“A little,” I admit.“But sometimes the things that mean the most are worth a little pain.”
She studies me, then holds out a crayon.“You can help me.”
My throat tightens.Carefully, like the crayon is gold, I take it and kneel beside her coloring book.Together, we fill in a crooked castle, her small hand bumping against mine.
Zora leans in the doorway, arms folded, watching with eyes that shimmer.
“Bun-Bun wants purple,” Ivy declares.
“Then purple it is,” I say, bowing my head like Bun-Bun’s word was law.
Ivy giggles, the sound like sunlight cracking open something inside me.Minutes bleed into an hour as she shows me every picture she’s drawn, every crayon she loves, even letting me hold Bun-Bun “just for a second.”Each time her smile grows, my chest aches harder.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, she looks up at me, curls falling into her eyes, and says, “When things are hard, you just gotta keep swinging.”
The words hit me like a punch.My mantra.My armor.The thing I’ve said a thousand times to survive.I blink hard, swallowing the fire in my throat.“That’s ...a good saying.”
“Bun-Bun thinks so too,” she says with a solemn nod, returning to her drawing.
I sit there frozen, fighting the storm in my chest, until I feel Zora’s gaze on me.I look up, and for a moment, the world stops spinning.She knows what it means.I know what it means.Our daughter has carried a piece of me all along.
Not long after, Ivy yawns, curling against Zora with Bun-Bun clutched tightly to her chest, and my heart is wrecked.She hasn’t asked who I am, hasn’t demanded answers.She’s just let me in.Even for a little while.
Zora tucks her onto the couch with a blanket and Ivy whispers, “Can he come back?”
My breath catches.
Zora kisses her head.“We’ll see, baby.”Ivy’s eyes drift shut, soft and safe, and Zora turns to me.Her voice is low, cracking.“She likes you.”
I swallow hard, every nerve shaking.“I like her too.”
Zora’s lips tremble, her eyes glassy.For a moment, neither of us speak before I nod, forcing myself toward the door before I break down in front of them both.
As I step onto the porch, I look back one last time.“I’m here now,” I say quietly.“And I’m not leaving.”
Zora doesn’t answer.But she doesn’t close the door either.And for now, that’s enough.
