That evening, I'm alone in Gretchen's apartment.
She's out with friends—trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy despite her couch being permanently occupied by her pregnant, heartbroken friend.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror. Lift my shirt. Look at my stomach.
The curve is undeniable now. Thirteen weeks. Second trimester approaching. Soon I won't be able to hide it.
I place my hand over the bump. Feel the warmth of my own skin.
"Hi," I say softly. "It's me. Your mom."
The word sounds foreign. Mom. I'm going to be someone's mom.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I continue. "I'm scared. But I'm going to figure it out. I promise."
My reflection stares back. Exhausted. Scared. But not broken.
"Your dad is complicated." The words catch. "He hurt me really badly. But I think... I think maybe he's trying to change."
Is he? Or am I fooling myself because I want it to be true?
"What do I tell you about him someday?" Tears slide down my cheeks. "That he loved me but was too broken to stay? Or do I tell you he came back? That he did the work?"
The question I can't answer: do I want him to come back?
I lower my shirt. Wipe my face. Walk back to the living room.
My phone sits on the coffee table. Dark. Silent.
Three weeks of silence.
That has to mean something.
***
I'm walking home from the subway two days later when I pass a small park.
My feet ache. My back aches. Everything aches.
I'm about to keep walking when I see them.
An older couple on a bench. She's wearing a headscarf—the kind cancer patients wear. Frail and thin. He's holding her hand, talking softly, and the tenderness in his expression makes my chest ache.
I stop. Watch from a distance.
The way he looks at her—like she's everything. The way she leans into him—like she trusts him completely despite whatever they're going through.
Love that survived hard things.
Is that possible? Can people hurt each other and still make it back?
The man says something that makes her laugh. The sound is bright and unexpected. He smiles like making her laugh is the best thing he's done all day.
They've been through something terrible—I can see it in her frailty, in the careful way he helps her stand. But they're still here. Still together.
Is that what love looks like? Fighting through the hard things?
Or is that different? They probably didn't destroy each other the way Daniel destroyed me.
