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I looked at Gordon, three years of careful, cordial distance between us suddenly feeling like an enormous waste of time neither of us actually had the luxury of anymore.
⸻
“You should have called me,” I said. “The day you got the diagnosis. I would have found a way to make this easier for both of you, Gordon. I’m still her mother. I’m still the person who has to help her carry whatever happens next.”
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“I know,” Gordon said. “I think I was ashamed, honestly. Of needing help from you, of all people, after everything I put you through before the divorce.”
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“That’s not a good enough reason to let our daughter skip an entire week of school and lie to me every single morning,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
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We spent the next hour working out something considerably more sustainable than sneaking around in Roy’s truck every morning — a modified visitation schedule that let Sienna see Gordon after school and on weekends, with the school fully informed and supportive once I explained the situation to the counselor directly.
