Chapter 9 – Kenna-Present
Chapter Nine
ZOO-PER DAY
KENNA-PRESENT
I feel a knot in my stomach as I walk through the front door.
I didn’t know what to expect this morning, but seeing Cole sitting in his car outside my house all night shocked me. He looked…tired. Like he hadn’t slept a wink, his eyes were heavy with something I couldn’t read.
But what really knocked the wind out of me wasn’t the fact that he stayed outside. It was the way my heart skipped when he caught me looking at him.
His face softened in a way I didn’t know I still wanted to see, and that damn protective instinct of his was still there. He didn’t want me to be alone after what happened at the bar last night.
I’m not sure what to think about any of this. He’s been gone for years, but now he’s back in my life, stepping in like he never left. And I’m not sure I know how to handle it.
There’s a part of me that wants to scream at him for the years he missed, even though I know if he had the choice he never would’ve left.
Another part of me wants to ask him how many nights he sat alone in silence thinking about us. Thinking about me.
And then there’s the muted part, the one I barely acknowledge, that just wants to feel his arms around me again. Like it used to be. Before everything.
I shove the thought away as I kick my shoes off by the door and head to the kitchen. It’s Sunday, and that means it’s just me and Cohen today.
No distractions.
No noise.
Just the promise of something simple, something soft, something safe.
I pull out ingredients for breakfast, but as the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing fills the space, I glance up the stairs at Cohen’s room.
He’s still asleep, the faint sound of his quiet breathing reaching me through the walls.
I smile softly to myself as I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them together with the sourdough starter and flour to make pancakes.
The house is still. Golden light filters through the kitchen windows, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s holding its breath. Like the day is waiting for us to fill it with something beautiful.
Cohen has been my entire world since he was born. Even now, at eight years old, he still surprises me every single day.
I wonder if he’ll ever truly know how he saved me. His laugh brought light to the days that felt like nothing but ash. How his tiny, stubborn heart taught me to fight again. For him and for myself.
When I hear him stir, I set the whisk down and wipe my hands on a dishtowel, already moving toward the stairs. His quiet footsteps pad down the hallway above me, followed by the soft creak of his bedroom door opening.
A moment later, he appears at the top of the stairs, barefoot, hair sticking out in every direction, pajamas slightly wrinkled. His eyes are still heavy with sleep as he rubs one with the back of his hand, blinking down at me.
“Mom…” he calls, voice small and hoarse with sleep.
“I’m right here, lovebug,” I say softly, stepping toward the stairs.
He doesn’t come down. He just stands there, quiet, like he’s waiting for something. And then, in a voice that’s barely louder than a whisper, he says, “Can you hold me?”
God, that does something to me.
I nod immediately, my heart already swelling. “Of course, baby.”
I meet him halfway up the stairs, and the moment I kneel, his little body melts against me like he’s been holding in the need for comfort all night. His arms loop tightly around my neck, and I scoop him up, pressing my hand to the back of his head as he buries his face in my shoulder.
He’s getting heavier now, not so small anymore. But right now, he feels like my whole heart in my arms.
“I had a weird dream,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by my shirt. “I don’t remember it, but it felt…weird.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, rocking him gently. “You’re safe now. Just a dream. I’ve got you.”
We stay like that for a while, sitting on the stairs in the warm morning light. His legs dangle at my sides, his breathing slowing, his body going limp with the kind of trust that undoes me every single time.
These are the moments no one ever tells you about, when your child simply needs to be held, and all at once, the world feels quiet and full of meaning again.
He doesn’t ask about pancakes or the zoo. Not yet. He just needs me. Just this.
I press a kiss into his curls and rest my chin gently on top of his head, closing my eyes for a second longer than I should. For a breath, I let the weight of everything else fall away—Cole, the bar, the questions I’m still too afraid to ask myself.
“Do you wanna stay like this a little longer?” I ask.
He nods against me. “Yeah.”
So I carry him to the couch, curling into the corner as I settle him on my lap. He tucks in closer, warm and soft, his thumb grazing the edge of my sleeve as he rests.
He won’t always want to be held like this. One day, I’ll miss the weight of him in my arms. The way he fits perfectly against me.
I stroke his hair gently, and he sighs—a soft, content sound that tells me he’s okay again. That I’ve done something right.
After a few minutes, he murmurs, “Can we still go to the zoo later?”
I smile. “Of course we can. Sloths and giraffes, right?”
He nods sleepily. “And pancakes?”
“Definitely pancakes,” I say, hugging him just a little tighter. “With extra syrup.”
He doesn’t ask for much. Never has. But when he wants something, it’s with his whole heart. It makes me want to give him everything.
“Giraffes and sloths, huh?” I raise an eyebrow, pretending to think hard about it. “I guess we could do that. But you know what would be even more fun? Pancakes for breakfast.”
Cohen’s smile widens so fast, it’s like his whole face lights up. “Pancakes? With syrup?”
I laugh, flipping a pancake onto the griddle. “Of course, kiddo. Extra syrup, just the way you like it.”
He runs over to the table, climbs into his chair with all the enthusiasm he can muster, his legs swinging under the table. The sound of pancakes sizzling fills the air as I finish making the first batch.
As I set the plate down in front of him, he wastes no time. His fork dives into the stack of pancakes, syrup dripping down the sides. “Best breakfast ever, Mom.”
I sit down across from him, watching as he devours the pancakes. This makes it all worthwhile. The simple moments. The mornings where it’s just the two of us, sharing something as small as a plate of pancakes. It’s these moments that make the long nights, the hard days, feel less overwhelming.
“So, zoo today, huh?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going while he’s busy eating. “Anything else you wanna do? We can make it a whole day of Cohen’s favorites.”
He looks up from his pancakes, his eyes sparkling. “We should also go to the park after, and maybe get ice cream! Can we do that? Oh, and maybe go to the trampoline place later?” His list of activities grows longer with each word, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Whoa, slow down there, buddy. I think we’ll need to pace ourselves. We’ll definitely go to the park, and I’m pretty sure ice cream is always a good idea. But we can’t do everything today. We might wear ourselves out.”
He pouts playfully but shrugs. “Okay, but can we make sure we have time for the sloths? And the giraffes?”
“Of course,” I say, chuckling. “We’ll get there.”
“Best day ever!” Cohen exclaims, digging into his pancakes. His enthusiasm is contagious, and I can’t help but laugh as I watch him practically inhale his breakfast.
After we eat, I help him into his favorite shirt. It’s faded from being washed so many times, but he swears it brings him luck. As I kneel to tie his sneakers, he rests his hand on my shoulder. It’s a quiet gesture that nearly undoes me.
Sometimes it’s the smallest touches that say the loudest things.
He doesn’t say anything, but I feel it. How safe he feels with me. How much he trusts that I’ll show up for him over and over again.
I start cleaning up the kitchen, my movements automatic, but my mind drifts back to what happened earlier. To Cole.
I push it aside. Today is about Cohen.
A few hours later, Cohen and I are in the car, headed to the zoo. The weather is perfect—bright but not too hot, with a breeze that makes the air feel just right. Cohen’s excitement is palpable, his little legs bouncing in the seat as he chimes in with all the animals he wants to see.
“Mom, do you think the lions will be awake?” he asks, his eyes wide with wonder.
“I don’t know, buddy. We’ll find out.” I glance over at him as I make a turn. “Are you sure you’re ready for all those sloths? They move so slow.”
He giggles. “Yeah, but they’re awesome. And did you know sloths can sleep for twenty hours a day?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Sounds like my kind of animal.”
“Twenty hours sounds like a dream,” I mutter, more to myself than to him, but he hears and laughs again. His laughter is so pure it makes the corners of my eyes sting. It’s the kind of laugh that makes you believe, just for a moment, that nothing is broken.
We walk hand in hand through the zoo gates.
Cohen tugs at me like he’s trying to pull the entire world closer to him.
Everything is magic to him. The ticket booth, the stroller racks, the maps of all the exhibits.
His wonder is constant and watching it unfold is like watching the sunrise. Slow and breathtaking.
I bend slightly to his height, trying to see things from his perspective—the oversized cartoon animals on the signs, the bright banners fluttering in the wind, the excited squeals from other kids.
And for a second, I forget everything else.
There’s just this—Cohen’s small hand in mine, the scent of sunscreen, and the weightlessness of this one moment.