I folded my arms.
“You don’t get to walk into my house as though nothing happened.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Ivy, please. Just let me explain.”
I stared at him.
“Explain what? I’ve been feeding and comforting the daughter you spent six years praying for because you handed her to me and walked away.”
He flinched.
Part of me was glad.
I wanted him to understand the weight of what he had done.
Ryan rubbed both hands over his face.
“The doctors mentioned surgery,” he said. “Therapy. Specialists. Maybe braces. Years of appointments.”
“And?”
“I panicked.”
“She’s your child.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
My anger spilled out before I could stop it.
“You held her for seconds, Ryan. Seconds. Then you acted as though someone had handed you something you didn’t order.”
His eyes closed.
“I know how it looked.”
“How it looked?”
