“How do you know that?”
“I see the way he looks at you, with hearts in his eyes.”
I laugh so hard tears fall. I grab London and tickle her sides. “Hearts in his eyes.”
“Yeah, like when people love each other.” She smiles.
And I wonder.
When she was six years old, she asked why Logan and I didn’t stay together like other parents. All her friends had a mom and dad who lived in the same house. It threw me, and I hated Wyatt that day. For leaving me to answer these hard questions. But I was honest. I sat her down and told her that there are so many different kinds of families in the world and all that mattered was there was love in the family because that is what family is — love.
She nodded, accepting the answer I gave her, and she never did ask about it again. She was oddly wise for her age. My mother always tells me London is an old soul.
“I love you, baby girl,” I say, holding her close to me. “More than you know.”
“I know, Mommy. You tell me all the time.”
“But what if I didn’t tell you?”
“I’d still know,” she says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re my mommy.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I realize how truly blessed I am and have been since this little soul came into my life. I hug her close and beg the universe to keep her spirit strong, always.
