Something as simple as my best friend’s dad putting my daughter in her seat, in my car, does that. That’s what my life has become—a constant ball of nerves, being mom and dad to this precious daughter of mine. I know Bellamy tells me all the time to give myself some grace, but it’s this moment when it hits me—I’m wound tight. “Thank you, Mr. Warner.”
“It’s Will, sweetheart.” He makes sure Mia is secure before stepping back. “Check out my work, Momma. We want this little angel to be safe.” He winks, and my heart does this weird flutter thing inside my chest.
He understands that my need to keep her safe is my driving force. He knew that. Even though I trust him, I would have to check to make sure Mia was latched properly. He understands and is accepting that. His kindness has my eyes growing misty.
“Thank you,” I whisper before moving around him. I dip my head inside and check the car seat. It’s securely fastened, just as I knew it would be, but I’m so used to it just being me?—
No, that’s not all it is.
I’ve told myself that I’m all that Mia has. I need to be a mother, a father, and a protector. My parents live in Hawaii, living out their retirement dreams. They don’t understand why I adopted during my divorce.
I tried so many times to explain to them that Ethan and I were already in the process of doing it together. They don’t approve of me going ahead on my own. “You need a man,” they said. A husband who can provide for me. They’re old-school, and we’ve never been close. Hence, the reason my daughter is eight and a half months old, and they’ve never met her. Hell, they don’t even call to check on her. So, yes, I’m a helicopter mom, and I hope like hell I can figure out a way not to be as my baby girl gets older. I don’t want her to hate me. But really, can she hate me for loving her too much? Is that a thing?
“Thank you,” I say, standing and closing the back door. “I know I can trust you. It’s just—” I start to defend my actions, but he reaches out and places his hand over mine.
“Amanda, it’s okay,” he says, his tone gentle. “You’re her mother. You’re just doing your job.”
I nod, because today has been a lot—seeing everyone happy and in love. I want that. For Mia and for me. But that just isn’t in the cards for us. At least, not yet. I think about my conversation with Candice and hope that one day we’ll find a good man to love us both.
“I love her so much,” I tell him, my voice cracking. My face floods with heat because I’m standing in my best friend’s driveway, crying in front of her father, the same father she went years avoiding, telling him how much I love my daughter.
I’m a complete and utter mess right now.
“Come here.” Mr. Warner—I mean, Will, which he insists I call him, pulls me into a hug. His strong arms wrap around me, and for a few heartbeats, I allow myself the comfort before pulling back, wiping at my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“None of that. Come on.” He takes my hand in his, walks me around to the driver’s side door, and pulls it open for me. I plop down in the seat and smile up at him. “Thank you again.”
He nods. “Buckle up.”
I do as he says, and he nods, closing the door. He taps twice on the hood, and I slowly back out.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into the driveway of the small two-bedroom condo rental I’ve been living in since Ethan and I separated. He wanted the house, and I was happy to pack my things and leave. I didn’t want the memories. Most of them were lonely and depressing anyway. At least the most recent ones. I didn’t want to remember the nights spent alone, while he was cheating on me… when he claimed he was working on a big case, trying to make partner. Instead, he was replacing me.
Yeah, good riddance to the house and the memories that go with it.
I don’t know where we veered off course, but slowly, we drifted apart. I was hanging on to the love we had with both hands, blinded by my feelings for him, a love that he tarnished with his cheating and lies.
I stay in the car longer than necessary, hands resting on the steering wheel like it might steady me. This place still doesn’t feel like mine. It smells like cardboard and unfamiliar detergent, like something temporary, like I could disappear from it without leaving a mark.
Maybe that’s fitting. I feel temporary, too—like the life I planned slipped ahead without me, and I’m standing in the aftermath, blinking.
We were kids when we fell in love. Barefoot summers, whispered promises, the kind of certainty you only have before life teaches you how many ways things can break. Ethan was my constant, my always. I thought that was enough. I thought that history could carry us through anything.
I tell myself I should have let go sooner. That loving someone shouldn’t feel like begging them to stay. But love doesn’t leave politely. It clings. It hopes. It waits far too long.
Pulling my keys from the ignition, I grab everything I need before lifting Mia in her seat and making my way to the front door.
Inside, the house is quiet, and the loneliness presses against my chest. I drop my keys on the counter, and my eyes drift to the second bedroom, Mia’s room. The one I painted a soft pink, with my landlord’s approval, all on my own. The one with the crib I assembled alone, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the instructions spread out and tears blurring the words.
We were supposed to do that together. We were supposed to become parents together. Instead, I signed papers by myself, my name the only one on the line, my heart splitting open with joy and grief all at once.
Adopting alone wasn’t the plan, but neither was losing him.
I love my child with a fierceness that sometimes scares me. It’s the kind of love that sinks into your bones and rewrites you completely. Still, there are nights I ache for the version of my life where I wasn’t doing this solo. Where someone is next to me to share the fears and the joys of parenting. There’s pride in surviving this, yes, but there’s heartbreak, too, and it demands attention.
Placing Mia’s car seat on the living room floor, I smile as I watch her sleeping peacefully. My heart swells for this tiny human. This isn’t the life I imagined, but it’s the one I’m living. I’m learning how to carry both loss and love at the same time. Learning that some endings don’t mean failure. They just mean the story changed without asking permission.
My story is my daughter.