Chapter 19
Mom had invited her neighbor, the one who lent us the bassinet. Two of my friends from work came with children who made the living room louder than it had been in years.
Nobody asked me to explain the divorce.
Someone asked about a blanket order. Someone offered to bring more napkins.
We sang.
Lucy clapped at the wrong moment and made everyone laugh.
Later, while Garrett helped clear paper plates, Mom stood beside me in the kitchen.
“You have people,” she said.
I looked around the room.
“Yes.”
That evening, after we went home, Paige sent a photograph of her seven-month-old son wearing a little party hat.
Happy birthday to Lucy, she wrote.
Her son was doing well with follow-up care.
I sent my thanks.
We weren't friends. We had learned to speak without asking the other person to make the past easier.
After Lucy fell asleep, I opened Ruth's gift.
Inside the book was a birthday message.
Beneath it, she had written four more words.
You were never alone.
I sat with the book open on my lap.
Then I checked tomorrow's calendar, put a clean cup beside the coffee maker, and turned off the kitchen light.
My daughter was born the night I learned who would stand beside me.
A year later, I knew how to stand up for us.
END
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