“I’m not pretending.”
“You used to say things like that.”
Daniel pulled a chair toward her.
“I know.”
“No, Daniel. You don’t know.” Her voice trembled. “You don’t know what it was like to leave your home with a suitcase and no money, carrying your child, wondering how you were going to survive the next week.”
He sat motionless.
“You don’t know what it feels like to watch your son struggle to walk, to spend nights in hospital waiting rooms, or to smile at him when you’ve just been told that the treatment he needs costs more than you could earn in a lifetime.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“And you don’t know how many times I wanted to call you.”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
“Why didn’t you?”
Emily gave a painful laugh.
“Because I remembered your face the night you threw me out.”
