31. Chapter 31
I t’s been two weeks since my meltdown on the shower floor.
A full month since Lennon Katherine entered our world.
Today is my first day back on campus since giving birth and finishing the at-home assignments my professors created for me.
Even though I know I could’ve gone back to classes, I’m incredibly grateful I didn’t have to.
The assignments allowed me a chance to bond with my daughter rather than dumping her off at the on-campus daycare.
Emily has volunteered to stay with Lennon on the days I have class, so she doesn’t have to go to the daycare at all.
Once again, it’s another weight off my shoulders.
There’s comfort in knowing that someone we trust fully will be home with Lennon, even though there’s still a pit in my stomach at leaving her alone.
The sun is already high as I cross the campus quad, filtering through the lazy sway of green-gold leaves. October in Texas is nothing like October in Kentucky. Here, it’s an extended summer. I miss the changing leaves, the crisp mornings when you want to sit outside with a coffee and a blanket.
My body didn’t miraculously bounce back the way influencers make it look.
I’d give anything for a cute pair of jean shorts that don’t dig into the extra weight around my hips.
Instead, I wear a pair of leggings and a boxy, long-cropped graphic tee that hits at my waist. I had a plaid shirt on, but quickly tied it around my waist as I was met with the thick, humid air.
When my phone buzzes in the side pocket of my backpack, I fish it out in a rush.
Dread floods my veins as I’m filled with worry about something being wrong with Lennon.
Emily’s name doesn’t calm my nerves. That is, until I swipe the message open.
It’s a picture of Lennon dressed in a white onesie with denim overalls.
A large pink bow sits on her head, her blonde locks growing by the day.
Bright blue eyes stare with a gummy smile.
My heart warms, and my chest aches with guilt.
I should be home with her. I should’ve sucked it up last spring and graduated when I was supposed to. Then I wouldn’t be missing these moments.
No, I still would. Only this time, I’d be at work, not at school with a flexible schedule.
I slip into the lecture hall and grab a seat in the back.
The air conditioning blasts, goosebumps erupting on my skin, in stark contrast to the sheen of sweat I wore outside.
I untie my flannel and slip it on, log into my laptop, and open a blank Word document, settling in for my first class of the day.
As the professor speaks, I drown out her words, getting lost in my thoughts.
I feel like I’m floating outside of my body and watching myself through a movie lens.
I should be grateful to be out of the house and finding the new me.
But I feel physically torn in half. The mom side of me is desperate to be home, while the student side is craving the monotony of lectures and coursework.
It’s only been a little over an hour since I said goodbye. Less time since Emily sent a photo to check in. But it’s been radio silence since. I keep checking my phone, zoning out to everything around me as my mind spirals.
What if something happened to Emily and she couldn’t take care of Lennon?
The what-if scenarios flood my brain. I type out a message.
Checking in…how’s things going? Was there plenty of formula?
I know the answer because I bought a brand-new container yesterday, paranoid they’d run out. Absurd, considering one lasted us a month.
The rest of the class goes by in a blur. My Word document stares blankly back at me. I didn’t listen to anything that was said, which isn’t good, especially not for my first day back. Gathering my things, I race out of the hall, looking for the nearest exit. My vision spins, and I need fresh air.
I grip the phone tightly, heart racing. I open the message thread I have with Emily and still don’t see a reply to my message.
What if they aren’t okay? What if there was a fire? Oh my gosh, what if someone broke in? I’ve heard about people robbing college houses during the day because most kids are on campus.
My palms sweat as my vision tunnels. Someone bumps into my shoulder, and my phone slips from my wet palm. I reach down to grab it as my lungs burn.
“Peach.”
The deep timber rumbles from behind me. Sunshine.
I look over my shoulder and find familiar hazel eyes staring at me, concern etched across his features.
His baseball cap is pulled low over his brow, which has a slight furrow, telling me this isn’t some coincidence he’s in the social work building at the same time I’m getting done with class.
This isn’t a friendly ‘how was your first day back, let’s grab a coffee’ run-in.
No, this is something worse. Something bad.
“Is it Lennon?” I ask the question breathlessly, my chest seizing.
He shakes his head before gripping my elbow and pulling me to the side. “My mom called me—”
I tune out everything he’s saying as my stomach plummets. I knew it. I knew if I left Lennon alone, something would happen to her.
A warm hand cups my cheeks, tilting my head until I’m staring up at him. “Savannah, did you hear a word I said?”
I shake my head, and he lets out a sigh. “My mom called. She said you’ve called and texted her a dozen times since you left home.”
I shrug. “I was worried.”
“She said you sounded panicked.”
I scoff. “I’m not panicked . I’m worried. There’s a difference.”
Without saying a word, he glances around us. He must find what he’s looking for because he’s leading me down the hallway. I follow without a word as we pass students. Grant’s hand is grounding against mine as he navigates us around people going in the opposite direction.
A janitor’s closet comes into view, and Grant pushes us inside the dark and crammed space.
He flips the light switch at the same time he’s shutting the door behind us.
The lock flicks as he pulls me into his muscular chest. With his arms holding me, I melt into his touch, giving him the weight I’ve been carrying as the floodgates open.
Tears stream down my face as I hiccup a sob.
“I can’t breathe when I’m away from her,” I admit. “I can’t think because every worst-case scenario runs through my mind.”
He rubs small, soothing circles on my back. “She’s safe, Peach. My mom’s got her. She raised two of us, and we turned out fine.”
“That’s debatable,” I mumble into his chest. “Have you seen your sister make those weird facial expressions? It’s a little concerning.
He chuckles but doesn’t disagree. We both know I’m joking.
“You know it’s the anxiety talking,” he says, kissing my temple. “It’s normal with postpartum to have anxiety, but I promise you, I won’t let anything bad happen to our daughter.”
“I don’t have postpartum anxiety,” I snap, pulling out of his hold. This irrational rage courses through my veins. “It’s a normal reaction to be concerned about my daughter.”
“Our daughter,” he corrects.
I roll my eyes. “Just ask your mom to return my texts.”
I’m over this conversation. I’m tired of the worry etched on his face.
I miss the way he looked at me with desire, the way his eyes darkened to amber, like he was picturing all the ways he’d touch me and do unspeakable things.
Once I had Lennon, everything changed. I know my body isn’t the way it used to be—not in shape, not tan.
My skin carries a few stretch marks, some loose skin, but I’m still me. Unless he doesn’t think so anymore.
I brush past him, ready to get out of this space. It’s too tight and I feel claustrophobic, but his hand shoots out, circling my wrist. I look over my shoulder and our eyes lock.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I snap.
“For whatever made you mad. I love you, Savannah.”
I shrug, flicking the lock and twisting the knob. Cold air from the hallway rushes in, cooling the moment. “I’ll see you at home.”
His shoulders slump with sadness—disappointment, maybe. I don’t have time to dwell on his feelings. I’m angry, and I don’t know why. My emotions are a constant mind-fuck, shifting in an instant, and I never know which version of myself will emerge.
The day can’t go by fast enough. By three o’clock, I’m relieving Emily from Grandma duties and ready to snuggle my baby.
We spend the next two hours playing on the floor with Lennon’s tummy time mat while I read her books.
Then we watch an episode of Criminal Minds while she kicks her legs and plays with her blanket, the cat Grant bought her beside her.
Eventually, she dozes, and I take the time to reheat leftovers Emily cooked for us. She’s an incredible mom, and I wish my mom were in the picture to share these moments with. I don’t take her help for granted. I just hate that I can’t stay home with my daughter.
With the warmed plate of food, I carry it back to the couch. Snuggling in the corner, I set my plate on the cushion while firing up my laptop. I open a tab for my school email, then another for Zillow.
I tuck my lip between my teeth, weighing my options before clicking the link.
I don’t even know why I’m looking at houses.
I love Grant, I truly do. But a part of me still feels like Lennon and I are a burden.
He’s never shown it, but he’s young, with a fresh career.
He should be out with friends, not doing late-night feedings.
His future is bright, and I feel like we’re putting a damper on it.
Not to mention, I’m one meltdown away from everything unraveling and ruining all that we’ve built in the last three months. Grant deserves happiness, not a wife who cries in the shower until the water runs cold. Or snaps at him without warning.
I scroll down the page, stopping at a small two-bedroom cottage in a suburb not far from here.
The yard is a nice size, big enough for the small patio and eventually a little swing set for Lennon.
The kitchen looks to have been remodeled in the last ten years, and the flooring is original hardwood.
It could use a fresh scrub, but I’m no stranger to elbow grease.
The house is nothing elaborate, but I don’t need anything fancy.
I grew up in a double-wide until I moved into my aunt’s one-thousand-square-foot house with three bedrooms and one bathroom.
I’ve never known luxury, aside from the colonial sorority house.
Grant Campbell is the best man I know. He deserves to live a life not strapped down by bottles and nap schedules.
He deserves the chance to land his dream coaching job, even if that takes him across the country.
But instead, I appeared at his graduation, pregnant with someone else’s child, and he chose to be a part of my story.
But what about his story?
Is this how my mom felt when my dad left?
Did his reckless decisions lead her to a life where she constantly resented the man who made her a mother before she was ready?
Will Grant resent me someday when he looks back and wishes he had had the chance to live his life after graduation before being saddled with unplanned responsibilities?
I don’t think I could live with myself knowing I ruined his life when I ruined my birth dad’s and mom’s lives. I’ve been a burden in everyone’s story. I don’t want my daughter to grow up feeling the weight I carried throughout my entire life.
If I give him space, things will return to how they were supposed to be. He could coach. I’d cheer him on from a distance. He’d be free of my mess.
And I could learn how to be a mom without suffocating him with my fear and insecurities.
Lennon stirs, and I snap back to my reality.
I hop up from the couch with my plate of barely eaten spaghetti and laptop.
Setting my laptop on the counter, I scrape my plate and put it in the dishwasher.
With a bottle for Lennon, I go back to my responsibilities with my head still stuck in an invisible fog.