The stress made me sick. Doctors rushed me into an emergency C-section, and my daughter, Chloe, spent her first days under the NICU lights. She came home needing breathing treatments I could barely afford.
So I called Eric. “You took our savings. She needs her father.”
“You chose to keep her. She’s your responsibility and your problem,” he said. “Ask someone who cares. Definitely not me.”
I drove to his house with Chloe. His girlfriend answered the door in his shirt. “Your baby mama’s here for another handout,” she laughed.
“I only need it for her treatment,” I begged.
