Chapter 10
A year after the island, I took Mae to the beach.
She was learning to walk. Every few steps, she let go of my fingers, rushed toward something interesting, and sat down in the sand. Then she looked back to make sure I was still there.
I always was.
Mom sat nearby beneath an umbrella. She had brought too much food, as usual. Ethan was joining us for Mae’s birthday picnic that afternoon. We had talked about it in advance, and I felt comfortable with the plan.
I watched a wave reach the edge of Mae’s shoes. She squealed and grabbed my hand.
“Again?” I asked.
She pointed at the water.
We waited together.
By noon, Ethan arrived carrying a small cake and a bag of brightly colored paper hats. He greeted me, then crouched to let Mae come to him. She walked three determined steps before tumbling against his chest.
He caught her and laughed.
Mom took photographs. We ate cake while Mae wore most of hers. Ethan showed her a picture book he had bought, and she tried to turn every page at once.
When it was time for him to leave, he stood beside me while Mae slept against Mom’s shoulder.
“Thank you for today,” he said.
“She had a good birthday.”
“So did I.” He looked at our daughter. “I know I nearly lost the chance to be part of her life.”
“You made choices after that. You kept showing up.”
“I’ll keep doing it.”
“I know.”
He smiled sadly, then went to his car. We had found a way to speak with care. Mae could love both of us without carrying the weight of our old marriage.
The trust was secure. The missing money had been returned. Ethan had faced his board, his lawyers, and the truth he once hid from me. I had a home, work I loved, and people who answered when I called.
After the picnic, Mom took Mae to my apartment so I could walk for a little while alone. I stood near the water and let the wind pull at my hair.
My phone buzzed. Declan had sent a message asking how the birthday went. Over the past few months, we had spoken often about the clinic project and, slowly, about the rest of our lives. He had met Mae at a community event and spent ten minutes letting her hand him the same toy over and over.
I sent him a photograph of her covered in cake.
“She had an excellent day,” I wrote.
“I can see that. Dinner next week, if you’d like?”
I smiled at the screen. He had asked before. I had said I needed time. He had given it without pressing.
“Yes,” I wrote. “I’d like that.”
I slipped the phone into my bag and went home.
Mae was awake when I arrived. Mom had changed her into pajamas, and the little book Ethan gave her lay open on the rug. Mae saw me and pushed herself up, one hand on the sofa.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
She took a step. Then another.
Halfway across the room, she let go of the sofa completely. Her arms lifted for balance. Her face shone with effort and delight.
I knelt and held out my hands.
She reached me and fell laughing into my arms.
Mom cheered. I hugged Mae close and felt her heartbeat against mine.
A year earlier, I had walked through a hotel lobby afraid that everything I knew about my family was falling apart. I could not have imagined this room, this steady life, or how strong I would feel holding my daughter in it.
Mae pulled back and touched my face. She was safe. She was loved. She could take her next step knowing someone would be there if she fell.
May you like
“So can I,” I whispered.
I stood with her in my arms. Mom opened the curtains, and late sunlight filled our home. Mae pointed toward it, eager to see more, and I carried her to the window.
