She’s growing up too fast, and every step she takes away from my arms is a reminder that time doesn’t wait.
A tug on my sleeve breaks through the spiral in my head.
“I’m ready!”
She stands beside me, purple tutu fluffed to maximum volume. Shirt askew but proudly chosen. Shoes miraculously on the correct feet this time.
“See? I did it myself.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat and force a smile. “You look beautiful, love.”
Her grin widens. “I know.”
And just like that, I’m reaching for my keys, trying not to think about how many moreI did it myselfmoments are coming.
“Come on then,” I tell her, holding the door open. “Let’s go celebrate my big girl.”
My mum’shouse is bright and warm when we arrive. Isla bolts ahead of me as soon as I push the door open, her tutu bouncing with every step.
“Nana!” she shrieks, launching herself at my mother who’s waiting with open arms.
“There’s the birthday girl!” Mum exclaims. “Look how beautiful you are!”
I hang back, taking in the scene. The living room is transformed with pink and purple streamers, balloons floating against the ceiling. A handmade banner spelling out “Happy Birthday Isla” stretches across one wall.
“You’re late,” Aunt Margaret calls from the kitchen doorway.
“Blame the fashion show,” I say, nodding toward Isla.
She laughs. “Well, she looks absolutely perfect, so it was worth it.”
I’m about to respond when Isla calls out, “Uncle Jack!”
I turn abruptly, my eyes widening as I spot Jack leaning against the wall by the fireplace with the same shit-eating grin he always wears.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little troublemaker.”
Isla darts over, looping her arms around his neck as soon as he crouches. He lifts her effortlessly, spinning her once before setting her down with a gentle thump before ruffling her curls.
“Well, look what the tide dragged in,” I say, crossing the room to clasp his hand.
He pulls me into a quick embrace, thumping my back. “Couldn’t miss the little princess’s big day, could I?”
A familiar face is a welcome sight. Jack’s been there through the worst of it—the endless shifts, those first brutal months of single parenthood when I had no bloody idea what I was doing.
“You should’ve told me you were coming.”
“And miss the look on your face? Not a chance,” Jack laughs, then lowers his voice. “How’s the new place working out?”
I shrug, watching as Isla twirls for my mum. “Getting there. Still feels temporary sometimes.”
“Aye, I know that feeling.” His eyes follow mine to Isla. “She seems happy, though.”
“She is,” I agree. “Found a café in town she likes. Made a few friends at the park, too.”
Jack nods, a knowing look crossing his face. “And what about you? Still no…connections?”
I shoot him a warning glance. “Don’t start.”
