Invisible String

35

I stepped outside and shut the door gently behind me.

The neighborhood was quiet, leaves skipping across the pavement like they had somewhere to be. I walked slowly, letting my body loosen up with each step, one hand on the stroller and the other stuffed in my coat pocket.

Mira made her usual humming sounds, occasionally squealing softly at a dog or a bird, or just to hear herself. I glanced down at her every few minutes. Her eyes were so blue, wide and full of that wonder only babies carry—like everything is new, and nothing is too small to marvel at.

The chill hit my cheeks, but it felt good. Grounding.

We passed a few neighbors—Mrs. Claiborne, who gave me a little wave from her porch, and a jogger I didn’t know who smiled politely as he passed. It was peaceful. Simple. Exactly what I needed.

I took a deep breath and looked up at the pale, overcast sky. Everything in me still felt a little sore, like my heart had been stretched too far in too many directions lately. But walking out here, with Mira bundled in front of me and the wind nipping at my skin, I started to feel the ache ease. Just a little.

We turned down the side street where the trees arched overhead, their branches mostly bare now, but a few stubborn orange leaves still clung to the ends. I slowed down and let the stroller coast for a moment.

“I don’t even know why I’ve been feeling like this,” I said softly, not really expecting an answer. “You ever just feel... off, baby girl?”

Mira looked up at me through the clear stroller cover and blew a spit bubble.

I smiled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

I knelt down beside her for a second, reaching through the cover to gently stroke her cheek. “You’re my reason to breathe through it, you know that?”

She reached out with her mittened hand and pawed at my hair, then giggled.

That sound—it split me open in the best way.

I kissed her forehead, stood back up, and kept walking. Not in a rush. Not trying to fix anything. Just moving, breathing, and letting the cold November air carry a little bit of the weight for me.

As I made my way back toward the house, I could see the kitchen light glowing warm behind the windows, and just the faintest shadow of Travis walking past with a mug in hand. Probably making his third cup of coffee, if I knew him. I smiled to myself.

Mira had dozed off somewhere between the last bend and our street. Her pacifier had fallen to the side of her mouth, and her little hand was curled around the edge of the blanket like it was a lifeline. I hated to disturb her, but my fingers were starting to go numb, and I missed the way the house smelled in the morning—coffee, vanilla, and something sweet Travis always added to the mix.

Once inside, I nudged the door closed with my hip and wheeled the stroller into the living room. I didn’t even have to say anything. Travis turned the corner and met me halfway, brushing his hand gently over Mira’s head.

“Good walk?” he asked quietly.

I nodded, pulling off my coat. “Yeah. Needed it.”

He reached for my hand and helped slide my coat off completely. “You look a little more... here. In your body, I mean.”

I blinked at him and let out a soft laugh. “That’s a weirdly poetic way of saying I don’t look like a zombie anymore.”

He grinned and kissed my temple. “You said it, not me.”

I went to gently lift Mira from the stroller and she stirred but didn’t fuss. Travis grabbed a blanket from the couch and helped me settle her down into her bassinet in the corner of the room. We both stood there for a minute, just watching her sleep. The tiny movements of her breath. The flutter of her lashes. The absolute peace she carried without even trying.