Chapter 7
Seven
“Just do it,” I whispered to myself. “Just open the door, get out of the goddamn car, and go inside.”
Easier said than done.
I had told myself the same thing five minutes ago. Yet there I sat, fingers clenched around the steering wheel, my ring finger red and irritated from where I’d finally pulled the ring free in the shower.
Would they notice?
Would they care?
I hadn’t seen them in over two months… My finger was probably the last thing they would be worried about.
It was all the unanswered texts.
The phone calls I never returned.
That would be what I would have to make up for.
I’d been avoiding them like the plague, and they had every right to have questions…
Yet I still didn’t know if I had it in me to answer them.
I didn’t know if I had the right words… But I’d promised John.
I counted to three, took a deep breath, then pushed open the door and didn’t look back.
“There. That wasn’t so hard,” I said as I rushed across the pavement.
Using my newfound momentum, I walked through the front gate and directly into Jake’s yard.
It looked the same as always. Beautifully landscaped, green and lush, with flower beds that overflowed like something out of a magazine. The porch swing swayed gently in the breeze, the wind chimes tinkling just above it, soft and familiar.
I didn’t knock when I reached the front door. I never did.
Jake and Katie’s house had always been my safe haven. A second home. A place where the air didn’t feel so heavy, and I didn’t have to explain why I needed to stay for a while—or why I left without warning.
The door creaked open under my hand, and the warmth of it hit me instantly. The familiar squeak in the floorboard by the entryway. The faint hum of something cooking in the kitchen. The living room still smelled like vanilla and clean linen, like the space was always mid-hug.
But then my eyes landed on the bassinet in the corner—and my steps faltered.
I already knew John and Tuesday kept it here. They’d said so in a group chat I never answered. But knowing and seeing were two different things. My chest tightened as memories flooded in—whispered stories to a baby too young to understand, soft lullabies I’d hummed to keep from crying.
A familiar ache bloomed beneath my ribs. The kind that never truly went away.
This.
This was why I hadn’t come back.
This was why I left messages unanswered, avoided calls, and made excuses.
Because walking through this door meant facing all of it.
Them.
Me.
And the kind of demons that wrapped around your ribs and made it hard to breathe.
My gut clenched. I hovered near the door, half-turned, ready to bolt. I could still leave. Get back in the car, drive away, vanish for another month or two. No one would stop me. They’d forgive me. They always did.
But then—
Laughter rang out from the backyard, light and full of life.
I froze.
And as if he sensed me standing there, John appeared in the doorway. His gaze locked on mine. He didn’t say a word. Just crossed the room and, without hesitation, pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmured into my hair. “I know this was hard for you.”
My body shook, hard, and with a tremor I couldn’t control. I cursed under my breath, my voice cracking as I pushed against him. “Damn you, John. Let me go. Please.”
But he didn’t. He held tighter.
Because he knew I didn’t mean it.
He always knew. He knew my scars, because he carried some of the same. We were cut from the same jagged cloth.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Shhh…”
I stiffened and pushed away, anger flaring like a sudden flame. “See? I knew this would happen. I shouldn’t have come.”
“You were nineteen, Em,” he said gently. “You did what you had to do. I really wish you’d stop torturing yourself.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, my voice rising with the swell of guilt. “I gave up on him, John. What kind of mother does that?”
John didn’t flinch. But he did step closer again. “You didn’t give up on him,” he said, steady and sure. “You gave him a family.”
I turned away, pressing a hand to my stomach like I could still feel the echo of him there—like my body remembered him, even though no one else did.
“You gave him everything you always wanted,” John continued, his voice low. “Everything you never had. And you did it when you were a damn kid. Give yourself a break already.”
I closed my eyes, but the memories still came.
Sitting on the cold apartment floor, the power shut off again. Cradling my baby in the dark, rocking him as he whimpered. The glow of a single candle flickered against his tiny face—his blond hair, his soft little mouth yawning like he had no idea the world outside us was caving in.
I loved him so much it terrified me. And still, with every day that passed, it became clearer that I was failing.
After four weeks, his father was gone. By six, the lights were out, forcing us to sit in the dark. I began having nightmares of his future. Of him waiting in a lobby with melted chocolate on his fingers, wondering why I didn’t come back.
Sobs overtook me. I had held him to my chest, whispering an apology he’d never remember.
He wouldn’t miss me.
And I didn’t want him to.
I wouldn't let him grow up searching for me in the faces of strangers. Wouldn’t let him lie awake at night wondering why he wasn’t enough to make me stay.
So, I made a choice.
I gave him what I never had—
A stable home.
A mother and father who adored him.
A big sister.
A backyard.
A swing set.
Birthday parties and bandages for scraped knees and a family full of people who would always show up.
He would never be alone.
He would never have to make impossible decisions before he could even spell his name.
He would be safe.
He would be loved.
He would be whole.
A firm hand landed on my shoulder, anchoring me in place. John gently turned me toward him again.
My eyes were glassy with tears, but inside, I felt hollow. “He would’ve been eleven this past August,” I whispered.
“I know,” John said. He was the only one who did.
Voices drifted in from the backyard. Katie and Jake, Tuesday and others… Katie peeked into the room, gave me a soft smile, then slipped away without a word. They all knew I was broken. They pretended not to notice, but they did.
“You were all laughing before I came in—”
“Don’t.” John’s voice was firm, cutting me off. “We don’t do that here. When one of us is hurting, we all hurt.”
I stiffened, chest rising fast. “This is different.”
“Bullshit,” he said, without hesitation. “You don’t think becoming a dad brought things back for me too?”
I met his eyes, mine burning. “You didn’t give up your child.”
Silence stretched between us like a wire pulled too tight.
Then, without a word, John turned and walked out of the room.
Shame slammed into me like a punch to the gut. What the hell was I doing? John had fought his own battles. I knew that. I should’ve said something—apologized. I needed to go after him, fix it before the moment passed.
But before I could move—
He came back.
And in his arms was a bundle of blankets I recognized even though I’d never met her. His daughter.
My breath hitched. My stomach twisted.
He walked straight to me, holding her out. “Hold her, Em.”
My hands flew up, palms out. “I can’t.”
“Hold her.” His voice was calm, steady—unshakable. The kind of tone that didn’t leave room for argument.
My hands trembled, but I reached out anyway.
The second I pulled her into my arms, something cracked open inside me. A soft, aching place I hadn’t touched in years.
She was warm. Small. Safe.
And I loved her instantly.
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, soaking into her blanket, and for once, I didn’t try to hide them.
I looked up at John, who was already watching me, his own face tight with emotion.
“She’s perfect,” I whispered.
He placed one arm around my shoulder, pulling me in like the brother figure he’d always been. “I know,” he said.