Page 29 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess

"You must have misunderstood." I scoot closer, resting a hand on her back as I see tears welling in her eyes. She keeps her focus on the picture, carefully coloring the fairy’s dress. "Money isn’t the most important thing in life. It’s…"

"Self-love. Health. Family. Friends," she suddenly says.

"Yes. Exactly."

Where on earth did that come from? I’m surprised but relieved she gets it.

"Kim told me that." Rosie smiles. "You need a lady like her."

"I do need a lady who gets that, that’s true."

"She’s nice and pretty. And I like her. That’s three important points you should think about."

So, someone’s been eavesdropping on my phone calls. That little phrase about “important points to consider” is exactly what I always say.

"I’ll pick my own girlfriend," I tell her.

"That hasn’t worked out so well so far."

Ice cold, this kid.

Rosie pats my hand. "Sometimes you need help. And I’m happy to help you."

Well, what am I supposed to say to that? She makes me smile.

"Where would I be without you?" I laugh quietly, stroke her head, and stand.

"Probably married to Nadine by now." Rosie scrunches up her nose. "She was really dumb."

"Yeah, she was." I walk over to my desk and pick up my phone. Catherine’s chat is still at the top. I scroll through the last messages—nothing but one-sided diary entries from me: what Rosie did, what she ate, how much she misses her mom. In between, I kept begging her to at least check in so I wouldn’t have to call the police. That used to get some kind of reply. But now? Nothing.

The fact that she dropped Rosie off before disappearing makes it obvious she planned to go somewhere. But where? The last few times she vanished, it was the same pattern: booze, drugs, parties with random guys.

The kid can never find out. She adores her mom, even though Catherine isn’t really a mother at all. She just gave birth to Rosie—nothing more.

I try calling again. Thirty-one tries so far. On the thirty-second, still voicemail. At the end of my rope, I type:

"If I haven’t heard from you by tonight, 8 sharp, I’ll call the police."

And:"I wanted to give Rosie hot chocolate with sweetener. Hope that’s okay. We’re keeping an eye on her blood sugar. By the way, your daughter is doing fine—in case you even care."

After this long gone, I think I’m allowed a sharp tone.

Just as I’m about to put my phone away, a message finally pops up:"Chill."

That’s it?

"Where the hell are you?"I text back.

"Birmingham. Coming back on the weekend. Will be in touch later."

That’s it? She’s in Birmingham, might swing by London sometime over the weekend… and then what? Take Rosie back? Just breeze through? She’s once again giving me nothing—no info on how to plan for Rosie, nothing I can rely on.

I try calling again, and she actually rejects the call.

"When on the weekend? Which day? What time? Are you picking Rosie up? When will you bring her back?"I fire off.

"Don’t know yet. Chill!"