“Talk to me,” she said gently.
I stared at my hands.“The girls love him.And I let them.Because I love him.”My voice tightened despite my effort to keep it steady.“He was there, Livvy.Present.Like he meant it.”
Her eyes softened.“And then?”
“Morgan asked if he was going to be their new dad.”
Olivia winced.“Oh.”
“He froze,” I continued.“Not angry or defensive.Just...gone.And after that, he actually was.”
Silence settled between us, thick but not uncomfortable.
“I saw how happy you were,” Olivia said finally.
“And I saw it coming,” I admitted.“That’s the worst part.”
She turned to face me fully.“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t stay,” I said gently.“And we need someone who does.”
Olivia nodded.“I love how he makes you feel.But I never wanted you to break your heart hoping he’d choose differently.”
“Too late,” I murmured.
She squeezed my hand.“Love isn’t enough if someone doesn’t know how to stay.”
The truth landed clean and heavy.
“I thought I’d be different for him,” I said.“That we would be.”
“Maybe you were,” she replied.“But different doesn’t mean ready.”
I breathed in slowly, grounding myself.“So, I let go.”
Her smile was sad but certain.“You let go of waiting.Not of truth.”
Then, more quietly, “You don’t want to become our mother.”
The words cut with surgical precision.A woman who had waited herself into disappearance.
“I won’t,” I said, my voice firmer now.“I refuse to.”
We sat there together, surrounded by tiny clothes and soft lullabies humming through hidden speakers.And for the first time since Christmas morning, I didn’t feel like I was losing something.
I felt like I was choosing myself.
* * *
THE HOUSE SETTLED INTOsilence the way it always did after a full day—walls cooling, pipes ticking softly, the faint scent of buttered popcorn lingering from our living-room sprawl.Disney credits had rolled hours ago, laughter replaced by the slow, even breathing of my daughters down the hall.I had wrapped myself in that softness deliberately, letting their joy carry me just long enough to forget.
But forgetting never lasted.
I moved through the hallway, socked feet soundless against the floor, the house suddenly feeling too large despite the girls sleeping only a few doors away.Aunt Ruth was tucked in for the night, likely halfway through one of her novels.Everyone was safe.Everyone was accounted for.
Everyone but me.
I made hot chocolate I didn’t want, needing something warm to hold, something solid to keep my hands from shaking.Mug in hand, I carried it into my office and turned on the desk lamp.The weak circle of light barely pushed back the shadows, but it was enough to illuminate what waited for me on the desk.
