Part 3Her Mondays Are for Her Brother-In-Law

Joel's POV

I rushed Abby to the hospital. The doctor took one look at her arm, and his expression turned serious.

"Children's bones are fragile to begin with. This is her second fracture. If it's bad enough, it could affect how the bone heals."

My stomach dropped. Her arm was swollen to nearly twice its size, and the sight of it made my chest ache.

Abby couldn't hold it in anymore and broke down sobbing. "Daddy, is my hand going to stop working? Why won't Mommy come with us? Does she not like me?"

I rubbed her back over and over, doing everything I could to calm her down.

When I couldn't stand watching her suffer any longer, I stepped out into the hallway and took a deep breath.

I was about to call Sienna when I saw her latest post on social media. She'd taken Kent and Jamie to a portrait studio, and the three of them had taken a family photo.

I closed my eyes as a dull, spreading ache settled through my chest.

Abby was four years old, and all three of us had never once sat for a photo like that.

I knew Sienna's sister had entrusted Jamie to her before she died, and that was why I'd put up with all of it for so many years.

I could accept her looking after Kent and his son. What I couldn't accept was her abandoning our family to do it.

The second the call connected, Sienna's impatient voice came through. "I know Abby's at the hospital. I'm already on my way."

Before calling, I'd already sent her our location and followed up with several messages. She'd read every single one and hadn't replied to any of them. I tried to say something else, but she hung up.

I stood there for a long time. When I finally turned back toward the room, Abby was staring straight at me, her small face pale.

"Is Mommy coming?"

I opened my mouth, then nodded. I walked over and gently squeezed her hand. "She is. She'll be here soon."

That was enough for Abby. She held on and stayed brave. Even when I told her it was okay to cry if it hurt, she shook her head.

"Mommy doesn't like kids who cry."

A lump lodged in my throat.

I sat by her bed and stayed with her.

I stayed until the sun went down, but Sienna never came.

At some point, Abby seemed to realize she wasn't going to, and she stopped talking altogether.

After her arm was treated, I brought her home. Even in her sleep, she couldn't settle, her face scrunched up like she was still in pain.

I sat there in a daze, and memories started surfacing. From the day Abby was born, every ounce of Sienna's attention had gone to Jamie.

When Abby was one, a fever landed her in the ICU, and Sienna left after a single phone call from Kent.

When Abby was two or three, Sienna dumped her with the neighbors while I was stuck in meetings so she could go be with Kent and Jamie.

We'd fought about it more times than I could count. The worst time, Sienna had pulled out a set of divorce papers she'd already signed.

"If you really can't take it anymore, sign these. But Abby's still little. She needs her mother. All I'm doing is honoring my sister's dying wish and looking after them. Joel, just try to understand me."

I'd backed down for Abby's sake. But now my daughter had suffered enough, and I was done holding it in.

A noise came from the front door. Sienna walked in looking worn out. The moment she sat down, I handed her the divorce papers.

"These are the ones you drew up. Let's get divorced."

Sienna's eyes opened. She picked up the papers and her face darkened. "Don't be ridiculous. I went to the hospital to find you, but you'd already left. You didn't even bother telling me, so I made the trip for nothing."

I said nothing. Sienna's expression gradually shifted as she realized I was serious.

Her eyes landed on my signature at the bottom, and her fingers paused for just a second.

Then she tore the papers to shreds and tossed them in the trash. "I'm going to pretend you never brought this up."

She stood and went to Abby's room.

I stared at the scraps in the wastebasket. My phone kept buzzing in my pocket. When I pulled it out and unlocked it, a message notification popped up on the screen.

"I'll be back next month."