She Died As She Lived
by Riley Tao
The girl who claims to be my daughter stares at me pale-faced, wide-eyed, one palm shading her eyes against my car's headlights, the other outstretched as if that would stop me from running her over with a twitch of my foot. The wending, midnight road is empty save for the two of us.
"You can't be my daughter," I growl.
"Just listen--"
"You can't be my daughter," I repeat, "because right now, my wife is about to give birth to our only child. And if you make me miss this--"
"You want her to be Riley," she whispers.
I freeze, one hand on the little blue notebook in my pocket. "How--"
"They found it. In that journal of yours. You had wanted to name me something American, and Mom wanted something Irish, and she said you used to joke about which culture had the ugliest names, but you must've changed your mind near the end...." The girl swallows, fists clenched.
"How did you know that?" I ask.
"Let me in. Let me drive."
"Just tell me," I say.
"You have to get to the hospital anyway, right? Let me come."
