What if second chances come a second time?
Long ago, Hannah and Jonah called it quits. Long ago, Hannah stopped trying to make things work, and Jonah let her go. Long ago, Jonah mailed back all of Hannah's stuff from his apartment, and Hannah blocke...
I look over from the kitchen counter, at Lucy who's proudly holding up the Lego pieces in her hand. "Nice job, pumpkin."
Cole, who's sitting cross-legged next to her, perks up at the smell of dinner. He nudges Lucy gently. "Hey, dinner's ready. Let's clean up."
The little girl nods enthusiastically, and soon they're both methodically cleaning up the Lego pieces into the boxes, carefully sorting them so they all fit neatly. I smile at the sight—it's adorable how Lucy has picked up Cole's habits and well behaviors. She even gets his calm temperament, to everyone's relief.
We all have dinner in the dining room—me, Cole, Mom and Dad, and Lucy in her highchair. We always try to have dinner together, as much as we can. Never wasting any more time we have together. No more taking family time for granted.
Tonight, Lucy wants me to read her a story and tuck her in to sleep. She always asks for each of us in rotation, and we all gladly give her whatever she asks.
I'm not that good at storytelling. I tend to rush my words, and my intonations often fall flat. But Lucy eats it up every time, excitedly listening through the story until it tires her out.
Halfway through, and she's already blinking slowly. I close the book and pull her blanket up to her neck as she snuggles in.
"Sleep tight, Lulu."
"Night-night," she mumbles, her eyes closed. Hums happily in her half-asleep state. "Love you, Mama."
My heart clenches again in my chest, and I bite my tongue to stop myself. Instead, I kiss her forehead lightly, like I'm afraid of breaking her. "Love you too."
I never imagined loving a human would hurt this much. I'd move mountains for her. I'd die for her. I'd do anything for her. She's the light of my life, and the reason why I'm still here. The reason why I haven't given up on living, why I still wake up every morning and push through all the pain. Just to see her smile, to hold her in my arms, to see her grow up.
She's my everything.
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Lucy doesn't understand yet—why we're huddled together in front of a pair of gravestones, crying. One day I'll have to tell her, and it will break her heart and mine all over again.
But right now, all I can do is hug her tightly, feeling her little hands gripping my shirt in return. Give her a kiss, making sure none of the tears fall onto her.
"How you holding up, baby?" Dad asks me later, as we gather around in the living room. He's hugging my side, both of us watching as Leann picks Lucy up so she can admire her birthday cake on the table.
"I miss him," is all I can say. And I don't need to say anything else to make him understand the gravity of it. "He should be here, with us. Both of them. They were too young."
