Breathe With Me By Becka Mack - 28

“I S IT C WIS-MAS?”

“It’s not Christmas.”

“Oh. Is it… is it my birfday?”

I glance at Abel, standing in front of the gift boxes we just unpacked from the giant box the delivery driver left on the front porch during breakfast. Mémère spared no expense, but then she never has. She’s been thoroughly enjoying her weekly video chats with us over tea for the last month, and I’ve only had to remind her of his name and who he was once. A week and a half ago, though, she called me while she was out shopping with her personal support worker, demanding Abel’s measurements, because she’d found the most darling of outfits .

I expected a small package, not seven individually wrapped gift boxes stuffed inside a massive box.

“Your birthday is in the summer, in July. Mémère saw some clothes that made her think of you, so she sent them over, just because.”

“Just ’cause?” He scratches his head, soft auburn waves that remind me of autumn falling over his forehead. It was eight days before he stopped wearing Emmett’s hat inside, and being on the receiving end of that smile when I’m running my fingers through his hair as I pass him by has become one of the things I look forward to most each day. “Are we gonna talk to Ma-bear today?”

Grinning at his attempt, I grab my phone and start the kettle. “How about we call her now, and you can open your boxes while we talk?”

“Okay, and remember.” He holds up a very matter-of-fact finger. “If I don’t say thank you, then Santa will come and take all my presents away, and I will never get one ever again.”

There’s that ache again, right between my ribs. I work to swallow, giving Abel a soft smile. “Saying thank you when somebody does something thoughtful for you is kind, but Santa is not going to take your presents away if you forget. Sometimes we say thank you without words, like with a hug, or by doing something nice for someone.” And sometimes we’re only three years old and still mastering social norms and expectations, and it’s not bad manners, it’s just child development. But hey, what the fuck do I know? Certainly not more than Peter and Elizabeth, who seem to be behind all of Abel’s skewed thoughts and fears.

“Oh, mon cœur .” Mémère answers the video call, fluffing her white hair. “Is it Wednesday already? I’m so sorry, Cara. It must have slipped my mind.”

“Only Tuesday, Mémère. Your gifts were just delivered, though, so we thought we’d call you now.”

“Gifts?”

“For Abel,” I remind her gently, watching in real time as she sifts through her memories. “You saw an outfit last week while you were shopping. You wanted to send it for him.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She claps a hand to her forehead, then winks. “It was a lot more than an outfit.”

“You don’t say,” I murmur, propping my phone up so she can see Abel and his pile of boxes.

He dashes over, waving with both hands. “Hi, Ma-bear! Do you m’member me today?” The sweet boy takes a step back, patting his chest as he tells her softly, “I’m Abel, m’member?”

Mémère laughs, loud and so bright, and I cherish every laugh line around those brilliant blue eyes. “Yes, sweet boy, I remember you today. You are Abel, not quite four years old, and when you grow up, you want to be a… a… merde , what’s the one with the plates on its— Oh! A stegosaurus!”

“You m’member!” He gives her two thumbs-up, and when he tells her with every ounce of sincerity, “Good job, Ma-bear,” I fall a little more in love with him. “Yeah, I used to wanna be a… a T. rex, but I think I will not like to eat other dinosaurs.” He shrugs, sinking to the floor, pulling a box between his legs. “Stegosaurus, they gots spikes on their back to protect ’em, so that’s why I choose stegosaurus.”

“Ah, so that’s why. And what about Cara? What kind of dinosaur would she be?”

“A T. rex, surely,” I offer, popping a strawberry in my mouth as Abel starts unwrapping his gift. “I’d eat other dinosaurs for dinner.”

But Abel shakes his head. “Cara is not a dinosaur.” Before I can sulk and ask why, his eyes light up. A raincoat emerges, followed by splash pants, rain boots, and an umbrella, all with the same dinosaur pattern. “Cara, look !” He climbs to his feet, jumping up and down, hugging his coat to his chest. “I put it on now,” he says, immediately tugging the splash pants on, stepping into the boots, giving Mémère a close-up when he’s done. “Look, Ma-bear! Look at me!”

“I am looking at you, happy boy. You shine just like the sun. The rain clouds won’t stand a chance against you.”

“Thank you, Ma-bear.” He wraps his arms around himself. “I love it!”

We watch as Abel busies himself with opening each box, humoring Mémère by showing off each new outfit, just like I used to on all our shopping trips. Honestly, I can’t tell who enjoys it more; my little buddy might just be built for shopping.

“How are you feeling this week?” I ask Mémère quietly as I glance at my phone, heart squeezing when I find her watching me with the kind of smile that looks exactly the way love is meant to feel—warm, easy, and everlasting. “What?”

“He reminds me of you. All that light, the joy, the love of life. Appreciation for fine fashion,” she adds with a pump of her brows.

Snorting, I watch Abel put his rainsuit back on, tucking his brand-new stuffed stegosaurus beneath his arm. The finishing touch? The blue T. rex sunglasses he fixes on his face.

“He’s got a pure heart, that one,” she murmurs. “Plain as day to see.”

“Ma-bear.” Abel hops his way over, crashing into my side, hiding his shy smile behind my hip. “Did you get all this for me?”

“I did.”

“And-and-and… you got them for me just ’cause?”

Mémère’s smile is every bit as soft as the gaze she watches him with. “Just ’cause, my darling.”

His nose scrunches, cheeks flushing. He tugs at my arm, beckoning me closer, like he has a secret. “Cara, can I make a painting for Ma-bear? Just ’cause?”

“That’s a great idea.” I pull out the paint supplies, spreading them over the kitchen table. “Mémère loves art. We can put it in an envelope and walk to the mailbox to send it to her so she can hang it up in her room.”

“Because she lives far, far away?”

“Too far,” she answers with a sigh.

Abel crawls onto a chair, brush in hand as he examines the paints. “Ma-bear, what’s your favorite… what’s your favorite color? Is it… pink?”

She gasps. “How on earth did you guess?”

He grins, shrugging. “I don’t know! I just guessed it! Maybe ’cause my brain is learned-ing new things every day. Did you know that? Cara says so.”

“What do we say at bedtime?” I ask as he spreads pink paint over his paper.

“I am smart. I am kind. I am important. And I can do anything !” He pumps his fist through the air, just like we do every night, and his paintbrush falls from his hand, pink splattering on the edge of the table on its way to the floor. I see the panic flare in his eyes as they ping to me, the tremble in his hands before he curls them into fists. “It w-w-was a accident,” he sputters, pushing away from the table. “I—I—I didn’t mean to. I—”

“Abel,” I murmur, staying where I am but crouching to his level. “Pause. Breathe. It’s just p—”

“Oh no ! No, not my—” He tosses his head back, fists curled at his sides, and stomps a foot as tears storm down his cheeks. “ Not my dinosaur boots! ”

“Oh, shit,” I mutter, grabbing a couple cloths, holding them up like white flags as I approach him. “Hey, sweet pea. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He looks up at me through flooded eyes, swiping at his tear-stained cheeks. “ Cara! ” Small arms come around my neck, tiny hands fisting in my hair as he flings himself into my arms. “I got p-p-paint on my new boots! She’s gonna be so-so-so mad at me!”

“Hey, hey. Shhh, Abel, it’s okay. You’re safe.” I push his hair off his face. “Who’s going to be mad at you?”

“Ma-bear!”

“Oh, Abel,” Mémère calls softly from my phone. “I could never be angry with you for spilling some paint.”

“B-b-but… my boots!”

“Hey, look.” I wipe his boot with my cloth, and the pink paint disappears. “See? Comes right off.”

“And you know what rain boots are for, don’t you?” Mémère winks at him. “Mud puddles. A little paint isn’t going to hurt those boots. We’re supposed to get dirty.”

Abel sniffles, dragging his hand across his nose. “We is? Peter and ’Liz-beth never told me that before.” Another sniffle, and he blinks away the remaining tears. “I had a-a-accident, Cara.”

“Accidents happen. What should we do?”

“Clean it up? I could wipe the floor, and maybe you could wipe the table.”

“Working together to clean it up is a great idea,” Mémère says. “It’s much faster that way. Teamwork makes the dream work.”

Abel cocks his head. “Teamwork is the dream word?”

I tap his nose, cleaning the paint off the table. “Teamwork makes the dream work.” I gesture between us as he wipes at the floor. “You and me, we’re a team.”

“And Emmett too?”

“And Emmett too.”

Abel thinks for a moment, then looks over at my phone. “You can be on our team too, okay, Ma-bear?”

“I would be honored, my darling.” She smiles at me as Abel goes back to painting. “The love, mon cœur . The love between you… magnifique. ” She taps her heart. “I feel it, all the way over here. You were meant to find each other.”

My gaze drops to my mug, warm between my hands as I think back on the last month, the late nights spent clinging to us, begging us not to leave, the wildly early mornings, the big, big feelings, the constant readjustments as we try to get things just right. And still, despite all the challenges, every day I get to watch him step a little more into himself. Watch the fear slowly dwindle, the trust build right along with our connection, and I know Adam and Rosie were right: It is every bit as worthwhile as it is difficult.

I can’t bring myself to say the words on the tip of my tongue, not when I knew what we were getting into. So as my throat squeezes around a pain I’ll have to deal with one day, I swallow it down and murmur a different truth. “The only time I’ve fallen so hard, so fast, was with Emmett.”

I don’t know how I’ll ever say goodbye.

And like she hears it all, Mémère nods, the compassion in her gaze heavy, weighted with sorrow she knows all too well. “The only peace goodbye has ever brought me is the certainty that there is so, so much love between that first hello and the final farewell. If only it made the word any easier to say.”

If only.

“Ma-bear! Cara! Look!” Abel comes bounding back over, beaming with pride as he shows off his painting, swirls of pink, purple, blue, and orange, big round faces, long legs, smiles you can’t miss as he names each person. Ma-bear. Abel. Emmett. Cara.

“Our team,” he exclaims proudly and with all the certainty in the world. “It’s our team.”

If only.

T HERE IS SOMETHING SO INHERENTLY peaceful about bedtime stories. Something soft and warm, like the little body tucked into my side, his cheek pressed to my shoulder, one teensy hand resting gently on mine as we hold the book open. Something bright and hopeful, like the stars and the moon that shine above us as we sit curled up in the window. Something wondrous and reverent, like the whispered words spilled from the pages of the book and into the quiet night, like a secret for only us to share.

When I was a little girl, bedtime stories reminded me that everything was going to be okay. That even the toughest days drew to a close, and there was always a tomorrow. I found comfort in the dark, the way I could always find at least one star in the sky, no matter the weather. One star that fought its way through to shine.

Bedtime stories beneath the sky have always been where I’ve found peace at the end of the day, but here with Abel… there’s something more. Something bigger, something palpable. Something that feels a little like healing and a lot like a miracle.

“All done,” I whisper, lips pressed to his hair as I finish reading,

“Wait,” he murmurs, groggy and quiet as he stops me from closing the book. He flips through the pages, all the way to the inside of the front cover, running his fingers over Emmett’s handwriting, same as he does every night. He pats the words, looking up at me with bleary eyes, stars twinkling in a sea of green. “Don’t forget this.”

I stare down at the words Emmett wrote over three years ago now, the ones that were meant for the baby we were supposed to have. The passage is smudged now, once-perfect handwriting stained with the splatter of teardrops from nights spent curled up right here in this very window, reading this book, wishing on a star for a miracle.

And I gaze at the boy in my lap, the one who spends his days at my side, asking me questions, learning and teaching in equal amounts, stepping a little further into himself each and every day as he places his hands in ours, takes more of our hearts and gives us more of his trust. But each time he finds a new piece of himself, I find an old piece of me, nearly the same, only the dullness has been wiped away.

One day, you’ll be snuggled up in this window, staring up at the stars above.

Mama will hold you, singing to you about the way they shine like diamonds in the sky.

And I’ll stand back and watch you together, knowing with absolute certainty…

If you and your mama were the only stars in my sky,

That would be all I needed.

By the time I’ve finished the passage, Abel is asleep in my lap. I steal another handful of minutes, treasuring the way it feels to have my arms so full, before I carefully tuck him into bed. His eyes open as I step back, slow blinks ready to drag him back under.

I press a kiss to my fingers and blow it his way. “Put it in your pocket for later.”

He grins, sending the kiss and the words right back to me before I head for the door. When I get there, his quiet voice stops me.

“Cara?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Dinosaurs don’t protect other dinosaurs.”

“They don’t?”

“No. They only protect themselves. They don’t think about anybody else.” He turns over, a quiet sigh and the ruffle of his blankets filling the air. Right before I shut the door, he whispers, “That’s why my Cara is not a dinosaur.”

T HERE’S A PATTERING IN MY CHEST, fast and fluttering, a feeling that dips like unease to my stomach.

I stare out the car window at the park down the road, and that unease works its way into my fingers as they tap against my thighs, into my feet, which I couldn’t keep still right now if my life depended on it.

A broad hand lands on my thigh, a gentle squeeze that reminds me to pause, to breathe.

While I’m not exactly sure why anxiety chooses this moment to surface, moments before we meet Catharine, Abel’s mom, or sister, as he knows her, I’d guess it’s because Abel’s been talking about this visit for a week now. Marlene, his social worker, told us Catharine’s canceled every in-person visit since attending the first one after Abel was taken to Second Chance Home, always the morning of and after confirming she’d be there the night before. Though Marlene hasn’t heard from her today, I’m not sure I’m prepared to handle Abel’s disappointment if Catharine doesn’t show.

“Is my Catharine here?” Abel asks as Emmett pulls him from the car seat, fists shaking with excitement. His head whips left, then right, and he turns himself in a full circle. “Where is she?”

“Not here just yet, bud.” Emmett flips him up onto his shoulders, and Abel squeals with delight, clutching his head. “Should we go on the swing while we wait? Or do you want to go on the climbing wall?”

“I waaant… um…” He taps a finger against his tiny, adorable chin, then holds it up. “Oh! I know! Let’s go up on the… the climber, and then you will put me on your back again, and-and-and I will be so tall, I will be able to see anything ! Then I can see… I can see my Catharine when she gets here, right, Emmett?”

“Right on, dude. Let’s get you up super high so you can be on the lookout.”

It’s a mild spring day, the warm breeze moving through my hair as I watch my two favorite boys. Emmett looks comically large on the pirate ship climber, given that it’s made specifically for kids five and under. Still, there’s something so wildly attractive about a six-foot-three wall of a man slapping a hand over his eye and pretending to be a one-eyed pirate, complete with lots of ahoy there s and arr matey s, just to get the little boy on his shoulders laughing.

Five minutes turns into ten, and I sigh when a quick glance at my phone shows nothing from Marlene. “Please,” I whisper, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. “Please, show up.”

A shriek of laughter brings my gaze back to Abel, and I smile as he rolls around on his back on the climber, having the time of his life while Emmett appears to be fighting for his. My man has his right hand hiding in the sleeve of his sweater as he hollers, falling so theatrically, it’s an Oscar-worthy performance.

“ Ah! My hand! The crocodile! He got my hand! ” Emmett reaches toward Abel with his other hand. “Help me, captain! Before he gets my other hand!”

The sight eases the tension in my shoulders, and I pull in a deep breath, letting it go as I check my phone again. No message from Marlene, and Catharine is fifteen minutes late, the same amount of time we were told to wait before leaving.

“Five more minutes,” I murmur. “I’m giving you five more minutes.”

There’s movement from the corner of my eye, and I catch a glimpse of deep auburn before it disappears behind a tree. Unfortunately for her, she forgets to make her shoes disappear.

The pounding in my ears quiets, and my chest slowly deflates with relief. I wait a minute, just long enough for her to gather her courage, it seems, because slowly but surely, the young woman steps out from behind the tree, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind who she is.

From the copper hair, the high cheekbones splashed with the same freckles, and those eyes, a stunning, cool sage, I know with certainty that this is the woman who brought Abel into this world.

I watch her stand there, eyes fixed on Abel as he runs and screams and laughs, and when tears fill her eyes, they fill mine too.

“ Catharine! Emmett, Cara, look! It’s my-my-my Catharine!”

She quickly swipes those tears away as Abel races toward her, and when she grins, huge and beautiful, right before they collide, I see that dimple in her right cheek, just like his.

“I made you somethin’,” Abel tells her, dashing over to me. “Cara, can I show my Catharine what I made for her?”

“You sure can.” I take a seat on the bench, rooting through the dinosaur backpack Abel and I picked out for him the week he moved in with us. I pull out the bulky envelope and hand it to Abel, smiling at Catharine as she approaches slowly. “Hi, Catharine. I’m Cara.”

“Hi,” she says softly, pulling at the sleeves of her sweater before she tentatively offers me her hand. I think I forgot just how young nineteen is, because as I shake her hand, I’m painfully aware that she’s barely more than a child herself. Nails chewed to the quick, friendship bracelets stacked on both wrists, a baggy hoodie with holes in the cuffs, unzipped and showing off her old-school Spice Girls T-shirt below. There’s a softness to her face, a fullness to her cheeks that makes her look eons too innocent to have gone through everything she’s experienced. Because beyond everything, I see the utter exhaustion in her eyes, the dull sparkle that tells me she’s been through it, and she’s having trouble hanging on to hope. A feeling I know all too well.

Emmett jogs over, holding out his hand. “Hey, Catharine. Abel talks about you all the time. I’m—”

“Hot.” Her eyes widen, and she clamps a hand over her mouth as I snort a laugh. “I’m so sorry.” She drags her hands down her red face. “I Googled you guys. I thought you were hot online, but in person, you’re… wow . And you.” She gestures at me. “I thought maybe it was all just angles, but—”

“I really am that pretty.” I toss my hair over my shoulder for effect, but then wave myself off. “Just kidding. Kinda. Not really.”

“She’s not kidding,” Emmett confirms.

“Oh, shoot, Abe. Lemme see what you made.” She pulls out the stack of papers, chin quivering as she unfolds the first one. “You painted.”

“I gots paints at Cara and Emmett’s.” He thumbs proudly at his chest. “I painted this for you. And guess what? I spilled and make a mess, and”—he waves his hands around—“Cara and Emmett didn’t even yell at me.”

Her eyes flicker, and she drops to her knees, taking Abel’s hands in hers. “I’m so happy you get to paint and make messes at Cara and Emmett’s house. Can you tell me about your paintings?”

Abel sits with Catharine, labeling each and every paint stroke on the page. Then she pushes him on the swing, and he tells her all about what it’s like living with us. She asks him what his favorite thing to do at our house is. Making pizza with Emmett, watching hockey with me, reading under the stars with both of us, and being a team. That’s what he says.

When Abel requests his one-handed pirate help save him from the crocodile, Emmett and Catharine swap places. We sit on the small bench in silence as we watch them play, and I can hear the gears in her head turning as much as mine are as we each search for the right thing to say.

“How are things—”

“It seems like—”

“Oh, sorry.” I wave her on. “Go ahead.”

“No, I was just gonna say, um…” She pulls her sleeves over her hands, looking at her knees. “Abel seems like he’s doing really well.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I mean, his stutter has improved so much.”

“Yeah? I thought so as well, but it’s hard for me to gauge in such a short time without knowing what his speech was like before.”

Catharine looks up at Abel, swallowing hard. “It started about a year ago, out of the blue. His speech has always been really good, maybe because he’s always been around adults or older kids. But Peter and Elizabeth—uh, my parents,” she clarifies, “they just started getting really irritated with him for everything. Stupid crap, like spilling milk at the dinner table. One time, he colored off the paper with a marker, and they threw all his markers and crayons out. I got him more from the dollar store and hid them in my bedroom, and when they found one of his drawings, they ripped it up and made me throw out the markers in front of him. ‘He needs to learn,’ they said,” she mutters. “The only thing he learned was how to stutter, because he was so damn anxious every time they looked in his direction.”

Clenching my jaw, I look up to the sky, praying for some form of restraint. When I don’t find it, I say, “Your parents sound like fucking donkey dicks. No disrespect.”

Catharine barks out a laugh. “All the disrespect.”

I give her a half smile, nudging her with my elbow. “How are you?”

“I…” She frowns. “Nobody ever asks me that.”

“Nobody? What about your friends?”

She shakes her head. “They don’t understand. They thought all this meant more time for partying. I had a breakdown, after the first and only time I visited Abel when he was still in the group home. I couldn’t… I couldn’t see him like that. They told me he wasn’t talking, that he was sitting by himself in a chair by the window all day. But when the visit was over and I had to leave…” Tears drip down her cheeks, and she swats them away angrily. “He screamed. He yelled my name, over and over. He begged for me to take him with me. He begged me not to leave him. Again.” She hangs her head, fiddling with the sleeves. “It took two workers to restrain him. When I got back to my friend’s place, she said, ‘I don’t understand. You got what you wanted.’ ” A bitter laugh falls from her mouth as she looks to the sky. “I didn’t want to be a mom in the first place, not ever, and definitely not at sixteen. But to act like I should be happy my three-year-old’s in the foster system so I can have more freedom to drink and party? Yeah, they just don’t get it.”

Hesitantly, I lay my hand over hers, feeling the way it stills beneath mine. “I’m sorry, Catharine. I’m sure it’s a maturity thing that will come with age, but respectfully, your friends sound like trash.” I bet they’re all named Courtney.

Another snort of laughter. “You can stop saying that. Respectfully, or no disrespect.”

“It makes me feel better when I’m being blunt about how shitty some people are.”

“I like you,” she says with a sad smile. “I hoped I would and thought I wouldn’t at the same time. I hoped I’d like you because you were taking care of Abel and he was happy. And that’s all true. But I thought I wouldn’t because, well, no disrespect”—she pauses to grin when I laugh—“you’re rich. You’re beautiful. Your husband is hot. You have a perfect life. I thought I’d see you doing this so easily, so perfectly, and I’d feel like… shit. I’d be bitter. Jealous. But I just feel grateful, and I can’t tell you how relieving that is.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea. And for what it’s worth, it’s a beautiful life, filled with beautiful people, but as far as perfection goes? Nothing is ever exactly as it seems.”

“I dreamed of getting out of that house as soon as I could. And when Abel was born, I knew I wouldn’t be leaving for a long time. They held it over my head, always. Wouldn’t let me be his mom, even though they forced me into going through with the pregnancy and keeping him, and every time I got fed up with them, said I would take him and leave, they’d laugh and ask me where I’d go. What I’d do with a baby as a teen mom with no high school diploma and no job. They told me I needed them. Just for them to turn around and kick us both out because I came home drunk on my nineteenth birthday. And they were right, I had nowhere to go. My friends were too scared to tell their parents that Abel was actually mine, that they’d been lying to them. One friend told her mom, and she let us stay that first night, but the second night, when her dad found out…” She swallows hard, looking away. “She hasn’t been allowed to see me since then. Her dad said he didn’t want his daughter hanging around with someone who had no morals.” Her voice drops just as my rage bubbles. “Gave me fifty dollars before he closed the door in my face.”

A bitter laugh croaks in my throat. I place my hand over hers. “This isn’t the right time, but I’m going to need a list of names. You don’t need to worry about what I’m going to do with the list; you just need to make sure I have first and last names, and it’s written as clearly as possible.”

Catharine barks out a laugh before her shoulders slump. “It’s hard losing all those people, all at once.”

I nod. “Absolutely. It hurts, and it’s allowed to. It might hurt for a while, and maybe forever. But one day you’ll look back and realize those were never your people. Not the right ones. The right ones don’t hurt you in unforgivable ways.”

She grips the edge of the bench, the ghost of a sad smile on her lips as she watches Abel. “I wonder what it’s like to have parents you can rely on, not just to take care of you and keep you safe, but to love you too, through all your stages. I wonder how my life would’ve been different if I’d had that. Instead, mine called my social worker and told them I was no longer living with them, that I was couch surfing, and without permanent housing…”

“They took your son,” I finish for her quietly, following her gaze to the innocent boy whose bright smile rivals the sun as he soars through the air on the swings.

“Maybe it was a blessing in disguise for Abel. I might not be his mom the way I’m supposed to be, but I would never want to raise him the way they raised me. I don’t think I ever even realized how damaging it was, all the yelling, the slamming doors, the shame… I knew I hated it, but when it started happening to him, when I saw how it was affecting him, how anxious he was becoming…” She shakes her head, sniffling. “That’s not the childhood I want for him. And today, with you guys… he’s not looking over his shoulder, anticipating the worst. He’s just… he’s just a kid. And that’s enough. Finally.”

My heart aches as I watch Abel and Emmett, two boys with more in common than I’d realized. Two boys that needed to cross paths at one point in time. Because as I watch Emmett, I see him being the parent he didn’t get. And Abel… I see a boy who’s not as scared as he was just weeks ago to be exactly who he is. Maybe… maybe they needed each other.

“I love him, you know,” Catharine says, drawing my attention back to her as she sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve at the same time I realize quiet tears are sliding down my cheeks. “That’s never been a question, and maybe it’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of in this life. Maybe I never wanted to be a mom, but he’s a part of me, and when I look at him… all I see is innocence. His heart is so pure, so kind, and he… he deserves a better shot at life.”

“What about you? What about your better shot at life?”

“Do I get one?” She chuckles, unsure. “I mean, I finally completed my GED, which is cool. And I managed to get a job at the library. It’s only part-time, but I’m saving everything I can. Hopefully I’ll be able to get a little two-bedroom apartment soon, but everything is so expensive.”

There’s a niggling thought in the back of my mind when she says soon , a reminder that this time with Abel is temporary, that I have no idea how long he’ll be with us, or when we’ll have to say goodbye. It hurts the way I knew it would, but in this moment, it’s the shame that eats at me. We’re here to be his home and his safe place until Catharine gets on her feet. I want her to get on her feet; she deserves that and a million other things. And yet I don’t want to say goodbye.

I still the slight tremor in my hands and bat my tears away, smiling. “That’s great, Catharine. What are you doing at the library?”

“Just stocking shelves. Nothing fancy, but it means I get to be around books all day.”

“You’re a big reader?”

“Huge. Spent most of my spare time at the library before Abel. My parents didn’t let me read things like romance and fantasy, so I’d spend full weekends there, finding a quiet spot to get lost in them. I needed that escape, I think. It gave me hope for something more, something better. But poetry is where I really found myself. I even… um…” She trails off, cheeks flushed ruby red as she waves her words away. “Ah, forget it. It’s stupid. Just a dream.”

“Hey, nothing is stupid. Except maybe your parents. And your friend. And most of my friends’ exes. But your dreams? Never.”

She giggles softly. “I always dreamed of writing a book. When I wasn’t at the library, I’d spend hours on my bed journaling, and journaling eventually turned to silly poems. I stopped when I was fourteen, after my mom found my notebook. She said it was a sin to covet a life that wasn’t yours, and threw my poems in the trash.”

“Jesus, your mom really knows how to crush a girl’s spirit, doesn’t she?”

“Her specialty, I think. Anyway, I started writing again when I was pregnant with Abel. The words just… they just came to me. I don’t know how to explain it. I couldn’t stop, but after he was born… I just lost it. All of it. The motivation, the creativity. I had Abel, and I knew I loved him, I could feel it so deeply, and yet I felt… dead inside. Like I couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard I tried.”

“It sounds like you might’ve had postpartum depression,” I suggest gently.

“Oh, definitely. I know that now after researching about it, but when I suggested it back then, my mom said that I was just being lazy, that I needed to get over it and keep going like every other mom.”

My mouth opens before I can stop myself, but I manage to contain the rage-filled words that want to pour out, instead running the pads of my thumb and forefinger over my lips. “Mhmm,” I manage to hum, nodding. “For sure. Yeah. That makes total sense. Hey, listen.” I twist toward her, propping my elbow up on the back of the bench so she can feel the full force of my words. “I don’t need much,” I whisper, brows raised as I give her a knowing look. “Just an address. I’ve never done it before, but honestly, I think I could get away with it. Nobody would ever know.”

Catharine laughs, loud and unexpected, that single dimple shining as she throws her head back. “See? Why couldn’t I have had a mom like you? That’s what every kid deserves: someone willing to fight for them.”

I giggle quietly, an all-too-familiar ache stretching between my shoulder blades.

“Anyway, I started writing again after I finished my GED. Without Abel, and without school, the words just built up inside me. I sat in the library one day during a thunderstorm, and the words just… came. They came out of nowhere, and they didn’t stop. I sat there for hours, lost in the mounds of scrap paper I’d taken from the craft table in the kids’ section, until the librarian told me the library was closing. She started gathering up the papers before I could stop her, and I was so embarrassed, I took off. She stopped me at the door, holding one of my poems, and she was… she was crying. She asked me if I needed a job, and I started two days later. Now I stock books all day and make my boss cry with whatever I manage to write in between.” She bites back her smile, equal parts shy and proud. “It makes me feel good knowing someone likes it, but really it just… it just makes me feel good, period. And it’s been so long since anything’s made me feel good.” The slightest lift of her shoulder. “Feels good to have a dream again too.”

“Have you thought about college? UBC has an amazing creative writing program.”

She barks out a laugh. “Are you suggesting I apply? I could never. Plus, wasn’t the deadline to apply in, like, January? It’s nearly April.”

“Pffft.” I wave her off. “A lot of schools still take late admissions.”

“But won’t most of the spots be filled? I’ll never get in.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“And even if, by some miracle, I got in, I could never afford it.” She shakes her head, adamant, but I see the war waging in those eyes. “No. I can’t.”

“Catharine.” I touch her shoulder, bringing her gaze to mine. “It’s worth a shot. Chasing your dreams always is. If there’s one person you should never, ever give up on, it’s yourself.”

“I guess I’m not really sure how to root for myself when nobody else has ever shown me how,” she admits.

“For what it’s worth, I’m rooting for you. And I think you’re off to a fabulous start. You finished high school and got a job. You’re feeding your soul by doing something that makes you happy. Those are huge steps, even if they don’t seem like it.”

Even if she hadn’t told me as much, I’d be able to tell by the furrow in her brow and the slump in her shoulders that she’s lived a life where something was always expected of her, where what she was doing was never enough. She clasps her hands together, staring at them in her lap. “How come I couldn’t do those things before? When I still had Abel?”

“I think you’re making it a personal failure, when what it really boils down to is not having the right support system in place. It’s amazing what we can accomplish when we have the right people by our side, the ones that remind us how capable we are, how loved, even when we fail. The ones who step in and help us carry our load so that we can prioritize ourselves. Because that’s what you deserve, Catharine. You deserve to be able to prioritize yourself, and you deserve to have someone on your team who helps make that possible. It’s not your fault that you didn’t.”

I look out across the park at the man I’m so blessed to have built this life with, the little boy who’s currently the center of our world. And I know I worked my ass off to get here. That I deserve all the good, because I’ve poured myself into chasing it. Chasing better. It got easier when I found Emmett, yes, because the way he cheered me on rivaled the roar of a hometown Vipers crowd on game seven in the final round of the playoffs. But before him, I had me. And I had to be enough for myself.

My gaze coasts back to Catharine, still a child in so many ways, and I know that the most important thing for her will be believing she’s enough, that she’s capable. That she can conquer all of this and be who she wants to be, the person she’d given up so long ago.

“If Abel deserves a better shot at life, so do you. Love yourself enough to chase it. Love yourself enough to know that the only person who determines your worth is you. Love yourself enough, value yourself so much, that giving up? It’s no longer an option. Sometimes the only voice cheering you on is your own, so it should always be the loudest.”