Percocets

I found an empty bottle of Percocets in K's car last week.  (My grandmother's car at one point, which I gave him, which now resemble a giant disgusting trash can with wheels -and a baby car seat in it.) Why is a bottle of pills that was supposed to last a month (one every six hours as needed it says. Ha!) empty two weeks after it was filled? You are either a drug dealer, a drug addict or both.  Then, days later, the morning after his pain doctor's appointment on Friday (May 27th), I find the same empty bottle and a script for more Percocets post dated for June 4th.  Its not June 4th, yet.  wtf.  I'm wondering what the reaction of a good mother should be.  My daughter's father is abusing pills.  Again.

On the side of this is the promise that was made to me that he would never do Percocets again, which came along with the admittance that he does have a problem.  And the promise to tell his pain doctor about his problem, not to accept a script for Percocets ever and to request that the doctor not offer him Percocets or any related medication.  K is a liar.  I have known this from within the first few weeks of dating.
I surprised myself at my first reaction on finding the bottle and then the script.  It hurt, I was frustrated, I cried.  I'm mostly mad.  The disrespect, the idiocy, the weakness, unending incongruence of effort between us.  The frustration and rage after unresolved, heated arguments that are irrational, defiant, belligerent, and completely ungracious with unsubstantiated nasty comments that are almost always completely unrelated to the issue at hand.  (Its mostly the side effects that make him intolerable, but the unresponsive zombie face is alarming and frightens Kara).  But in the end, the emotional wreckage that I normally feel is absent.  The shock and betrayal never came to burn me.  (Maybe he has desensitized me.)
As I focus on my effort to be the best person I can be for Kara, to give Kara the best I can give her and strive to provide for her the life she deserves (and hope to swing close), my thoughts go to the beautiful, intelligent, funny little girl who has to grow up with a bipolar Percocet addict as a father.
I am not going to take responsibility for getting K off of drugs.  Reciprocal to me taking control of my life and being responsible for my own happiness -not allowing him to control whether or not I can have a 'happy', productive life, I cannot control his drug use.  My responsibility to my daughter is to help her understand and deal with her father.  I will keep her close, and keep him closer.