—L. & M.
I smile. It’s not advice, it’s acknowledgment. Lydia never hands out compliments she doesn’t mean, and I respect her even more because of that.
Savannah’s on the play mat beside me, kicking her legs and making soft gurgling sounds like she’s narrating her own little world. I kneel beside her, tracing one finger over her impossibly small palm.
“You and me, kid,” I whisper. “We’re doing this.”
I pour coffee, set Savannah into her little carrier, and step out onto the lanai, a mug warm in one hand, my laptop in the other, and put them on the table before going back in to grab my daughter.
The sea breeze is warm and smells sweet like salt and hibiscus, and I watch as she takes it in, knowing she’ll never remember this trip, but I always will.
After a few moments, I open my laptop and then my email. I then search for a very specific one and open it. Not because I haven’t read it, but because Iwantto reread the message that’s been sitting starred in my inbox for a month.
We’d love to have you join us as a Clinical Trauma Psychologist at the Houston VA Medical Center. Start date: late October, early November. Please let us know by October 1st.
Every time I read it, I feel the same surge of pride. Not anxiety. Not imposter syndrome. Just certainty.
I tapReplyand type the words that make it real:
I’d be honored to accept. Thank you for believing in my work.
When I hit send, Savannah lets out a soft coo — as if on cue — and I smile down at her as I scoop her up. “Guess it’s official, huh? We’re going to Texas.”
I rock her gently in my arms, pacing the porch as the waves catch the light and roll back toward the horizon.
My life isn’t where I thought it would be, but it’s mine. And she’s mine.
I don’t miss what I lost. I don’t even think about it. I never dreamed of a white knight, a fairytale that wouldn’t happen; it seemed like a waste of time. And I needed that time to work for it and earn the life I have now, one with meaning.
“You were my special surprise,” I whisper to Savannah. “Now you’re my reason.”
The days here move differently.
Slower, but not idle. The sun comes in gold and leaves in fire. Savannah and I fall into our own rhythm. Morning walks barefoot along the beach, afternoon naps to the sound of the surf, evenings spent watching the light fade from blue to violet. Living art.
She’s changing every day — her eyes follow the sway of the palms now, her fingers curl around mine tighter, her sounds more deliberate. She doesn’t just exist in my arms anymore; she’s starting tobe.
I still check my email every morning — out of habit, not need. There’s paperwork waiting, training modules, and insurance forms from the Houston VA. But I don’t rush to finish any of it.The old me would have. The one who measured her worth by deadlines, checklists, and validation.
Now, my measure is her heartbeat.
When the sun gets too strong, I spread a blanket on the shaded deck and let Savannah nap in the open air. Her tiny chest rises and falls in rhythm with the ocean. I sip iced coffee and write in my journal, not case notes or research, just thoughts. Feelings.
I used to think peace was a destination. Now I know it’s a choice.
Three daysbefore we were to leave, I got a call that dared to threaten that peace, that made the ground shake. But I remembered what Maya had said, “Sometimes that shake is a reminder of just how far you’ve come.”
His demand to meet her, and there was no tremor in my voice when I said, “It wasn’t necessary.”
There was, however, one in his.
Savannah’s headis tucked against my shoulder as I shuffle down the narrow aisle, diaper bag digging into one hip, car seat clutched in my other hand, and my daughter secured. Her hair smells faintly of baby lotion and the ocean air. I don’t ever want to scrub the salt from her sweet little self after our time in Hawaii.
Time I still enjoyed after he threatened it.
When his name flashed across my screen froze me in place. I haven’t spoken to him since the day I told him I was pregnant, and he spat “gold digger” through the line. Since we agreedI’d tell people I’d used a donor so he could keep his clean, consequence-free life, he wasn’t even a thought.
I chose this, and I am fortunate enough to have drawn the short stick from the parent pile. The good old government had granted me the consolation prize of funding my education. And very soon, my tax dollars would contribute to helping others like me.
