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“Y-Yes!” she screams, and her body convulses around me. I feel the shudder run through her body, and that does it. I can’t hold on any longer as I release inside her, in what will go down in the books at the best fucking orgasm of my life.
After we’ve both caught our breath, I kiss her softly before pulling out of her and climbing out of bed. I take care of the condom and wet a cloth from the bathroom to clean her up. Her eyes pop open in surprise, but otherwise, she says nothing, letting me take care of her. Tossing the cloth through the bathroom door, I climb into bed and pull her into my arms. As we lie in the darkness, nothing but our breathing between us, she has me questioning everything I’ve ever thought about myself. She’s making me reconsider taking a job that will give me roots just to be next to her.
Over the next several hours, even with my protest that she’s too sore, we manage to go through the three remaining condoms, and each time is better than the one before. As I finally drift off to sleep in the early morning hours, I know that I want to see her again. I’ve never felt this kind of connection, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep her and the feeling of her in my arms and in my life.
However, when I wake just a few short hours later and reach for her, the bed is cold. Sitting up, I look around the room, and there is no sign of her, except for the condom wrappers on the floor and her torn panties that are lying under the chair. She must have missed them. Plopping back on the bed, I curse myself for not insisting on getting her name. My dream girl gave me the best sex of my life and snuck out like a thief in the night.
All I have left is a memory.
Chapter 3
Cadence
Nine months later
I’m sobbing uncontrollably, my face is covered in sweat, and I’m utterly exhausted, but that doesn’t stop my smile when the nurse lays my little girl on my chest after her first bath. My hand rests against her back, holding her close to me, and my lips press to the top of her tiny little head. She’s bound up like a tiny pink burrito, and my heart is full.
I’m a mother. I have a family.
Sure, it’s small, just the two of us, but we will always have each other. I will never let a day go by that she doesn’t know that she is my greatest accomplishment, my greatest gift in this life.
“Mommy loves you,” I whisper to my daughter.
I have a daughter.
I’m a mommy.
Sadness washes over me as I think about her father. The man who gave me this incredible gift, yet he has no idea. I never knew it was possible to be in the happiest moment of your life, but also feel sadness and regret.
I left like a coward that night because of what he made me feel. I was embarrassed to do the walk of shame and if I’m being honest, I had already fallen hard for him. It took one night, and I knew my heart couldn’t take the rejection, so I left like a scaredy-cat. I tried to convince the hotel to give me his information, even offered up cash that I didn’t really have to spend on my journey to single motherhood, but it was useless. They refused.
I’ve cursed myself more times than I can count for not paying attention when he booked our room. I was so wrapped up in our “spontaneity” that I stepped away. That’s just another regret to add to my growing list from that night.
“We’ll give you a few minutes, then we need you to try nursing her,” a nurse tells me, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Okay.” I nod as more tears well in my eyes.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was surprisingly calm. It’s not how I’d planned to have a baby. I wanted to meet a man, fall in love, get married, and then start a family—a family I never really had growing up. When I was nine, I was placed with my foster family. After jumping from one placement to another, the Gardners stuck.
The Gardners are decent people. They made sure I had a roof over my head and three hot meals a day. I always had clothes that fit and the supplies I needed for school, but there were no hugs. No declarations of a job well done when I placed first in the spelling bee. No, “we’re proud of you” when I graduated high school at the top of my class. They were detached. And while I still keep in touch with them—I send them Christmas and birthday cards every year—there are never any in return or invitations to join them for celebrations or the holidays.
