“Rosa made your favorite.” I guide her to the table where her breakfast is waiting. She climbs into her chair and stares at the pasta like it might attack her.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat something.”
“My tummy feels weird.”
Christ. Here we go.
I pull out the chair next to her and sit. Keep my voice calm. Steady. This is the routine. This is what works. “What kind of weird? Sick weird or nervous weird?”
She pushes the pasta around with her fork. “Nervous.”
“What are you nervous about?”
“I don’t know.”
She never knows. That’s the problem. The anxiety doesn’t need a reason. It just exists, this low-level hum of worry that colors everything. Her therapist says it’s normal for kids who’ve lost a parent. Give her structure. Give her routine. Give her space to feel safe.
So that’s what I do.
It’s just a phase, the therapists say.She’ll get over it soon.
That was two years ago.
I give her the same breakfast every morning. I pack the same lunch. I drop her off at the same time. I pick her up at the same time. I tuck her in with the same story every night.
And I sure as hell don’t bring random women into the house.
Orinto my life.
Or into my goddamn head at six fifteen in the morning when I should be focused on my kid.
But Jess is anything but random.
“Close your eyes and count to ten,” I tell Ben. “You know the drill.”
She closes her eyes and counts quietly. When she opens her eyes again, some of the tension has left her shoulders.
“Better?” I ask.
“A little.”
“Good. Now eat. Please.”
She takes a bite. Then another. I watch her eat and tell myself this is enough. This is what matters.
Not last night.
Not Jess Riley with her curves and her smart mouth and the way she looked at me like I was something other than a widowed single father drowning in grief and routine.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
I ignore it.
Valentina’s got my calendar locked down to the minute. Dad blocks, she calls them. Non-negotiable chunks of time where I’m present for Ben. Breakfast. School drop-off. Dinner. Bedtime. Everything else can wait.
Everything else doesn’t matter.
