“Ainsley met Santa today.” Charlie oozes Christmas joy that I’m not feeling. “Didn’t you, baby girl? Didn’t you, baby girl?” she coos to Ainsley.
My stomach instantly knots. “I thought we were taking her to see Santa when you come home for Christmas?” I’m rather proud of myself. My voice is steady, and doesn’t betray how upset I am.
“Well, honey,” she’s instantly defensive, “Santa was coming to my office building, and Amy brought Ainsley up to see him. I couldn’t very well tell her to shield Ainsley’s eyes from the fat man in the red suit.”
Her tone really pisses me off. It’s condescending, like I’m an idiot for wanting to take my daughter to meet Santa Claus for the first time. “I don’t know. I just thought that it was going to be something special that the three of us did together.” I don’t add because you’ve taken my child away from me for the last two months to accommodate your family, your father’s memory, and your career instead of your husband, and your assistant is playing the part of Ainsley’s father.
Brad moves from the stove and off-screen, probably heading to the refrigerator that’s nearby. Then I watch my daughter lift her eyes above the computer screen and point at Brad. She says the words that I’ve longed to hear. Ainsley says, “Da Da,” but she says it to Charlie’s best assistant in the world instead of her father.
“I have to go,” I spit as I disconnect from Skype, angrily mashing the button.
I’m in shock. I sit at my breakfast bar staring at the screen. My daughter just referred to Brad as her father. I become so queasy that for a moment, I think that I might puke. My daughter just called Brad Da Da. My. Daughter. Called. Brad. Da Da.
My phone rings and I send Charlie to voicemail. I don’t care to hear her pathetic excuses. I know exactly what I just witnessed. Ainsley wasn’t looking at me. She wasn’t babbling. She clearly lifted her lavender eyes over the laptop and looked at Brad, calling him her father.
Next, the house phone rings, which I refuse to answer. Charlie begins pleading on the answering machine for me to pick up. It’s really a bad move on her part. Right now, I’m so upset that phrases like “You have twenty-four hours to bring me my child” are running through my head. There’s even an “I’ll fight you for full custody” that enters in my thoughts.
I grip the edge of the granite, attempting to anchor myself. My heart is thundering in my ears. There’s no calming myself down at this point. I’m too angry, and hurt, and enraged. I ignore the texts messages that are flooding my phone. This is the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ve been the supportive husband through this. I’ve played nicely. I’ve let my wife and daughter leave me under the guise of saving the medical practice, and immortalizing Jack Collins. Game’s over. My daughter thinks Brad is her father. Game motherfucking over.
The walls of the McMansion are moving in around me—crushing me. I know that if I don’t get out of this house and away from my technology that I’m going to do something that I’m going to regret tomorrow, like calling Charlie and making threats that, as of right now, I have every intention of following through with.
If she thinks for one fucking second that I’m going to let her ride off into the sunset with our daughter, she’s got another thing coming. I worship the ground that Charlie walks on, but Ainsley is my blood.
I slip on a pair of trainers and leash Pancho. My run begins around the gated neighborhood. It does nothing to calm me down, so I put Pancho in the backyard. Just as I head through the security gates, Jamie reaches me, dressed for a run.
“Not tonight. I’m going by myself.” I don’t look at him, or acknowledge his presence.
“But sir, we discussed the reasons to accompany you at night…”
“I said, ‘not tonight.’ Leave me the fuck alone,” I growl.
I see Jamie nod out of my peripheral vision, and turn around to jog back to the pool house.
Just to torment myself, I run past the home that I bought for Brad. Carter’s living in it while Brad’s sharing living quarters with my wife. And playing Daddy to my daughter.
What an idiot I’ve been. I handed him my family—hook, line, and sinker. The tabloid stories swirl through my head. I’ve never doubted for one minute that Charlie was loyal to me. Never. On this run, though, I begin putting pieces together. Pieces that my rational mind would discard. Has Brad been turning my wife and daughter against me? Is he taking what’s mine?
I think back to the conversation that Charlie and I had when Ainsley had her first ear infection. Charlie called the pediatrician “Ainsley’s doctor.” Did she know then, that she was taking my daughter away from me? Had she already interviewed doctors in Houston? Is that why she called her Ainsley’s doctor?