The last I heard was that he was an adict. My mother said it started with alcohol then crack. My mom locked him out when I was four. They never filed official divorce papers. Just restraining orders. I asked my mom if he ever went to rehab. She doesn't know. All she knew was he lived in Wisconsin. Cold like him. She'd always answer with that.
I her yelling in the hallway. A man's voice and about three other female voices. The door busts open. A tall slender man. A stud pirced in his nose. Black hair, like mine was, stretching fown to his shoulder.
"And who may you be." Doctor Steves isn't very enthused.
" Nathyn T. Jones"
Jones. My last name. Jones.
"That's my daughter, sir. Darcy." He walks over to me and sits beside the bed. Tears weld in his eyes. "I know she's probably told you. But I went to rehab. I went back to school. I work as a engineer. I have a degree in mathematics. She sends me your report cards. So you get math from me." No the small puddles in his eyes are now rivers down his face. "Darcy I'm sorry."
"Why come back now?"
"I can't leave my daughter here alone in a hospital bed."
I smile a little, "That makes a great point."
