47. Emerson
EMERSON
We watch as Crew runs over to his teacher, joining the line of kids forming behind her.
There’s yelling. There are tears. There’s chaos.
But I only see him.
I didn’t expect him to turn around.
I didn’t expect him to run back.
And I definitely didn’t expect him to wrap his arms around my legs and change something inside of me with three simple words.
Love you, Ems.
I’ve heard people say “I love you” before. They’re words people use so easily. So freely. But they’ve always been so hard for me to say.
But something about hearing it from Crew—this little boy who had no reason to give me a piece of his heart and somehow did anyway—made the entire world stop.
For a second, I forgot about the families around us. Forgot about the noise. Forgot about the fact that we were standing in the middle of a crowded parking lot on the first day of school.
There is only Crew.
And the way he looked up at me like loving me was the easiest thing in the world.
Like I was someone worth loving.
Now, as he walks toward his teacher, I watch him hike his backpack higher onto his shoulders. The straps are tightened as far as they’ll go and still hang a little too big on him.
His hair is still slightly damp from when I combed it out this morning, and he’s dressed in denim shorts and the Cross My Heart shirt he insisted on wearing.
He gives Mateo, me, Talia, and Daniel one more wave before following his teacher into the building.
And I swear it feels like a piece of my soul is being pulled out of me.
Which is ridiculous.
Because he’s not mine.
Not technically.
But somehow, somewhere along the way, this little boy found a place inside my heart that I didn’t even know was empty.
He feels like mine, in all the ways that matter. All the ways that make sense for us. The little family we’ve grown into—so slowly and seamlessly, I don’t think any of us noticed it was happening until it was too late.
“We’ll see you guys later,” Talia says, pulling me from my thoughts as she and Daniel head toward their car.
The crowd in front of the school begins to disappear, families heading home or climbing onto bikes to get on with their days—all while the tiny humans inside learn where to put their backpacks and find the desks with their names on them.
Mateo’s arm loops around my shoulders, and I feel the kiss he leaves against my temple. “Are you ready to go, or are we planning on staying here all day?”
I knock my hip into his, crossing my arms over my chest. “You tell me. I’m not the helicopter parent.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he teases, and I turn my gaze to him.
I don’t know what I did, in this life or the last, to deserve this man. To have him stick with me through the last two months.
I don’t know how long I’ve been losing pieces of myself in the numbness.
I thought I was pushing everything down, refusing to feel it—but in reality, it was ripping me apart, little by little, and burning the pieces, making it impossible to put myself together in the same way.
I’m forever changed after losing my mom.
And I see that now.
I’m not the same person I was when she was alive. Losing her changed me, viscerally.
And missing her weighs on me so heavily some days, it’s hard to remember that every bad day has a dozen good days—especially with Mateo and Crew.
The love I have for them isn’t what made me want to get better.
That decision had to come from somewhere deeper.
I had to want a different life for myself.
I had to be willing to face the parts of me I had spent years avoiding, to admit when I needed help, and to do the hard work even on the days when it felt easier to go back to old habits.
But their love has made the process easier to endure. It gives the hard days a little more purpose. It reminds me why the work matters and why every uncomfortable conversation, every setback, and every step forward is worth it.
They didn’t save me, and they weren’t responsible for fixing me. That was never their job. But they have been a reminder of what I’m fighting for.
The love I have for them didn’t start my recovery.
But it’s what will help carry me through it.
“So…” Mateo says, dragging out the word as we walk through the parking lot. “Are we going to talk about how you told Crew you loved him before you told me?”
My lips part, but before I can come up with a response, Mateo’s smirk grows.
I blink, trying to think of something to say.
“No need to explain yourself,” Mateo says as he leads us through the parking lot. “I know it’s just a matter of time until I get those three words too.”
I gasp dramatically. “I didn’t know you could count.”
Mateo rolls his eyes. “Obviously I can count.”
We both laugh as we walk to his car. “Someone sounds jealous of a five-year-old.”
“Not jealous.” Mateo reaches to open the passenger-side door. “Just curious,” he says, stretching out the word.
I snort as I sit down. “Curious?”
“Yes. I’m just wondering where I rank.”
I shake my head. “You’re asking me to rank yourself against your son?”
Mateo scoffs. “I think we all know it’s clear where I stand when it comes to the two of you.”
“Good point.”
“But I figured I was next in line—unless it’s the cat.”
I stare at him. “She has a name.”
“What she has is a personal vendetta against me.”
“Dramatic,” I scoff.
Mateo leans down, his smile softening as he meets my eyes. The teasing, the flirting, the banter… It’s all just a distraction for what’s actually happening. “So…” His voice lowers. “Since Crew got his three words,” he pauses, “do I get mine?”
Mateo is giving me the opportunity to decide what happens next, waiting for me to show my hand, letting me be the one to either fold or go all in.
He’s been patient with me this last month.
So incredibly patient as I’ve tried to figure out how to be myself again.
He hasn’t rushed me. He hasn’t pushed for answers I wasn’t ready to give.
He’s just been there—steady and constant, reminding me that I don’t have to have everything figured out all at once.
And just like he knows I love him, I know he loves me too.
He shows me in every little thing he does. In the way he brings me coffee in the morning without asking. In the way he sends me a text when he knows I’m having a hard day, not expecting a response, just reminding me that he’s there.
He shows me when he takes over with Crew so I can have a quiet moment.
When he notices I’m getting overwhelmed and finds some ridiculous way to make me laugh before I even realize I need it.
When he remembers the tiny details I don’t think anyone else notices—the things I like, the things that bother me, the things I casually mention once and somehow he never forgets.
He shows me in the way he never makes me feel like my grief is inconvenient. In the way he lets me talk when I need to and sits with me when I don’t have the words.
I’ve numbed myself, over and over again, just to escape the feeling of being alone.
And now, I finally know what it feels like to be found.
I press my lips to Mateo’s, wrapping my arms around his neck, and I think I catch him by surprise by the way his lips are taut against mine before he melts into me.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
The words barely leave me before he’s kissing me again, like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear them. His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I feel the smile against my mouth.
“Until my last breath, baby,” he whispers. “I’m yours.”