Page 29 of Fractured Destiny

“Ouch.” I wince.

“She was six.” Ingrid arches an eyebrow.

“What did you say?”

She laughs “Thank you for being so observant. And honest. Oh, and you’re in time out for swearing.”

Levi wriggles out of his stroller and climbs onto the bench beside me without asking. Crawls into my lap and presses one of his rocks into my hand.

“For me?”

He shakes his head. “Mine.”

“You want me to hold it?”

A nod. I slip it into my jacket pocket. He relaxes against me and I melt inside. Little moments like this continue to surprise me. Not necessarily my son’s affection.

More like my ability to receive it without any expectation of performance.

Levi’s love for me has no boundaries. He sees me in a light I’m coming to believe I deserve.

“You’ve changed so much,” Ingrid observes quietly.

I look at her. “You didn’t know me before.”

“No.” She smiles. “You’ve changed since I met you.”

Ingrid and I met in a mommy group at the community center where my M.O. was to sit in the back and answer questions using the fewest possible words.

She teaches kindergarten. Her partner disappeared halfway through her pregnancy and she’s somewhere between giving up on collecting child support and hiring a billboard to shame him into paying it. Our lives couldn’t look more different on paper, but single motherhood has a way of stripping away résumés.

Somewhere between sleepless nights, teething, and being the only partnerless women in the group, she’s became one of my closest friends.

The only true friend I’ve ever had, truth be told.

“I don’t feel different.”

“You are though.” Ingrid touches my wrist.

“How?”

“You trust yourself.”

Her words permeate in a way I can’t explain. Maybe she’s right. Recovery hasn’t erased my past or made me forget what I’ve done. It certainly hasn’t turned me into some polished version of myself who wakes up every morning grateful for life’s lessons.

I think it’s taught me something subtle. To believe in myself. Trust my own gauge.

If I say I’m tired, it means I’m tired. If I’m feeling angry, it’s okay. When I don’t know an answer, I don’t pretend otherwise. It’s astonishing how much energy living in lies requires. “I’ve had good advisors.”

Levi buries his face against my shoulder. His breathing slows almost instantly. I kiss the top of his head. He smells like baby shampoo, sand, and cocoa. “I’ve been thinking about his dad.”

“Oh?” Ingrid glances toward me. Waits.

I shake my head. “Yeah…”

“Have you always known who his father was?” She flicks her eyes to my son.

“Yes.”