“Dat!” she announces, holding up something that might be a shell or might be a rock. At this age, the distinction doesn’t matter.
“Beautiful, baby. Very beautiful.”
She beams at me and goes back to her searching, with me following closely behind her. This time of year, although cold, is beautiful. The beach is nearly empty. It’s too cold for tourists, and most locals are at work on a Tuesday afternoon.
It’s just us. The way it’s been. The way it will continue to be.
I’ve made peace with it. Single motherhood. Again.
It’s not what I imagined when I was younger. Not the family I dreamed of. But it’s safe. Predictable. No one can disappoint me if I don’t let them close enough to try.
My hand drifts to my stomach—still flat, though I’m starting to show just a little if I look carefully. I’m about eleven weeks now, and the morning sickness has mostly passed, replaced by this constant awareness of the life growing inside me.
Calvin’s child.
I need to tell him. I know I need to tell him. Every day I don’t reach out is another day of cowardice. But the thought of calling him, of hearing his voice, of having to explain… it’s too much. Too painful.
“Mama, dat!” Ella points at a seagull landing nearby.
“I see it, sweetheart. Remember, we don’t chase the birds.” I take her hand, and she whines a bit, her eyes tracking the seagull with longing.
“Birds are friends,” I tell her.
She runs ahead again, going as fast as her legs can carry her, falling into the sand but then getting right back up. I pull my coat tighter against the wind and watch her play. This is good. This is enough. Ella and me and soon another baby. It will be hard but we’ll be fine. We’ve always been fine on our own.
Even if sometimes, late at night, I ache for what could have been.
“Georgia?”
The voice comes from behind me, and I freeze.
I know that voice.
Slowly, I turn around.
Calvin stands about twenty feet away, at the edge of where the beach grass meets the sand. He’s wearing a winter coat, such a strange thing to see him in, and his hair is windswept, his expression uncertain in a way that’s completely unlike him.
“What…” My voice comes out strangled. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He takes a few steps closer, and I notice he looks tired. Thinner than I remember. “Lois told me I should come.”
“Lois.” Of course. That meddling, wonderful woman.
“She was right to.” He’s closer now, and I can see the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. “Georgia, please. Can we talk?”
Every instinct I have screams at me to say no. To protect myself and Ella and the secret baby he doesn’t know exists yet. To send him away before he can hurt me again. But I need to tell him. And maybe this is the universe’s way of forcing my hand.
“Ella, come here, baby.”
She toddles over, and I scoop her up. She’s heavy now, solid and warm against my chest.
“Cav-cav!” she shrieks, spotting him.
The joy in her voice breaks my heart.
Calvin’s expression crumbles. “Hi, Ella. I’ve missed you.”
She’s squirming, wanting to go to him. “No, baby. Stay with Mama.”
