. You're really not going to answer?"
Reginald's voice came through low and husky. "Nothing in the world is more important than you."
My vision went black. I couldn't bear to imagine it—every ring of every call my daughter made had been nothing but background music to their little performance.
Reginald didn't show up until that afternoon, dragging Fiona along with him.
He looked frantic. His voice dripped with guilt.
"How's Moira? This is all my fault. My phone was off last night—I never got the calls."
"You've been up all night. You must be exhausted. Go get some rest. Fiona and I can watch her."
But whether he truly never got those calls or chose to ignore them—I knew the answer better than he did.
My daughter was my bottom line.
I looked at Reginald, and whatever softness he'd managed to coax out of me was gone. Every wall snapped back into place, every thorn pointed outward. My voice came out cold as steel.
"No need. My daughter is mine to take care of."
"We're done."
I've always been a woman of my word.
When I said it was over with Reginald, I meant it. I blocked his number, his social media—every way he had of reaching me.
He resorted to showing up at my cart to buy breakfast burritos just to get a chance to talk.
The morning crowd pressed in on all sides. He opened his mouth, struggled, his face reddening.
"Fiona and I—it's not what you think."
I didn't look up. I finished making his order and held it out to him.
"What does that have to do with me?"
He stood there, frozen, for several seconds.
The color drained from his face, then flooded back in a mottled, livid flush. He never came to the cart again.
Instead, he paraded around campus with Fiona on his arm for all to see.
Everyone said I'd been dumped—that the secondhand goods had finally been thrown away. And because I was a divorced single mother who happened to be pretty, every creep in the area suddenly thought I was fair game.