How did I keep her from him for seven years? How did I justify it to myself, day after day, year after year?
I know the answer. I was scared. Scared he'd reject us, scared he wouldn't be ready, scared of a thousand things that seemed so real and important at the time. But looking at Ruby now, at the joy on her face when she talked to Cade, at how naturally she called him Dad…
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I've been wrong for seven years.
The thought sits heavy in my chest as I change into pajamas and wash my face, going through the motions on autopilot. My phone buzzes on the nightstand. My mother, no doubt wanting an update on how today went.
I'm right. There are three texts waiting.
**Mom: How did it go? Is everything okay?**
**Mom: Did he meet Ruby? What did he say?**
**Mom: Call me when you can. Love you.**
I dial her number and she picks up on the first ring.
"Sierra! Finally! I've been going crazy here. Your father has threatened to drive up there twice today." My mother's voice is warm and worried in equal measure. "Tell me everything."
So, I do. I tell her about showing up at the fire station, about Cade's face when he saw Ruby, about the five other firefighters who witnessed the whole thing. About hot chocolate at Melt and Ruby's easy affection and the way Cade looked at our daughter like she hung the moon.
"He was good with her, Mom. Really good. Patient and interested and—" My voice catches. "And he already loves her. I can tell."
"Of course he does," Mom says gently. "She's his daughter. And Cade was always good at loving people. That was never the problem."
"The problem was me," I say. "I should have told him years ago. I should have—"
"You made the choice you thought was right at the time," Mom interrupts firmly. "With the information you had, the fear you were carrying. Was it the right choice? Maybe not. But you can't change it now. You can only move forward."
"He wants to spend the weekend with us. Show us around Blackwater Falls."
"That's wonderful!"
"Is it?" I stare at the ceiling, my free hand pressed against my stomach. "What happens after the weekend, Mom? When we have to go home and he has to stay here? Ruby's going to be devastated. And I—"
I stop myself before I can finish that thought. Before I can admit that I'll be devastated too. That sitting across from Cade today, watching him with Ruby, seeing glimpses of the man I fell in love with eight years ago, it made me realize that I never stopped loving him. Never even came close.
"You'll figure it out," Mom says with the confidence only a mother can have. "Together. That's what co-parenting is."
"I don't know how to co-parent with someone who lives three hours away. Someone I—" I can't finish that sentence either.
But Mom knows anyway. She's always known. "Someone you still love?"
"It doesn't matter," I say. "He doesn't feel that way about me. He can't. Not after what I did."
"You don't know that."
"Mom, I saw the way he looked at me. The hurt. The betrayal. Whatever we had, I killed it when I kept Ruby from him."
"Or maybe," Mom suggests softly, "you gave it a chance to grow into something different. Something stronger. Built on honesty and shared purpose."
I want to believe her. Want to think that maybe, somehow, Cade and I could find our way back to each other. But that feels like hoping for too much. Like being greedy when I should just be grateful he's willing to be part of Ruby's life.
We talk for a few more minutes. Mom extracting promises that I'll call tomorrow, that I'll send pictures, that I'll bring Ruby by to see them when we get home. When I finally hang up, the room is dark except for the streetlight filtering through the curtains.
Ruby is sound asleep, her breathing deep and even. I should sleep too. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, full of emotion and negotiation and watching Cade fall more in love with our daughter.
But my mind won't shut off. I keep replaying the day. Cade's shock, Ruby's joy, the moment in the bathroom when Cade touched my shoulder and how he looked at me like he wanted more. Or maybe I imagined that. Maybe I wanted it so badly I made it up.
