But I can’t help myself.
I tried to stay away, to give Stephanie the distance she clearly desires.
And still, I find myself tracing her footsteps home every day, watching her like a lovesick puppy.
She looks ethereal today in a white eyelet lace dress with a pastel rainbow belt and matching wedge heels.
For whatever reason, she gets off one stop later than usual today—giving me just a bit longer to watch her from a distance.
Rather than heading to her town house, she exits the station nearly half a mile away from it and walks several more blocks before reaching a good-sized single family home with a two-car garage and a covered patio, complete with a porch swing.
Interest piqued, I keep my distance, observing from behind a row of towering ash trees on the far side of the street as she rings the doorbell and waits.
Seconds later, the front door swings open, and Stephanie unleashes one of her earth-shattering smiles as she greets the woman standing on the threshold.
Seconds later, Jackson steps through the door—a Spider-Man backpack slung over his shoulder.
Only then does it hit me that it’s Saturday.
He must have spent the night at a friend’s house, judging by the way Stephanie stoops to wrap her arms around him as soon as they say their goodbyes and the front door closes.
That would explain why he wasn’t home yet when she got back yesterday.
“Ooh, I’ve missed you!” she says, giving him a bear hug and wiggling back and forth until Jackson giggles.
“Mom, the guys might see,” he groans, but judging by his smile, I don’t think he cares too much if she embarrasses him. “I missedyou too,” he adds, his voice quieter, making me strain to hear him as she releases him.
And when she straightens, offering him her hand, he takes it.
She swings their hands between them as they tromp down the porch steps together and start their walk home.
There’s something entirely wholesome about the picture—a loving mom coming to pick up her son from a friend’s house after a sleepover.
God, the deep, hollow ache in my chest feels as though it might just swallow me whole, and I can’t help but trail behind them, riveted to the scene as Jackson rehashes all the fun things he and his friends did last night.
Stephanie delivers all the right responses, loudly objecting when Jackson informs her they stayed up until well past midnight playing video games.
That earns her a giggle from the little boy.
But it’s her laughter that rings in my ears, vibrating through my body like a sonic blast.
It’s so open and warm and genuine—just like I remember.
And it’s a rare opportunity for me to actually hear her.
Most of the time, I can only bear silent witness as she keeps to herself on the train.
But when she’s with her son, she’s as vivacious as the girl I met a decade ago.
They walk the mile home at an easy, unhurried pace, Stephanie carrying a bag of groceries on her shoulder while Jackson totes his backpack full of sleepover supplies.
I watch as he unlatches the gate to their yard, then races ahead to open the front door for her.
Stephanie’s cheeks are rosy from the walk and her amusement as she turns to latch the gate behind them, and I quickly step back into the shadows of her neighbor’s porch so she won’t see me watching her.
Still, her eyes flick up, scanning the street as her smile fades.
She’s much more careful than the girl I remember—no doubt anxious that her past might someday catch up to her.
