“Quack,” she mumbles around her thumb, and I laugh, sinking my face into her neck as I walk us back to Carmichael’s car. When she spots Rebecca in the back, she nearly springs right from my arms. “Becca!” she sings, prompting Carmichael’s daughter to start jigging in her car seat. The moment I drop Rosie into her own seat, the girls’ hands join, and that’s how they’ll stay the entire journey back to The Manor while they have a little toddler chat about who the heck knows what. I secure her straps and kiss her cheek. “Get that thumb out of your mouth,” I say, and her little nose wrinkles. It’s so cute, it chokes me up.

“No.”

“Stubborn,” I counter, puckering my lips. She grins and lands a sloppy kiss on my lips. “Thank you.”

Rebecca soon steals her attention, flashing her newest doll. Rosie’s eyes widen in awe, and I reach down and pull up the bag from the car floor. Her squeal of delight pierces my eardrums, and I see Carmichael in my side vision covering his ears.

“What do you say?” I ask as she makes grabby hands, the straps of her car seat preventing her from reaching.

“Tank you, tank you.”

“Welcome, baby.” I relinquish the doll and shut the door on her hugging it fiercely. I have one foot in the car when Lauren’s mother approaches, and for reasons I may never know, I freeze, when I should undoubtedly be getting in the car before I get caught up in something ugly.

“Get in, Jesse,” Carmichael says, starting the engine.

But I’m curious. Too curious. Lauren’s mother hasn’t uttered a single word to me on any occasion since I won access to my daughter. Though her looks speak a thousand words that I’m certain I don’t want to hear.

“I suppose you’re taking her back to that whorehouse,” she says, casting an evil look Carmichael’s way.

I don’t bother defending The Manor. Telling her it’s not a whorehouse serves no purpose. “I have private space there. It’s temporary until I find an apartment. Rosie doesn’t leave my sight.”

“You’re a disgrace,” she spits, and I frown, wondering where this hostility is coming from all of a sudden. I know she thinks it, but she never speaks her mind. “What kind of father are you?”

“A father who wants to see my daughter.”

“Jesse,” Carmichael calls, leaning across the car, jerking his head for me to get in.

“I’m many things,” I say, fighting to keep my temper. “But I am not a bad father.” Rosie is my only accomplishment. The only thing I have to be proud of. I will not let this bitter woman take that away from me.