Amelia has been in my custody for less than a day. I don’t have pictures of her on my phone.
“I can’t do that,” I say.
There are no emails from the social worker regarding Amelia, either. Everything was handled by phone or by my assistant.
“That’s what I thought,” the stewardess says.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” I stand to explain the situation without Amelia overhearing it all over again.
“Sir, you’re going to have to sit down. We’re going to be landing soon.”
Not soon enough.
I grumble and plop back down into my seat. I swear I’ll never fly commercial again.
The young gentleman who was in seat 1A climbs into the row beside me, trading seats with Amelia while Clare buckles her seatbelt.
I should be the one fastening her seatbelt and looking after her. She’smydaughter.
As we land, the flight crew announces that no one is to get up from their seats because there’s been a hiccup, and the authorities need to be brought onto the plane.
Fuck.
Could this week get any worse?
* * *
The authorities are brought onto the plane and ask me to get up and come with them. “Only if my daughter is accompanying me,” I say.
“Amelia isn’t his daughter,” Clare says, defiant.
“Is sheyourdaughter, ma’am?” the officer asks.
“No.”
At least Clare isn’t trying to kidnap Amelia.
I grab the backpack from the floor and open the overhead compartment for my luggage. I help Amelia out of her seat, unbuckling her and lifting her into my arms. One arm holds my daughter to my hip while the other carries the luggage behind me.
I’m not letting anyone come between my daughter and me.
“We’ll get this sorted as soon as we’re inside,” the officer says.
Clare follows behind us, and whether she’s invited or not, she’s given herself an invitation.
“Does she have to come?” I jab my thumb behind me at the blonde.
“Yes, she needs to give her statement while we investigate.”
“What’s there to investigate? I flew to Chicago to pick up my daughter. Do you want to know where her mother is? She’s dead.”
Clare gasps. “Did you kill her?”
“What the hell?” I spin around on my heels. “No, I didn’t kill her, you psychopath. She died in an automobile accident.”
Amelia bursts out into tears and squirms in my arms. I’d want to run away from me too if I were her.
I don’t let go, my grip tight without hurting the little girl. “I know, baby girl. Your mom misses you too,” I say, trying to console her.