I swipe at my eyes, trying to will myself into composure, but my hands are shaking, and my throat is tight.
“I can’t let her see me like this,” I say, my voice on the verge of panic.
Mrs. Callahan stands slowly, her eyes kind, brimming with sympathy. “She’s nervous too," she says. "She doesn’t know what to expect.”
I nod, barely able to hold her gaze. My heart pounds so loud I can hear it in my ears.
“I just… I need a minute.”
“Take all the time you need,” she says gently.
I glance toward the hallway mirror, run my fingers under my eyes to clean up the smudged mascara, and smooth my hair back. My chest tightens as I draw a breath, the weight of years pressing down on me.
“She’s right outside?”
Mr. Callahan nods. “She’s waiting in the car."
"Elle," Mrs. Callahan begins, "she can't wait to see you.”
I close my eyes, nod, and whisper, “Okay. I’m ready.”
Even if I’m not.
***
When I step outside, I see Izzy sitting on the trunk of the car, her posture slumped in quiet thought. She doesn’t notice me at first. She’s nervously biting a nail. She gets that from me.
When our eyes finally meet, I smile. She smiles back, but it’s hesitant, like she’s unsure whether to trust this moment. As I walk toward her, my eyes sweep over her, confirming what I already know: she’s our mother’sdaughter. From the golden curls framing her face to the freckles on the bridge of her nose, the long piano fingers, and the nails bitten down to the quick.
“Hi,” I say, offering her a tentative smile. I want to collapse, to let the tears fall, but I hold it together. For her sake, I refuse to scare her away.
“Dani?” she whispers, stepping off the car to face me.
I nod, the quiet smile still on my lips, unsure of what to do next, unsure of what to say. I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times over the years, but now that it’s finally here, I’m paralyzed by the uncertainty of what she’ll allow. Can I touch her? Would she want me to? Would she want anything from me?
"Can I hug you?" she asks, and that simple question breaks me. I don’t hesitate. I reach for her and pull her into my arms, holding her close.
"God, I've missed you," I murmur, my voice thick as I wrap her in my arms. The way I used to, a thousand times before she was taken from me. The way I did to keep her safe, to remind her she was loved, to let her know I’d always be there for her. Even though I wasn’t.
But right now, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is that she’s here. We’re together again, and I won’t let anyone take her from me. Not now. Not ever. Over my dead body.
"You still smell like I remember," she whispers, her arms squeezing me tightly—as if, if she lets go, I’ll vanish from her life again.
"Really?" I ask, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I was up most of the night and haven’t showered."
She laughs quietly. "It’s a familiar scent," she says softly. "I can’t tell you how many perfumes I’ve sampled over the years trying to find your scent. But I think it’s just you. You smell like home."
"Oh, Izzy," I murmur, squeezing her a little tighter. "I know exactly what you mean. I’ve missed you, baby. I’ve missed you so much."
"I'm not a baby anymore," she says, her smile widening as she steps back slightly, her gaze assessing me with a playful glint.
"I know," I reply, a soft chuckle escaping me. "Look at you, you're almost as tall as me. But to me, you’ll always be that four-year-old toddler I remember. And you'll always be my baby."
She pauses, then smiles wider, a hint of fondness in her eyes. "I'm okay with that."
"Do you want to come inside?" I suggest. "Maybe have something to drink?"
"Okay," she says, linking arms with me. She doesn’t say much, but her smile says it all—soft, genuine, allowing herself to feel at ease, while I allow myself to be truly happy for the first time in almost a decade.
