10. Summer
10
SUMMER
T he apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards. I leaned against the kitchen counter, my hands gripping a steaming mug of tea. The faint scent of chamomile filled the air, but it wasn’t doing anything to calm my nerves.
From the living room, Ava’s quiet, steady breathing drifted over, grounding me just enough to keep me from spiraling. She was asleep on the couch, Bunny tucked tightly under one arm, her face tilted to one side. She’d refused to go to her bed earlier, insisting she wanted to wait for me to sit with her.
Now, she looked so peaceful, so innocent. She had no idea how much I was failing her.
I moved to the couch, adjusting the blanket draped over her. Her curls spilled across the pillow, and I gently brushed a few strands back. Bunny’s worn ear flopped onto her cheek, and I tucked it under her hand.
She stirred slightly, murmuring something unintelligible before settling again.
“You’re perfect,” I whispered. “I just hope I don’t mess this up.”
Back in the kitchen, I sat down at the table, staring at the untouched mug in front of me. My fingers ran over the edge of the handle as I tried to focus on the warmth, the tangible, instead of the mess swirling in my head.
The memory of dinner at Enzo’s family’s house was still fresh, and the unspoken questions about Ava’s father lingered like a storm cloud over my head. Elaine had been kind, but her curiosity was sharp.
And Enzo…
I let out a sigh, resting my forehead against my hand. He was trying so hard to help, to show me that he cared, and all I’d done was shut him out.
I stood abruptly, needing something to do. My gaze landed on the stack of Ava’s drawings on the counter, and I picked them up, flipping through the pages.
There was the dragon castle she loved to talk about, complete with Ava’s trademark bright yellow sun in the corner. Another picture showed a stick figure version of me, holding hands with her.
But the next drawing stopped me cold.
It was a family portrait. Ava had drawn herself in the middle, holding hands with me on one side—and Enzo on the other.
My breath hitched, and I stared at the page for what felt like forever. She’d even given him a little stethoscope.
A pang of guilt shot through me. She’d only just met him, but already, she saw him as someone important. Someone who belonged.
I placed the drawing back on the counter, the edges of the paper trembling slightly in my hands.
The kettle whistled, pulling me out of my thoughts. I moved mechanically, pouring hot water into another mug and letting it steep. The motions were automatic, familiar, but my mind was far from calm.
I leaned against the counter, watching the tea bag swirl in the water. My reflection in the window above the sink stared back at me, tired and hollow.
When had I become this person?
I carried the tea back to the table and sat down, resting my elbows on the wood. The guilt settled over me again, heavier this time.
It hadn’t always been this way. When I’d found out I was pregnant, I’d convinced myself that keeping Enzo in the dark was the right choice. He’d been buried in medical school, barely keeping his head above water. I didn’t want to add another burden to his already impossible schedule.
And maybe I’d been scared, too. Scared he wouldn’t want her. Scared he wouldn’t want me.
I took a slow sip of tea, my throat tight.
But watching him with Ava now—seeing how effortlessly he connected with her, how much he cared—it made me question everything. Had I been protecting him? Or had I just been protecting myself?
Ava stirred on the couch, mumbling softly. I set my mug down and walked over, kneeling beside her.
“Mommy?” she murmured, her eyes still closed.
“I’m here, baby,” I said, brushing her curls back.
“Okay,” she whispered, clutching Bunny tighter.
She drifted off again, her breathing steady and even. I stayed there for a moment, my hand lingering on her head.
She deserved the world.
And I wasn’t sure I’d given her that.
Back at the table, I picked up the drawing again, running my fingers over the crayon marks. The stethoscope around Enzo’s stick figure neck seemed to mock me.
She already saw him as her father, even without knowing the truth.
The truth.
I let out a shaky breath, leaning back in my chair. Could I tell him? Should I?
The idea of confessing everything made my chest tighten. What if he was angry? What if he hated me for keeping Ava a secret?
But what if he didn’t?
I stood again, this time pacing the small kitchen. My feet carried me in circles, the same way my thoughts had been circling for hours.
I thought about the way Enzo looked at Ava, like she was the most important thing in the world. I thought about the way she lit up when he walked into a room, the way she trusted him so completely.
He deserved to know.
But the fear was still there, clawing at the edges of my mind. What if the truth ruined everything?
I stopped at the counter, resting my hands against the edge. The stack of drawings was still there, and I flipped through them again, stopping at the family portrait.
Her little stick-figure world was simple, happy. But reality wasn’t that easy to color in.
The clock ticked on, each second pulling me deeper into my thoughts. By the time I sat down again, my tea was cold, and my resolve was crumbling.
I didn’t know how to tell him.
But I knew I couldn’t keep this up forever.
From the couch, Ava stirred again, murmuring softly. I stood and walked over, kneeling beside her.
Her face was peaceful, her curls framing her cheeks. She looked so small, so vulnerable.
“You’re going to be okay,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. “I’ll figure this out. I promise.”
I kissed her forehead, brushing her hair back, and pulled the blanket tighter around her.
As I stood, I glanced at the drawing again.
Maybe it was time.
Maybe it was time to stop carrying this secret alone.