Mini golf. A date. The thought alone sent my stomach into knots.
Because it wasn’t just mini golf. It was everything that came with saying yes. Letting someone see me outside the world I worked so hard to hold together. Letting myself be more than a mom or student. I was stepping onto an overgrown path. Each step revealed something new. Thrilling and a little daunting. Maybe, just maybe, that path could lead to laughter and warmth even chaos couldn’t touch. Maybe, beneath all my hesitations, there was a spark of wanting. A breath of something new. A leap into the unknown. Hoping for something I hadn’t dared to imagine.
My eyes drifted toward the hallway, where the soft glow of the nightlight spilled across the kid’s door. The twins’ little snores carried faintly through the apartment. They were my world. My first, last, and every choice in between. The thought of bringing someone into that world felt reckless. Dangerous.
And yet…
I couldn’t deny how easy it had been to laugh with him. How natural it felt, even through a screen, to talk about everything and nothing all at once. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, sinking into the couch as if I could hide from the flutter in my chest.
I could tell him I was busy, push it off a little longer. Keep things safe. But the truth was, his teasing smile lingered in my thoughts. When he joked with me, it was as if he could sense the yes hidden beneath my excuses; it made my defenses weaken, even when I told myself I wasn’t ready. Was being ready even important? What if, instead, it mattered more that I admitted I wanted this? With that thought, I let hope take root, daring to imagine something bright and new could grow from this cautious step.
Chapter Four
Hunter
When her text came in, I was mid-workout, sweating through push-ups on the living room floor. My phone buzzed against the hardwood, vibrating against a stack of unopened mail. I’d been staring at the same pile for a week: bills, VA paperwork, junk ads, as if I ignored it long enough, it would go away.
My one-bedroom apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent and last night’s takeout. Simple and functional, just how I liked it. A couch, a coffee table scarred from moving too many times, blinds half-closed against the morning sun. Not much else. No photos on the walls. No clutter.
I dropped onto my knees, breath catching, wiping sweat across my forehead with the back of my hand. Then I saw her name light up the screen.
Camille:So… I know that you know I am a mom.
But before we go out, I should probably tell
you that I have 3 kids.A 5 year old son
and twin 1 and a half year old girls.
I froze. Three. Kids.
I sat back on my heels, wiping sweat off my forehead, staring at the message, thinking the words might rearrange themselves if I blinked enough.
Part of me respected her for being upfront. Most people hide their baggage until the third date or never mention it at all. Another part of me was cautious. Three kids isn’t something you ease into. That’s a whole life and a true responsibility.
And then there was the part of me. The stupid, reckless, hopeful part, whispering:You’ve always wanted this.I pictured barefoot mornings, the sunlight creeping into the kitchen where laughter bounced off the walls. I imagined helping with homework spread out on the kitchen table, teaching my kids how to ride dirt bikes, the joy-filled chaos of pancake breakfasts, and showing them the peace of a day in the woods. The kind of family rhythm that wasn’t perfect but felt like home.
My apartment often boasted a quiet atmosphere. I’d filled it with workouts, work, mindless TV, anything but family. Ten years in the Marine Corps had taught me how to survive in desert heat and sandstorms, how to clear rooms in seconds, how to keep my face blank when my chest was screaming. But it hadn’t taught me how to come home to nothing.
My marriage hadn’t survived it. Maybe it never had a chance; we were young when we married. She’d told me she couldn’t handle the deployments, the distance, the version of me who came back quieter each time. She was right. I hadn’t handled it well either. And when we split up, I’d told myselfI wasn’t meant for family. Not anymore.
That was before she came storming in funny, smart, gorgeous, and honest as hell. She had kids. A whole world orbiting her. Yet, instead of fear, I felt that dangerous pull. I wanted it.
I typed slowly, careful not to overplay my hand:
Me:I would like one of my own one day. If you
didn’t want to have any more kids, I would
understand… but it may be a deal
breaker for me.
My thumb hovered before hitting send. It felt too honest, too forward. But I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to play games anymore. If I wanted real, I had to be real.
So I hitSend. Then I waited. And waited.
The typing dots came up. Disappeared. Came back again. I imagined her reading my words, frowning, maybe deciding this was the moment to ghost me.
