Page 24 of Before We Break

“Did you love him?”

It’s the first time she’s asked such a direct question about my relationship with her father, and it doesn’t sting the way I thought it would. “No. I thought I did, but I was young, and it’s easy to mistake infatuation for love.”

It’s nice to finally be able to look back on that time without falling apart. Healing is strange that way. Some wounds fester, and others become scar tissue.

“Real love didn’t come into my life until about nine months later in the form of a squishy blonde baby with a powerful set of lungs.”

She stares down into her bowl with a look of quiet contemplation on her face.

“Are you and Hayden…”

The answer rushes out of her. “No. He hasn’t asked me out or anything, but…”

“You like him.”

She nods, a soft smile on her face. “Yeah.”

“Take your time. When you’re ready, you’ll know.”

“Thanks, Mom.” She slides her half-finished meal across the counter. “Here. You can have the rest.”

Lexi heads down the hallway to her room, and I finish off what’s left of her dinner, replaying parts of our conversation in my head. I’m not a perfect parent—I still get some things wrong—but I take pride in knowing I’ve become the mom I always wished I had. It’s not easy playing the role of both parents, but letting a man into our lives is out of the question. We do just fine on our own, thank you very much.

SIX

MOM HUGS AND CHICKEN NUGGS

♫ 1234 - Feist

CLIO

A month has passed since the last noise complaint, and I haven’t suffered any more eviction threats. In fact, since my accident, I’ve hardly seen Noah beyond a quick hello when he’s dropping Auggie off at preschool. How someone so surly can be related to Auggie is beyond me.

Truth be told, I’ve been avoiding Noah at all costs—the injury healed faster than my pride.

After nap time, the kids set off for free play. I see Auggie sitting alone in one of the flexible seating beanbag chairs in the corner, holding a set of toy dinosaurs. Everything looks fine until he wrenches the blue and green external processors off his ears.

I glance around the room to make sure everyone is ok before I join Auggie in his corner. Careful not to startle him, I take the seat at his side, keeping the rest of the class in my eyeline.

A single tear tracks down his round cheek, disappearing under his chin.

I tap his shoulder gently to get his attention, then I sign. “Do you need a hearing break?”

He nods, his bottom lip quivering.

“That’s ok. It gets kind of noisy in here sometimes. Do you need a hug? Sometimes when I’m sad, a hug makes me feel better.”

He eyes me warily for a moment before wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “I miss my daddy,” he says, his voice breaking on the last syllable. Quiet sobs wrack his tiny body, and I run my hand up and down his back.

I know what grief looks like, and it’s written all over Auggie’s face. I understand that burden better than most. It’s a weight no four-year-old should have to bear. I wait for his breathing to even out and let him pull away.

“It’s ok to be sad,” I sign.

He sniffles and hands me a plastic Triceratops.

“This is my favorite dinosaur. How did you guess?”

He responds with a nonchalant shrug.