Keeley
nine
Miller’s comment— she looks just like you —ate at me for the rest of the day.
Hannah and I both had light brown skin, brown eyes, and dark hair.
But I was raising a child who was not only not biologically mine but also didn’t share my ethnicity.
It was something I was acutely aware of, having grown up with a white mom.
I hadn’t learned much about half of my culture.
It wasn’t something that had occurred to Mom when I was growing up.
I didn’t hold it against her—she’d done her absolute best. If anything, it was my father’s fault for skipping out.
I’d lost a connection to my Columbian heritage when he left.
My abuela and abuelo had taught me a little—a few family recipes and basic Spanish—but distance made things difficult.
I didn’t want Hannah to lose her connection too.
The daycare center was amazing. They shared Black music, food, and stories with the kids.
Most of the kids who attended there were biracial like Hannah, so knowing the educators went the extra mile to celebrate Black culture was wonderful.
Sandra, her mom’s best friend, was African American too.
We spoke with her weekly, so Hannah did have a connection, but I was worried that it was a step too removed like my connection with my Columbian heritage was.
Sandra lived two states away, and her illness and my job meant that we wouldn’t be able to see each other regularly.
I wanted to do more for Hannah, to do better for her.
It was why I was taking her to a gospel church tomorrow for the first time.
The team flew out this morning for tonight’s away game, and I was doing what I did nearly every Saturday—arriving home from a morning picnic at the park with Hannah.
We went to the same park her mom used to take her to.
It was nothing special, just a neighborhood playground with a swing set, a slide, and a big oak tree that cast plenty of dappled shade.
But it was perfect for a picnic, so I tried to take Hannah there weekly.
It was another way of trying to connect Hannah with her family.
I wanted her to remember her mom for the incredible woman she was.
I didn’t know Elise, but I think I would have liked her.
We spoke with Sandra today, too, like we did every week.
She’d told Hannah countless stories, and Hannah loved hearing her voice.
Sandra had sent me pictures of Elise as well, both old ones with her husband before he passed and newer ones with Hannah.
She now recognized her mom and dad whenever I showed the photos to her.
Last week she’d toddled over to the low bookcase in her bedroom and picked up the photograph of her mom.
She’d kissed it, one of those open-mouthed baby kisses full of slobber and sound effects, then said, “Mommy.”
My heart had shattered into a million pieces, and I’d smiled and told her, “Yes, baby,” with tears streaming down my face.
Her parents couldn’t be here to raise their daughter, and the thought killed me.
I wished every moment of every day that it was different, that Hannah never had to experience the pain of losing them.
But I was so grateful at the same time because without their deaths, I wouldn’t have Hannah.
It made me the worst person on the planet. Who thought that? What kind of person was grateful for a child losing both parents so she could slide into place as her new mom?
It was a fucked-up headspace to be in. Beyond fucked up, if I were being honest. The guilt ate me alive daily.
Hannah’s parents were dead, and I was grateful.
I was a shitty, selfish person. Karma might not have bitten me in the ass yet, but it was only a matter of time after putting that kind of negativity into the universe.
I exhaled slowly, getting my emotions back into some semblance of calm, and carried Hannah into her bedroom.
I laid her down gently so she wouldn’t wake, turned on the monitor, and closed the door.
I needed to escape. Seeing my foster daughter fast asleep when I had those thoughts whirling around my brain was a recipe for me taking a nosedive into spiraling despair. And I didn’t have time for it.
I had an hour, at best, while she napped, and I needed to use that time to clean.
I trudged into the kitchen and started unpacking the dishwasher.
I had laundry to fold, too, the bathroom to scrub, vacuuming and mopping floors to do, and sheets to change.
My list was long, and I was desperate for a coffee.
My cell phone rang. I almost didn’t even check who it was. I needed to get moving. Plus, I didn’t want to risk seeing Simon’s name again. I’d be too tempted to give in. I knew, deep down, I’d regret getting back together, but it felt inevitable at this point.
I also couldn’t ignore my cell phone.
I fished it out and instantly swiped to answer when I saw Carina’s name.
“Carina, hi. Is everything okay?” I asked. It was my day off, but that didn’t mean anything. Every chore I had would wait if I was needed.
“Yes. I mean, everything’s fine with us and the team as far as I know.
” I could practically see her waving my concerns off.
She paused for a moment before asking, “Why? Did you hear something? Jacques didn’t tell me anything, and I just spoke with him a few minutes ago.
He called to let me know they landed in Odessa. ”
“Okay. Great. No, I haven’t heard anything either. I just wasn’t expecting your call,” I said.
“Sorry, I know it’s out of the blue. I just… wanted to talk. Just a friendly call to say hi. You know, chat about being a mum.”
I smiled. I’d never get over hearing the different way she pronounced words with her accent.
“Yeah,” I said, not really knowing where she was going with this. “It’s great, isn’t it,” I stated.
I sighed internally and kept going, stacking plates in the cupboards and cutlery in the drawer.
I didn’t have time for this. But there was a small voice in my head, one that reminded me that the only adult conversation I had outside of work was with my mom when I was late picking up Hannah.
Even though she always kept me entertained with the gossip from her work and the townhome complex she lived in, it wasn’t the same as having friends.
And then there were the conversations with my ex-husband.
I’d rather not have them at all. Even if Carina and I were only talking about babies, it was kind of nice to chat with someone new.
I’d only spoken with Carina a few times since the barbecue, and it was always in conjunction with an event the team was involved with.
I’d call her an acquaintance more than a friend, but I certainly wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to expand that very small circle.
I’d lost enough of them when Si and I split—our mutual friends turned out to be his friends, not mine.
“Every day there’s something new to experience, ey?” she mused.
“There is,” I agreed, smiling fondly. Hannah had grown so much, so quickly.
It was bittersweet—she’d be grown before I even realized it.
I wanted to experience everything and never take it for granted.
I hadn’t taken photos of her for a week, and it astounded me how much she’d changed in just that short period of time.
“I never intended on having two kids,” she confided. “Cara is in her twenties. She’s old enough to be Charlie’s mum. I’m old enough to be her grandmother.” She paused but continued again before I could point out that forty wasn’t that old to be a new mom.
“I envisioned my forties and fifties entirely different to what they’ll look like now. But I wouldn't change it for the world.”
“Me neither,” I said quietly. But that was part of the problem.
I’d envisioned my life completely different too.
I thought I’d have my ex’s support, and we’d be a happy family of three, or more if there were siblings who needed care.
Then he cheated, and my world tipped on its axis.
But now I was reconsidering everything again, wondering if I should forget about the divorce and try once more.
Maybe if I went back into this relationship already knowing he was with another woman, I might be able to accept it.
For Hannah’s sake.
Then there was my attraction to Miller and Spencer.
“I thought my time was done. My first husband was much older than me, and he only ever wanted one. But then he cheated on me, and everything changed.”
I hesitated, then eased the cutting board back into the dishwasher. “I’m sorry that happened, Carina. It must have been tough.” I sat down at the kitchen table in the same seat I’d been in when Simon had dropped his bomb on me. I had more in common with Carina than I’d realized.
She huffed. “I was the last person to find out. He was sleeping with the new hire literally in his office with his secretary outside. They could hear them. But everyone hid it from me.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “That’s… awful.”
“It was.”
I swallowed and asked a question that had been haunting me since Simon had packed his things. “Did you miss him when you split? Did you second-guess your decisions?”
Her voice was honest, raw, when she spoke again.
“Yes and no. I thought we were great until we weren't. It felt like the rug was pulled out from underneath me.” She sighed, then continued. “I was staying in our pool house, and she moved into the main house with my ex the day I moved out of it. They didn’t even change the sheets.”
“Ew.” I shuddered. At least it was them sleeping on the sheets, not her.