My heart nearly stopped. I had a grandson, and I’d never even known my daughter was pregnant. “Is she… is she happy?” I asked, though I dreaded the answer.
Mrs. Patterson’s face told me everything. “She looked tired, Robert. Very tired.”
I tried calling Amber that night, and the next night, and every night for two weeks. The phone would ring and ring, then go to voicemail. I drove by the house once, but all the curtains were drawn, and Louis’s car was the only one in the driveway.
Three years passed like that. Three years of silence, of wondering, and of hoping she was okay. I heard bits and pieces through the neighborhood grapevine. I’d learned that Louis had lost another job, that they were having money troubles, and that Amber looked thin and worn down whenever anyone saw her at the grocery store.
Then came that freezing evening that turned my world upside down. I was riding the subway home from my evening shift when I saw her. At first, I thought I was hallucinating from exhaustion.
A woman was curled up on the dirty floor near the back of the car, using a torn jacket as a blanket. She was obviously pregnant, and her hair was matted and unwashed.
“Amber?” I whispered.
Her eyes flew open, and I saw pure terror flash across her face before recognition set in. “Dad?” she gasped, struggling to sit up. Her voice was hoarse and broken.
I knelt down beside her immediately, not caring about the dirty floor or the stares from other passengers.
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