But as I set Milo down on the couch, his eyes fluttering open and then closed again, my heart doesn’t feel empty. I could never feel empty with his tiny fingers wrapped around mine. The nights spent with him might not always be the most memorable, but they felt the most rewarding.
I’m about to pick him up and take him to his bed when my eyes snag on his left foot, which is missing a shoe. A curse slips past my lips, thinking back to my moment on the porch. It must have fallen off then.
Rising carefully, I tip-toed toward the door, trying not to wake my toddler. I hold my breath as I carefully open the door and keep my eyes glued to Milo’s slumped head.
When I step outside, the air is crisp, carrying the faint smell of damp earth from the rainstorm two days earlier. I step onto the front porch and scan the steps, instantly spotting the tiny sneaker near the railing. As I bend to pick it up, I see something from the corner of my eye.
My breath catches when I see the hummingbird feeder swaying back and forth in the wind. My hand clutches the part of my chest that covers my beating heart.
I bite my lip and turn toward the light from a few moments ago, but only darkness shrouds the window when I look up. I let out a staggered breath and my hand traces over the tattoo behind my ear.
I wasn’t sure who hung the feeder on my front porch, but I knew there was a good chance it was Henry.
I had told him about the hummingbird feeder during our first meeting, but I didn’t expect him to listen, let alone remember such an important detail in my life. How could someone so good exist in a world where I’d learned to expect so much disappointment?
He didn’t even know the whole story, and yet, as my fingers brushed against the smooth glass, I knew he didn’t need to know.
A memory tugs at the edges of my mind, pulling me back to another porch, another hummingbird feeder.
I was nine years old, knees pulled up to my chest as I perched on the wooden step of our old rental. Inside, the muffled sound of yelling spilled through the screen door, but I was getting good at tuning out my mother’s relentless sparring with her boyfriend. I focused on the hummingbird feeder above me, its syrupy red nectar glinting in the afternoon sun.
A hummingbird darted into view, its tiny wings a blur as it hovered near the feeder. I held my breath, enamored by the iridescent shimmer of its feathers. The feeder was a gift from my Nana, and I cherished any peace it could provide through the chaos inside.
Even then, I knew it wouldn’t last. When the yelling grew louder and a door slammed, the bird flitted away, disappearing into the trees.
That was usually when my mother would stomp down the porch to announce I was on my own for dinner that night. But that was fine. That just meant she would take her chaos and noise with her.
The porch creaking under my feet brings me back to the present. I straighten, Milo’s shoe dangling from my fingers as I stare at the feeder. I swallow hard, and my memories are replaced with the vision of big brown eyes and thick glass frames.
Henry couldn’t have known what it meant to me. And yet, the gesture felt like he’d reached into my soul and touched the most fragile parts without even trying. It was impossible to hide from someone who saw me so clearly.
With one last deep breath, I step back inside, locking the door behind me. I sit Milo’s shoe on the table near the entryway and turn back toward the couch. He’s still curled up peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm.
The chaos of my childhood felt a world away, but the fear of it festering in my new life still lingered. Henry had givenme a glimpse of something better—a life where love wasn’t something to be endured but something to be cherished.
And yet, as I stood there in the quiet of my living room, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” I ask Milo, who’s camped out on the couch watching his favorite cartoon.
He looks up at me with a big smile before I hand him his juice, and he turns his attention back to the TV. I sit beside him and snuggle close while tossing a blanket over us.
I haven’t left his side since the incident over the weekend and dreaded going to work tomorrow. I took the day off to spend with him. I knew he was fine, but the guilt of not being there for him when he needed me kept poking at my side.
I also felt guilty about Henry. My mind was still reeling from the hummingbird feeder. I had decided that he put it on the front porch. It was the only option that made sense.
Now, I wasn’t sure how to talk to him. I had debated sending him a quick message telling him Milo and I had gotten home okay, but that felt too casual. Everything I thought of felt too casual with Henry. These last few days have made me realize how much my feelings have grown in such a short time.
I felt like I needed to take a minute and catch my breath before I talked to him again. Part of me had this undying need to let him comfort me. To let him be there for me. But then again, that was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
I couldn’t end up in a situation where I relied on someone else to take care of me. Henry was great, but I wasn’t even sure if he planned to stick around when summer was over. We hadn’t talked about it.
But the way he looked at me and everything he did for medidn’t make it seem like he was thinking about leaving. That thought fills my head as I reach for my phone on the table.
I’m debating on calling him when a knock interrupts my train of thought. It’s sharp and precise—Nana’s knock.
I glance at Milo, who doesn’t even flinch at the sound, his eyes glued to the cartoon characters bouncing around the screen. Carefully, I untangle myself from the blanket and head for the door.
When I open the door and see Nana standing there, all the tension over the past few weeks dissipates. Her small frame is enveloped in a big grocery bag almost half her size.
