I put my coffee down.
Iris waited.
I knew what she was asking.
She didn't want another half-truth.
She wanted to understand why I had been so determined to keep her father away.
I had already told her about the arguments.
I had explained the letters.
But I hadn't told her what happened during the final months of our relationship.
"I need you to understand something," I began.
"I was not always fair to him."
Iris looked up.
"What do you mean?"
I folded my hands on the table.
"When I became pregnant, I was frightened. I felt like my whole future had changed overnight."
She listened.
"Your father wanted to make plans. He wanted us to talk about living arrangements and how we would raise you."
"That sounds normal."
"It was."
I nodded.
"But I was angry because I felt he hadn't been there enough."
Iris looked at the paper.
"Was he working?"
"Yes. He was trying to save money."
I remembered the small apartment where we had lived.
The kitchen window never closed properly.
The heating made a strange noise.
We had a secondhand table and two chairs that didn't match.
We were young.
We had dreams.
But we also had problems neither of us knew how to solve.
I told Iris that I had wanted him to spend more time with me.
He wanted to prepare for the baby.
We argued about money.
We argued about his family.
We argued about things that probably seemed small to other people.
But when you are young and frightened, small problems can become enormous.
"Did he ever hurt you?"
Iris asked.
I looked at her.
"No. He never physically hurt me."
She seemed relieved.
"But we said things we shouldn't have said."
I told her about the final argument.
It had happened shortly before she was born.
He had suggested that we should try to live together after the baby arrived.
I had refused.
I told him I could raise the child alone.
He asked whether I really believed that was what was best.
I told him he had no right to question me.
Then I asked him to leave.
Iris listened quietly.
"Did he leave that day?"
"Yes."
"And you never called him?"
"No."
I looked at my daughter.
"I thought he would come back and apologize."
"Did he?"
"He wrote instead."
She looked down at the letters.
I continued.
"I was so angry that I didn't want to read anything he sent."
"But you did read them."
I nodded.
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you answer?"
I struggled to find the words.
"Because every letter reminded me that I had a choice to make."
Iris looked confused.
"What choice?"
"Whether to let him be part of your life."
She waited.
"And I wasn't ready to share that responsibility with him."
I knew how selfish that sounded.
It was selfish.
I had wanted to be the one who decided everything.
I had wanted control.
And I had convinced myself that control was the same as safety.
Iris looked at me for a long time.
"Did you ever think about what I might want?"
I felt tears forming.
"Not enough."
She looked away.
I let the silence remain.
Then she asked about the photograph.
"Why did you keep it?"
I looked toward the living room.
"I couldn't throw it away."
"Even though you didn't want him around?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"That must have been confusing."
"It was."
Iris picked up her phone.
She looked at the number again.
"Do you think he will answer?"
"I don't know."
"What if he doesn't?"
"Then we'll deal with that."
She nodded.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Then she stopped.
"Mom, I don't want to do this alone."
I reached across the table.
"You won't."
She looked at me.
"Will you sit with me?"
"Of course."
She entered the number.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then a recorded message began.
Nobody answered.
Iris ended the call.
She stared at the screen.
"Maybe he's busy."
"Maybe."
She placed the phone on the table.
I didn't tell her to try again.
I didn't want her to feel pressured.
After a few minutes, the phone rang.
Both of us looked at it.
An unknown number.
Iris froze.
"Mom."
I nodded toward the screen.
"Answer if you want to."
She picked it up.
"Hello?"
There was a pause.
Then a man's voice came through.
"Hello. Is this Iris?"
Her eyes widened.
"Yes."
Another pause.
"My name is Daniel."
I felt my chest tighten.
Daniel.
The name I had avoided saying for years.
Iris looked at me.
Then she turned away slightly.
"Are you the person who spoke to Ryan last night?"
"Yes."
His voice was gentle.
"I hope I haven't frightened you."
She shook her head, even though he couldn't see her.
"No."
He paused.
Then he asked whether she was somewhere she could talk.
Iris looked at me again.
"I'm with my mom."
There was silence.
Then Daniel spoke.
"Is she there?"
I nodded.
Iris held out the phone.
I took it.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I heard his voice.
"Claire?"
I closed my eyes.
"Hello, Daniel."
He took a breath.
"I didn't think you would answer."
I looked at Iris.
She was watching me.
And I realized that the first conversation I had avoided for eighteen years was finally happening.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Hearing His Voice After All Those Years Forced Me to Face the Man I Had Turned Into a Stranger in My Daughter’s Story
I Thought My Daughter Finally Had the Perfect Night, Until Her Prom Date Walked Into Our House With Something to Say
Part 10 of 20
