The rest of the afternoon drags on painfully. I keep my distance and Colby keeps trying to understand why.
Every glance between us feels bruised somehow. And underneath all of it sits one horrifying truth: I miss him already.
That realization nearly undoes me. By bedtime I’m emotionally exhausted.
Jillie falls asleep quickly after insisting her stuffed penguin needed its own blanket arrangement “for emotional support.”
I sit beside her bed longer than usual afterward, listening to the soft sound of snow tapping against the windows.
The house feels colder tonight.
Quieter.
Wrong.
Around midnight, Jillie whimpers softly in her sleep. I immediately lean over her.
“Bug?”
Her eyes flutter open halfway, unfocused from a nightmare. “Mommy?”
“I’m here.”
She curls closer beneath the blankets automatically. I smooth hair back from her forehead while her breathing slowly steadies again.
Then, sleepily: “Colby wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye… right?”
The question hits so hard I physically stop breathing for a second.
There it is. The thing I feared most. She already expects losing him. My throat tightens painfully. Because children who’ve been abandoned before always wait for it to happen again. Always.
I stare down at her tiny sleepy face and remember every single question after Darren left.
Did he forget me?
Was he mad at me?
Maybe if I’m extra good, he’ll come back.
No, I cannot let her survive this twice. “He cares about you very much,” I whisper carefully.
Not an answer. Because I don’t know the answer, and that terrifies me. Jillie drifts back asleep a minute later.
I stay sitting beside her long after, watching her breathe, watching snow move across the windows, and trying to convince myself that distance is the right thing - even while my chest hurts badly enough to feel it physically.
***
The knock at the locked bakery door the next evening doesn’t surprise me.
Somehow, I knew Colby would come. I just hoped I’d be stronger when he did.
The CLOSED sign hangs in the front window while I wipe down counters alone. The bakery smells like sugar and espresso and the peppermint candle that Mrs. Bellamy insists makes customers spend more money.
Another knock. Gentle. Patient.
I close my eyes briefly before unlocking the door. Colby steps inside slowly, snow dusting his shoulders. The second he sees my face, his expression softens.
That nearly ruins me immediately.
