I nod, offering no other response.
What could I possibly say?
Riley shuffles a stack of papers into my hand and my gaze drops, noticing some colorful pamphlets on top.
“They gave me some information about therapists,” she says with a shrug, pointing at a short list of names. “Those come highly recommended for dealing with Hope’s type of trauma.”
She must have explained why we’re trying to figure out Mercy’s paternity in a roundabout way. I can’t imagine it’s every day that they get asked for testing like this. Then again, the truth would probably surprise me.
“Think she’ll consider it this time?”
Riley scoffs, dropping a truth bomb before she walks away.
“Not a fucking chance.”
“Yeah,” I say, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t think so either.”
A firm touch meets my hip and I suddenly feel his presence at my back. I think somehow, I knew I’d need him nearby today. I have no other logical reason for asking him to come with us. I didn’t anticipate the confrontation with Penny, but today was never going to be easy.
My heart is fucking wrecked.
Yet, here he is, providing his strong, steady presence.
Riley’s frustration matches my own.
We’ve been dealing with Hope’s shit for far too long.
Sympathy and empathy only go so far.
We can’t help her unless she wants to be helped, but she’d rather shut herself off and force her emotions into a dark pit somewhere in the back of her mind, never to be confronted.
This whole situation is taking a toll on Hope, but she won’t fucking talk about it.
She won’t fucking do anything.
She doesn’t acknowledge what’s going on. She doesn’t give a damn how it’s affecting anyone else. Riley is fed up and ready to move on. Penny’s moods swerve from anger to guilt and back again. I’m struggling for far different reasons.
And Mercy.
Poor Mercy has no idea her entire world might be about to change.
“You ready to get outta here?”
The words slip from his lips like a question, but he already knows the answer.
“More than.”
Leaving his hand on my hip, he moves beside me, leading me out of the building and into the parking lot where my sisters and niece are waiting. As we approach the car, nobody speaks. Not sure any of us know what to say. There’s nothing we could say to make this situation better.
All we can do is wait.
And hope.
Or at least hold onto what little of it we have left.
We’re all aware of what’s at stake.
Hope has been slowly unraveling.
Now, she’s barely hanging on by a thread.
The results of this DNA test could be the catalyst that destroys whatever small pieces remain of the girl we once knew. I think she’s been able to hold on this long because she’s convinced herself that Noah is Mercy’s father. I’m not the praying type, but as I stop on the asphalt and look down at my niece, I can’t help but to mentally appeal to whatever god might be listening.
Please, let Noah be this little girl’s father.