My Ex-husband Abandoned Our Daughter At Her Dance Because His Stepdaughter Is “More Fun.” He Forgot My Brother Is A Family Court Judge.
At 4:00 p.m., the preparation ritual began in earnest. I set up my makeshift salon in the bathroom with the curling iron, bobby pins, and that special sparkly hairspray she’d been saving. Each curl was meticulously shaped and pinned to cool.
Bridget sat perfectly still, which was unusual for a girl who normally couldn’t stop fidgeting.
She said, “Melody’s mom is French braiding her hair but I want mine down and fancy like a movie star.”
By 5:30, she was fully dressed. The pink tulle dress transformed my little girl into something out of a fairy tale. The pearls on the bodice caught the afternoon light streaming through her bedroom window.
Her Mary Jane shoes were polished to a shine. She’d even insisted on wearing the tiny pearl earrings my mother had given her for her first communion.
She said, “Grandma would want me to wear something from her tonight.”
Touching them gently, at 6:00 p.m., Bridget positioned herself at the living room window. She had the perfect view of our building’s parking lot and the street beyond.
She said, “I’ll see Daddy’s car the second he turns in.”
Her boutonniere for Warren sat in a clear plastic box on the entrance table right next to her purse and the card she’d made him. 6:15 came and went.
Bridget reasoned, “He’s probably just getting gas.”
She added, “Or maybe he’s picking up flowers for me melody’s dad got her roses last year for her birthday.”
At 6:30, I sent Warren a text.
I wrote, “Bridget’s ready and waiting see you soon.”
The read receipt appeared immediately, but no response came.
“The dance starts at 7,” Bridget said, though I already knew.
She continued, “But it’s okay if we’re a tiny bit late the important thing is the father-daughter spotlight dance at 8:30.”
6:40, I texted again.
I wrote, “Warren where are you bridget’s watching for you.”
6:45, my phone rang. My heart jumped, but it was Melody’s mom, Patricia.
She asked, “Are you guys here yet the girls wanted to take pictures together by the balloon arch?”
“We’re running a few minutes late,” I lied smoothly.
I continued, “Warren got held up but they’ll be there soon.”
Bridget looked at me with those green eyes, her father’s eyes, but filled with a worry that belonged to no child.
She asked, “Is daddy okay?”
I replied, “I’m sure he’s fine sweetheart you know how bad traffic can be on Saturday nights.”
6:50, I called Warren. It went straight to voicemail. I called again. Voicemail.
7:00, the dance had officially started. Bridget hadn’t moved from the window. Her shoulders were tense now, the excitement replaced by something harder to watch.
She said quietly, “Maybe he got the time wrong.”
She added, “Maybe he thinks it starts at 7:30.”
I called Warren’s office. There was no answer. I even swallowed my pride and called Stephanie’s cell phone. She didn’t pick up.
7:15, Melody called Bridget directly. I could hear her excited voice through the phone.
She said, “Bridget where are you they’re playing all the good songs my dad and I already took five pictures the cookies are shaped like hearts and they have pink frosting.”
Bridget’s voice was steady, but I heard the crack underneath.
She answered, “We’re coming really soon daddy just had to stop for something special.”
After she hung up, she turned to me.
She asked, “I lied to her Mom that’s bad right?”
I answered, “Sometimes we say things to protect people’s feelings baby that’s different from a mean lie.”
7:30, forty-five minutes late, Bridget finally moved from the window to sit on the couch. The tulle of her dress spread around her like a pink cloud. She picked at one of the pearls on the bodice.
She asked, “Do you think something bad happened to him?”
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Warren, finally. My hands shook as I opened it, hoping for an explanation, an apology, something I could spin into hope for my waiting daughter.
He wrote, “Can’t make it tonight stephanie insisted I take Harper instead you know how 8-year-olds are more fun at these things bridget will understand buy her ice cream or something.”
I read it three times. Each time, the words became more unbelievable. Harper was Stephanie’s daughter from her first marriage, a child who had a perfectly good father of her own, and a child who Warren had known for less than a year.
He chose her over his own daughter who’d been waiting in a pink dress she’d practiced twirling in for weeks.
