Where You Left Us

I'm Not Running Anymore

Jennie's POV

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until the door shut behind me. The echo of it lingered like a closing chapter or maybe the hesitant opening of a new one.

I stood outside Lisa's house for a long minute. The cool evening breeze brushed past my skin, but I didn't move. My heart was still in there... wrapped in bunny pajamas and syrup-sticky cheeks and the warmth of a child's arms calling me Mommy.

My car was parked down the street, but I barely remembered getting into it. Driving felt mechanical — my body moved while my mind was still curled up next to her, in the bed I once used to tuck myself into with guilt and longing.

Now it held something else. Something terrifying and soft and real.

Ella had called me Mommy.

Not once. Not Twice.

But thrice.

And Lisa heard it. She saw us. She let me stay. She made breakfast with me. She handed me the bowl of batter like the past hadn't shattered everything, like we were... something. Like we could be again.

I reached my parent's house without even remembering half the drive. The silence of the room greeted me like an old friend. Cold. Impersonal. Safe.

But tonight... it didn't feel like safety. It felt like punishment.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still wearing the clothes yesterday. I should've changed. I should've showered. I should've done something.

Instead, I just sat there. My hands were still trembling.

I looked down at them at the fingers that had braided Ella's hair. At the hand that had helped her onto the swing. At the palm she'd rested her tiny cheek against when she laughed during that Taylor Swift song.

You belong with me. She sang the chorus with me like she meant it. I laughed earlier. I smiled. I felt... alive. And now, I felt like I was falling.

Not in the same way I did four years ago — when I ran, when I let everything go. This fall was slower. Heavier. But it hurt more because I wanted to catch something this time.

I laid down eventually, but sleep didn't come. My eyes stared up at the ceiling as I replayed it all.

Lisa opening the door.

Lisa not yelling.

Lisa letting me stay the night with Ella.

Lisa making pancakes.

Ella, her sleepy little voice asking if Mommy was coming back.

God.

That word.

I clutched at the hoodie sleeves, pulling them over my hands like a child. I don't know if I deserved to be called that. I know I didn't earn it. But she gave it to me anyway.

She didn't even think twice. It just came out of her mouth like it had always lived there. Like she'd always been waiting to use it.

I closed my eyes, and I swear I felt her again — those tiny arms, warm and trusting, curled around my middle in the dark. Her slow breaths. Her tiny body melting against mine.

My chest cracked wide open. Tears slid down the sides of my face, soaking into the hoodie.

I let them fall. Because this wasn't guilt. It wasn't even grief anymore. It was longing.

I missed her. I missed my daughter.

I wanted to wake up to her silly little bedhead and her raspy morning voice. I wanted to help her brush her teeth and pick out socks. I wanted to hear her call me Mommy over and over and over again until it didn't make me cry anymore.

But mostly, I wanted Lisa to trust me.

To believe that this time... I wasn't going anywhere. Even if she never took me back, even if we never healed into the people we used to be — I wanted to be here.

Because Ella is here.

Because she's mine too.

I turned onto my side and clutched a pillow to my chest, whispering into the dark:

"I'm not running anymore."

I didn't know if anyone could hear it.

But I needed to say it.

And maybe someday soon...

I'll say it to Ella.