Page 145 of Anything But Lonely

Now, as he walks toward his teacher, I watch him hike his backpack higher onto his shoulders. The straps are tightened as far as they’ll go and still hang a little too big on him.

His hair is still slightly damp from when I combed it out this morning, and he’s dressed in denim shorts and the Cross My Heart shirt he insisted on wearing.

He gives Mateo, me, Talia, and Daniel one more wave before following his teacher into the building.

And I swear it feels like a piece of my soul is being pulled out of me.

Which is ridiculous.

Because he’s not mine.

Not technically.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, this little boy found a place inside my heart that I didn’t even know was empty.

He feels like mine, in all the ways that matter. All the ways that make sense for us. The little family we’ve grown into—so slowly and seamlessly, I don’t think any of us noticed it was happening until it was too late.

“We’ll see you guys later,” Talia says, pulling me from my thoughts as she and Daniel head toward their car.

The crowd in front of the school begins to disappear, families heading home or climbing onto bikes to get on with their days—all while the tiny humans inside learn where to put their backpacks and find the desks with their names on them.

Mateo’s arm loops around my shoulders, and I feel the kiss he leaves against my temple. “Are you ready to go, or are we planning on staying here all day?”

I knock my hip into his, crossing my arms over my chest. “You tell me. I’m not the helicopter parent.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teases, and I turn my gaze to him.

I don’t know what I did, in this life or the last, to deserve this man. To have him stick with me through the last two months.

I don’t know how long I’ve been losing pieces of myself in the numbness.

I thought I was pushing everything down, refusing to feel it—but in reality, it was ripping me apart, little by little, and burning the pieces, making it impossible to put myself together in the same way.

I’m forever changed after losing my mom.

And I see that now.

I’m not the same person I was when she was alive. Losing her changed me, viscerally.

And missing her weighs on me so heavily some days, it’s hard to remember that every bad day has a dozen good days—especially with Mateo and Crew.

The love I have for them isn’t what made me want to get better.

That decision had to come from somewhere deeper.

I had to want a different life for myself.

I had to be willing to face the parts of me I had spent years avoiding, to admit when I needed help, and to do the hard work even on the days when it felt easier to go back to old habits.

But their love has made the process easier to endure. It gives the hard days a little more purpose. It reminds me why the work matters and why every uncomfortable conversation, every setback, and every step forward is worth it.

They didn’t save me, and they weren’t responsible for fixing me. That was never their job. But they have been a reminder of what I’m fighting for.

The love I have for them didn’t start my recovery.

But it’s what will help carry me through it.

“So…” Mateo says, dragging out the word as we walk through the parking lot. “Are we going to talk about how you told Crew you loved him before you told me?”