No Longer Waiting For You Chapter 06
Early the next morning, Rodney went to the courthouse. The staff told him that Olivia had already been there yesterday. As long as he signed, the agreement would take effect.
He held the divorce agreement and still refused to put pen to paper.
“Sir, are you signing or not? There are people waiting behind you.”
Rodney looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “She really left no room at all?”
The staff member sighed. “Ms. Robbins said that as long as you sign, she doesn’t want a cent of the property — she only wants custody of the child.”
Rodney’s heart gave another stab of pain; she didn’t even want his money anymore.
He walked out of the courthouse and wandered the streets without purpose.
He passed the shop where he had bought cake for Macey. A beautiful strawberry cake still sat in the display window. He remembered how Tania had said, “Mom, I want strawberries too,” and what he had said in response.
“This is for Macey. You can’t have any.”
He went into the shop and bought the biggest strawberry cake. Back home, he set it on the coffee table and sat there alone for a long time. The cake slowly melted, cream running all over the table — like his heart right now, rotted into a puddle of mud.
He started searching every corner of the house, trying to find even a trace that Olivia and Tania had left behind.
In the bottom drawer of the study, he found an old box.
When he opened it, it was filled with Tania’s things — from the tiny footprints taken at birth, to her first baby tooth, to every kindergarten certificate.
There was also a thick medical record book.
Rodney flipped it open, and his hands began to tremble.
At one year old, Tania had acute gastroenteritis. Family signature: Olivia.
At two years old, Tania was hospitalized with pneumonia. Family signature: Olivia.
At three years old, Tania broke her arm in a fall. Family signature: Olivia.
At four years old, Tania had a high fever with convulsions. Family signature: Konnor.
For a full four years, not a single signature was Rodney’s.
On the last page, a traffic-accident record from last year was tucked inside. It read: “Patient Olivia, head trauma, concussion, multiple soft-tissue contusions. Admitted to the ER on April 15, 2026. Family not present.”
The date was last year — the day he had celebrated Macey’s third birthday.
Rodney stared at the words “Family not present,” and his vision went black. He nearly collapsed to the floor.
He remembered that day: he had set his phone to silent and stayed with Macey as she blew out candles, cut the cake, and sang the birthday song. And his wife was lying on an operating table, nearly dying. His daughter was beside her, trembling with fear.
At the very bottom of the box, there was another thick notebook. It was Olivia’s diary.
“April 15, 2021. Tanny was born. Rodney was entertaining clients and didn’t come to the hospital.”
“April 15, 2022. Tanny’s first birthday. Rodney was helping Claire move and didn’t come home.”
“April 15, 2023. Tanny’s second birthday. Rodney was taking Macey to the amusement park and didn’t come home.”
“April 15, 2024. Tanny’s third birthday. I was in a car accident. I almost died. Rodney was celebrating Macey’s birthday and didn’t answer the phone.”
“April 15, 2025. Tanny’s fourth birthday. I sent the divorce agreement. Rodney replied with an OK. Five years. I waited for him on five birthdays. Every time, I told myself: give him one more chance.”
“Today, I’m done waiting.”
Rodney closed the diary, slumped over the desk, and cried like a child.
He finally understood what he had missed.
He had missed his daughter’s first “Dad,” missed her first steps, missed every important moment of her life.
And he had also missed the woman who once had nothing but him in her eyes.
