“And you laugh more when she’s here.”
That lands hard, right in the center of my chest. Kids don’t bother with polite lies. They say what they see.
And what she sees…is me, lighter.
There were nights—god,years—when I was worried I’d never figure this out. That no matter how much love I gave her, it wouldn’t be enough to make up for the pieces we didn’t have. For what she lost before she could even remember it.
And now here we are.
It’s not like I’m not scared shitless. I’m terrified of what it means to let someone in and build something that could fall apart. To ask Isla to open her heart and then have it broken by an adult who’s supposed to stick around is big.
And then I think about last night with cherry pie filling everywhere, Lucy’s hand in mine, and the way she looked at both of us like we belonged there.
We already let her in. All that’s left is the name for it.
I press a kiss to the top of Isla’s head.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “So maybe Lucy’s going to be around a lot more.”
Isla considers this for a moment, her small face scrunching in concentration. “Like a sleepover?”
I nearly choke on air. “Well, not exactly. At least not right away.”
“But maybe someday?” Her eyes are wide and hopeful, and I’m struck by how easily children adapt, how readily they make room for new people in their hearts when adults spend years building walls and constantly checking for weak spots.
“Maybe someday,” I agree, treading carefully. “For now, we’re just going to spend time together. The three of us. Would you like that?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Can we go to her house again? I want to play with Marmalade.”
I huff out a low laugh. “I think that can be arranged.”
thirty
LUCY
Three months have slipped by since that night at my place, and in that time, we’ve established a new dynamic. Things are different now, but better.
Aidan’s opened up to me in ways I never expected. It’s not always with words, but it’s in the way he looks at me. The moments when he lets his guard slip, just a little, and I catch a glimpse of the man underneath all that rough exterior. Like when I make him laugh that deep, husky sound, or when I see that spark in his eyes that only shows up when he’s around people he trusts. Or the way he showed up a few weeks ago when I was horribly sick, antibiotics hardly keeping me upright. He and Isla came over multiple times, checking in, making sure I was okay until I finally started to feel human again.
And Isla. She’s become my sunshine. I never thought I’d feel this connected to someone else’s child, but she makes me feel like I matter to her. Like I’m someone she needs. It’s in the little things, like the way she reaches for my hand when we’re walking, how her giggle bubbles up over something silly I say, or that shy little smile she gives me after I tell her how amazingher drawing is. Every time she does something like that, it’s like my heart grows a little, stretching just enough to make room for her.
I’m just so…happy. I love the way Aidan holds me, even when he acts like it’s no big deal. Like it’s just a casual thing, but I can feel the weight of his arms around me, the quiet strength in the way he pulls me close, as if he’s saying everything without saying anything at all. I love the way he is with Isla and how he makes sure she’s always taken care of.
It’s not casual anymore, which is why the guilt has started to creep up in the quieter moments. It’s the unspoken thing I keep tucking behind smiles and late-night kisses and stories read aloud from Isla’s favorite picture books. I haven’t told him I may not be able to have kids, because saying it makes it real again. And saying it might make him rethink all of this.
Maybe he’ll say it doesn’t matter, and maybe he’ll mean it. There’s also the alternative that he won’t. It’s theunknownsthat silence me.
Aidan issogood at being a dad. I know for a fact he’d be amazing again, if he ever wanted to. I can picture him kneeling beside a crib, brushing hair out of the way for some tiny version of him, kissing foreheads and rubbing backs until the crying stops. He was made for that kind of love.
I might not ever be able to give him that.
So I pretend like it’s still new and we’re still figuring things out. But every time I pack an overnight bag or fold one of Isla’s shirts because it slipped into my laundry, I feel us creeping closer to the moment when I can’tnotsay it anymore.
Tonight might be the night, because he’s looking at me like he sees everything. If I don’t tell him soon, I’ll be lying every time I let him touch me and allow him to think I’m all in.
I help Aidan tuck Isla in, watching as he pulls the covers up to her chin and presses a kiss to her forehead. She’salready drifting off, eyelids heavy from the busy day we spent at the park. Her stuffed bunny is close to her, and her breathing has slowed to that peaceful rhythm that comes right before sleep.
“Goodnight, sweet girl,” I whisper, smoothing a hand over her wild curls.
