There’s no proper way to explain what it feels like seeing your child for the first time. A rush of warmth and pure love overwhelmed me, as if time stood still, and every part of me connected to her instantly. Her tiny hands grasping mine feltlike the beginning of a bond so deep, so unspoken, that it filled my heart with a joy I had never known before.
She made every iota of pain I ever felt completely and utterly worth it.
It also confirmed to me that I made the right decision leaving that night.
Trevor didn’t deserve something as pure and beautiful as her.
And getting her—us—away from him almost killed her.
I made a promise to the both of us that I would never let anything—anyone—hurt her.
Ever.
I haven’t heard from Trevor since I left, and it’s not like I had much of a support system in Minnesota. I doubt anyone has even noticed I’ve been gone.
Trevor was all I knew, the only family I had.
The hospital staff instantly knew the severity of my situation when all the dots started to connect. A young, pregnant woman, fleeing in the middle of the night alone, bruises of all colors and stages of healing covering her body, fresh injuries that weren’t just from the crash—it didn’t take much time for my nurses, especially Phoebe, to put everything together.
My nurse introduced me to Ava—her older sister, the manager of a coffee shop in Milwaukee who was looking for a roommate in the duplex she rents in the neighborhood across the street.
Fast forward a year, I went from having absolutely nothing to my name, to a home, a job, a friend, and my daughter.
Evelyn Jade Matthews.
“But, to answer your question, she was perfect. Just like the perfect little angel baby she is. Isn’t that right, Evee?” Ava’s voice transitions into the baby one she uses when she talks to my daughter. “She is always great company when I do payroll,” sheadds with another smile, her hazel eyes reflecting the genuine care she has for her.
I didn’t think people like Ava and her sister, or Annie and Luke, or Mia and the other people I’ve met in the last year existed.
People who understand how the universe can completely chew you up and spit you out.
People who do things out of the kindness of their hearts with no mal-intent or ulterior motive.
People who want to help or give you a hand, not because they have to but because they want to.
It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before.
One I’m still getting used to.
As Ava and I transitioned from co-workers to roommates to friends, I learned more and more about her own history with a toxic relationship, her ex-boyfriend being emotionally abusive, and it made sense why she was so willing to help someone like me—a broke, single mom with nothing but a bloodstained nightgown and a newborn to her name.
She has become a full-on partner for me this last year, letting me bring Evee to work when we’re both on the schedule and watching her when I’m here on my own.
“How’s it going up here?” Ava asks, her eyes roaming the space behind the coffee bar, doing her usual mental checklist that everything is up to her standards. I can practically see her checking that the drink station is clean and the bakery case is filled; looking at the high top tables and how the chairs aren’t pushed in; noticing how the hanging plants by the front door need watering.
“Good,” I answer, playing with the cap of the Sharpie in my apron pocket.
Ava turns to look at me, pausing her silent assessment of the coffee shop, familiar amusement in her eyes.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Just can’t keep up with all that talking you do. You’re really going to have to slow down one of these days,” she jokes as Evee’s little hands wrap around Ava’s red waves. “I can’t take in all those words at once.” She gives me a smirk that drips with sarcasm, her specialty.
“Ha. Ha,” I mock, tilting my head to the side with each “ha”, a smile blooming on my face. Ava is the talker in our friendship—she’s the one who fills the silence, starts the conversations, asks the questions. It’s more her speed.
I’m content with listening.
I think that’s why we work so well—an instant balance within our connection.
