35.0
The FaceTime screen split into three squares: Sam still in her scrub top from her shift, Tati making her matcha, and me — wrist-deep in avocado while trying to cut crust off a sandwich for Alina.
"So what did you say?" Sam asked, leaning in like she already knew the answer but wanted to hear me say it out loud.
I popped the crust into my mouth. "I said hell no."
Tati choked on her drink. Sam clapped once.
"That lady and her husband are both evil," I continued, lowering my voice even though Alina was in the living room singing to her dolls. "They're not going anywhere near my child."
"Period," Sam said. "And if you had said anything else, I was gonna drive to Jersey myself."
Tati held up a finger dramatically. "Okay, okay, hold on — devil's advocate moment—"
Sam groaned. "Here she go."
Tati sat up straighter, tapping her acrylic against her cup. "Listen. They are still Brooks's parents."
I raised both brows. "And?"
"And," she continued, "he clearly loves you and Alina. He adores her. So maybe — maybe — there's space for a conversation."
"A conversation about what?" I asked, slicing the sandwich diagonally. "Them insulting me? Insulting Alina? Acting like Brooks committed a crime instead of having a child?"
Sam snorted. "Preach."
Tati didn't flinch. "I'm not saying they deserve forgiveness. Or access. Or anything like that. I'm saying... people are complicated and sometimes being cut off is the only thing that forces them to reflect."
Sam wrinkled her nose. "It never fails for Tati to always see the good in people? If someone spit in your face you'd be like 'well maybe they had a traumatic childhood.'"
"I mean, maybe they did!" Tati shot back.
I couldn't help smiling — that was them. Sam blunt and fiery, Tati hopeful and messy, and somewhere in between trying to make sense of it.
Tati sighed, softer now.
"I'm not saying send Alina to Grandma's for the weekend. Absolutely not. I'm saying... meet with her. Feel her energy. See if she's actually remorseful. If she's changed. People do wake up sometimes."
I exhaled, setting the sandwich on a plate.
"Changed because Brooks cut her off."
"Maybe," Tati said. "Or maybe because losing access to her son made her realize she was wrong. We don't know yet."
"Amira... at the end of the day, Brooks's feelings matter too. And if he decides he wants some kind of relationship with his parents, even a distant one... do you want him navigating that alone?"
That landed.
"I'm not saying forgive her," Tati said. "I'm saying leave room for possibility. With boundaries made of steel."
Sam pointed at the camera. "Steel. Not aluminum. Not plastic. Steel."
I sighed, pushing hair out of my face.
"I hear you. Both of you."
"And?" Sam pressed, like always.
"And..." I blew out another breath, "I'll talk to Brooks when he gets back tonight."
Sam nodded, satisfied.
"Good. Because he needs to know exactly where you stand."
"And you," Tati added, "need to know exactly where he stands."
Alina's voice rang from the living room. "Mommy, I'm hungry!"
"Okay, ladies," I said, lifting the plate. "That's my cue."
They both blew kisses and waved.
I left the call and stared at my reflection for a moment — hair frizzy, mascara smudged, but something in my face looked different.
Lighter.
More awake.
Houston had shaken something loose in me.
Somewhere between the girls, the dancing, the wedding, and Brooks saying he wanted forever — something inside me had started to rebuild.
"Lunch is ready, baby!" I called.
A beat later, the rapid pat-pat-pat of little feet hit the hallway.
Alina appeared with both curls and confidence bouncing, Jessie tucked under one arm and her tablet under the other like she had a full schedule to keep.
She climbed onto her chair, legs swinging, completely unaware of the emotional earthquake I'd just had over FaceTime.
"Peanut butter and jelly?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Yes," I said, sliding the plate in front of her.
She took one bite and hummed in approval before turning her attention back to her tablet.
I rinsed the knife, wiped the counter, and glanced toward the window — the cloudy New Jersey sky sitting heavy over the neighborhood.
While Alina chewed happily, I grabbed my laptop from the counter and opened it to the dozen tabs I'd left open yesterday.
Hair salons in North Jersey.
Salon suites available.
Jobs hiring.
Flexible hours.
Experience preferred.
Each listing chipped at something in my chest — hope and discouragement wrestling under my ribs.
Philly had been impossible. New Jersey maybe. Maybe not.
But after Houston, after watching Tati marry the love of her life and remembering who I used to be — who I still could be — the want for stability and independence was louder than ever.
I refreshed the page.
Another rejection email blinked at the top of the screen.
Of course.
"Mommy?" Alina said around a mouthful of sandwich.
"Yes, love?"
She smiled at me — simple, sweet, easy.
And just like that, the discouragement didn't feel so heavy.
I shut the laptop gently. Not giving up. Just giving myself a breath.
Tonight Brooks would come home.
Tonight we'd talk.
Tonight I'd find out how he wanted to handle the pieces of his family — and how I wanted to protect mine.
For now?
I took another deep breath, ruffled Alina's curls, and picked up her empty cup.
"Juice?" I asked.
She nodded enthusiastically, jelly somehow already on her cheeks.
And the afternoon kept moving — quiet, ordinary, grounding — exactly what I needed before everything else landed.
Alina finished eating and crawled into my lap, warm and soft, her head tucked under my chin.
"Mommy," she said, voice sleepy, "can we stay here forever?"
"I hope so," I whispered into her hair. "I really hope so."
"Can you read this," she pointed at the love monster book.
I nodded before reaching for it. I flipped the pages and turned on my most animated voice.
Thirty minutes later I had read the same book ten times. Alina finally decided she'll read it to herself. Even though she couldn't read she liked to look at the pictures and pretend she was reading.
I checked my phone to see text from Brooks fifteen minutes ago.
Brooks
Boarding now. See you soon.
"Daddy's going to be home soon."
I glanced at myself — still in sweats and a loose tee, hair piled on top of my head in a scrunchie.
I sighed.
"I should at least look alive," I muttered.
Alina looked up. "What's look alive mean?"
"It means Mommy needs to look less... tired."
She nodded seriously. "You need lashes."
I laughed. "Mommy needs more than just lashes on."
She shrugged, unimpressed with my struggles, and went back to her book.
By the time I finished showering, detangling my hair, and making myself look vaguely human, the house had settled into its evening quiet.
Alina had fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, worn out from the park.
Keys jingled.
A low thud of a suitcase hitting the wall.
"Baby?"
Brooks's voice — low, warm, threaded with travel-weary affection — filled the penthouse like something familiar I'd been missing without realizing it.
My heart tripped.
He appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled, tie gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looked tired in a way that made my chest ache — the kind of tired that only softness could fix.
His eyes softened the moment they found me.
"Come here," he murmured.
He leaned down to kiss me — slow and warm and hungry in a way that made my knees feel unreliable. My arms slid around his neck automatically, like they knew the routine better than my brain did.
"I missed you," he breathed against my mouth.
He kissed the side of my neck, barely there. "Alina's asleep already?"
"Literally just went down."
Disappointment passed over his face — quick, honest, tender.
I placed my hand lightly on his chest. "Brooks... I want to talk to you about something."
His brows rose — alert, not alarmed.
He nodded once. "Okay." A beat. "Let me shower first."
"Okay."
He brushed his fingers along my waist as he passed — light, but enough to warm my skin long after he'd disappeared up the stairs.
I cleaned up the living room while he washed off the day — folded Alina's blanket, stacked her crayons, straightened the pillows. It gave my hands something to do.
My mind, though... that was harder to quiet.
Brooks's mother.
Boundaries.
Healing vs. protection.
The bigger thing underneath all of it. We were building a life together. A real one. A family.
Families came with hard conversations.
The kettle clicked off. I poured hot water into two mugs and dropped a chamomile tea bag in his. He always claimed he didn't drink tea, but he always finished it when I made it.
I heard the bathroom door opened with a soft hiss of steam.
Brooks emerged down the stairs shirtless, towel around his waist, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends — familiar in a way that still knocked something loose in my chest.
He stopped when he spotted the tea on the counter.
"You made me one?" he asked, voice rough from the heat.
"You drink it when I give it to you," I said with a small shrug.
His mouth tilted — not a full smile, but close. "Yeah. I do."
He walked toward me, slower this time, deliberate.
He leaned on his elbows, hands clasped in front of him.
His voice dropped into something warm and steady.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Talk to me."
The house felt impossibly still. The hum of the refrigerator.
The faint ticking of the cooling pipes. The soft scent of his eucalyptus body wash drifting through the air.
I wrapped my hands around my mug, grounding my fingers in the warmth.
"Tati and Sam called today," I began.
His brows lifted slightly. "Okay."
"And we talked about... your mom."
He didn't tense.
Not visibly.
He nodded once. "Go on."
I looked at my tea, then back at him.
"I told them I wasn't comfortable with her being around Alina."
"Good," he said immediately. "Neither am I."
I blinked, thrown for a second.
But he continued, steady and calm:
"My mother doesn't get access she hasn't earned and she sure as hell doesn't get access to our daughter without your consent."
Our daughter.
God.
I breathed once, slow.
"Tati said maybe... someday... I should talk to her. Just to see if she's different."
Brooks didn't answer right away.
He took a sip of tea.
Set the mug down carefully.
Then he spoke — voice low, thoughtful.
"My relationship with my parents is difficult and it's made my life complicated and changing."
He looked at me directly. "But that doesn't mean I want yours to get complicated too."
He reached across the island, resting his hand palm-up — an offering, not a grab.
I placed my hand in his.
His thumb stroked once across my knuckles.
"If you ever decide to meet with her again," he said, "it'll be because you chose to. Not because I asked you to, and definitely not because she pressured you."
I swallowed. "You don't... want them back in your life?"
His jaw flexed. Not anger — clarity.
"I want peace," he said. "Whatever version of that keeps you and Alina safe. If that means distance? I'm okay with distance."
Softness hit me so hard it almost hurt.
I squeezed his hand. "Okay."
"And if the day ever comes where you're ready to talk to her..." His voice brushed warm across my skin. "I'll be right next to you. Every step."
The kettle clicked again behind us, echoing through the quiet.
There was nothing left to fill the silence except the truth pulsing between us — steady, warm, whole.
He lifted my hand to his lips.
Pressed a kiss to my knuckles.
"Thank you," he murmured, "for trusting me with this."
I exhaled, a tension I didn't know I'd been holding slipping out of my shoulders.
"We're okay?" he asked softly.
I nodded. "Yeah. We're okay."
He stood from his stool, walked around the island, and slipped his arms around my waist — not to start anything, not to distract me.
Just to hold.
Just to be near.
Just because he loved me.
The conversation wasn't glamorous.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't even long.
But it was one of the most intimate things we'd ever done.