My Professor's Secret

35|

"And for the record, Emma is smart enough to realize when she should be spending time with you. She refused to sleep for two hours waiting for you to come last night. The least you could've done was call her to explain that you weren't. Even if you wanted nothing to do with me. That's how successful co-parenting works," she ends.

There's nothing to say to combat the fact that she was right so instead, I whisper, "You're right, I should've called. I'll be more cautious in the future." It was either that or risk the possibility of my daughter winding up like Alex when it came to not knowing the circumstances of her father's wellbeing. Emma didn't deserve that.

We part ways shortly after Meghan attempts to convince me her worry about my absence extended far past the concern of our daughter. If we hadn't, I might've been tempted to confront her with the allegations Alex brought to me about her being pregnant with a child that could've been mine. I couldn't address that right now. Scratch that—I didn't care to address it because I didn't want to deal with the possibility of it being true.

I manage to make it back home and place Emma into her bed without waking her. She wouldn't be asleep much longer, so I take the initiative to make her favorite breakfast as a way to make up for not being there the way I should have. Partly out of guilt, but primarily because she loves waking up to fresh homemade cinnamon rolls. Emma's up within thirty minutes, lathers me in hugs and kisses, then devours three cinnamon rolls before dragging me along to her playroom. For a while, we dabble in the festivities of elite tea parties, a grand ball, and a puppet show before the sound of knocking erupts from the living room.

"Stay in here, baby girl," I tell her. "Daddy will be right back." She nods and grabs a baby doll to play with until I've returned to continue our puppet show.

Another knock sounds on the door as I make my way towards the front of the house. "Coming," I holler, increasing my pace to a steady jog. Through the peephole, I recognize Alexandrea's familiar winter attire. She stands with her arms shoved into her coat and her gaze pointed towards the ground. For a while, I contemplate the consequences of opening the door for her. Not out of fear of admitting to myself that I was smitten with her, but because of the divulgence of my daughter.

How would it appear if my daughter knew of students in my class? More specifically one that showed up at the place she shares with her father? Apart from the better half of my judgment and the fact that it was five degrees outside, the door opens to a slight crack. Emma might have had the comprehension of an adult, but that didn't mean she abided by rules better than any three-year-old normally would. Better safe than sorry.

"Is everything alright? Shouldn't you be at work?"

By this time, it was well past ten which meant she should've been working a shift. She looks up to me, more than likely confused as to why I hadn't invited her in. And I wouldn't have if her cheeks hadn't been stained with the remnants of a stream of smeared makeup. Her eyes filled to the brim with tears. What kind of man would I have been to turn her away knowing all I did? Knowing how much she must've been struggling with.

I invite her in and encourage her to take a seat on the sofa. She declines my offer of a drink and waits patiently as I head near my daughter's room to crack the door shut without Emma noticing me. Better to have her engaged in dolls than to introduce her to a student. A student that shouldn't be in my apartment, to begin with. A student I couldn't stop myself from thinking of. Once I've returned to the living room, I sit across from her on the loveseat.