“What are you saying, Teagan?” she says frantically.
“Don’t ever call me again, and when I make it to the Olympics again in two years, it’s going to be for me and my little girl. Not for you. And if you try to show up, security will be alerted to not let you in. Test me and find out if you’d like, but I know you’d hate to waste any time away from your luxurious life. I hope it’s a good one because this is the last you’ll hear from me.” I nearly crack down themiddle from the ache in my chest, but I don’t break just yet. I can’t let her know that this is killing me.
“You’re going to regret being a mother,” is her response.
“No, the only thing I regret is wantingyoufor a mother.”
And with that, I hang up the phone, flinging it across the room as a guttural sob rips through me.
I cry for the younger version of me who only wanted her mom to be there. I cry for the teenage me who did everything I could to be successful and get her attention. I cry for myself now because of everything that’s gone on.
Losing my apartment. My confusing feelings toward Quentin. Embarking on motherhood.
Being forced to retire from gymnastics.
That one hurts the most, my eyes overflowing with tears as it truly sinks in how fucked up that situation is.
How I was forced to retire because my coach was fed up with my attitude.
And I stayed silent because even then I was still motivated by seeing my mom again if I could get back on the team.
But now? I’d do it for me and my daughter. No one fucking else. And I’m going to take down Coach Samuels and Coach Amy if it’s the last thing I do.
If there’s one lesson I’m going to teach my daughter, it’s that you don’t let people silence you and you don’t take shit fromanyone.
I don’t know how long I cry for, but suddenly Quentin’s in front of me with a pained look on his face.
“Mon amour, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, on his knees in front of me on the couch.
I wipe at my cheeks as I sniffle.
“My mom called me.”
He dips his chin in understanding. “What happened?”
My lip wobbles and I inhale, steadying myself before I speak. “I finally had it out with her and told her she’s not welcome in my life, and to never call me again. Finding out we’re having a daughter…it sparked something inside of me. Picking her over everything is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and I’m not going to wait around for the approval of someone who hasn’t picked me a day in her life.”
“I’m proud of you. I know that isn’t an easy conversation, but she doesn’t deserve to have access to you anymore. She made her choice a long time ago, and now you’re making a choice that’s going to be better for you and our daughter’s future,” he says as he reaches out and rubs my leg. I don’t even care about our no-touching rule anymore, seeing as his touch comforts me.
“Is there anything you need from me that will help?”
“No.” I shake my head as I blow out a breath. “It’s going to take time to process that I’ve officially kicked my mom out of my life, so I might be more of a bitch than normal.”
“I can handle that.” His voice is sweet like honey as he climbs onto the couch beside me.
A single tear leaks out of me at his gentle reassurance that I’m not too much.
“No more tears tonight,” he says as he swipes my hair behind my ear. “It guts me to see you cry.”
My chest hammers at that, and my stomach—whoa.
I gasp, and Quentin’s eyes widen in alarm. “What’s wrong?”
Pulling my shirt up, I grab his hand and place it where I felt the baby kick.
“I felt her kick,” I say quietly. “C’mon, Blueberry, kick for Daddy.”
And just like that, I feel her kick right against Quentin’s hand.
