I pulled back.
“For what?”
Her face became serious.
“For saying Daddy was at Uncle Ryan’s house.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
She touched behind her ear.
“I know Uncle Ryan isn’t Daddy.”
I stared at her.
“Then why did you say that?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because I saw Daddy’s little star.”
My heart cracked.
“And I wanted Daddy to be there.”
There it was.
The truth a four-year-old could explain more clearly than any adult.
She hadn’t confused Ryan with Ethan.
She had seen something familiar and desperately wanted it to mean that the person she loved most had somehow returned.
I hugged her.
“I want that sometimes too.”
“Daddy can’t come back?”
I closed my eyes.
“No, baby.”
She rested her head against my shoulder.
“I miss him.”
“I miss him every day.”
Jenna came down the steps and quietly put a hand on my back.
And for the first time since Ethan died, I understood something I had been too afraid to accept.
Moving forward didn’t mean replacing him.
Being independent didn’t mean forgetting him.
And loving the people who had loved Ethan didn’t mean I had to surrender my future to the plans they made while trying to protect me.
Ryan loved Ethan.
Ryan loved Lily.
And perhaps Ryan loved me.
Maybe someday, when grief was no longer making decisions for either of us, I would find out whether there was something real between us.
Maybe I wouldn’t.
But I didn’t need that answer yet.
What I needed was an apartment I could afford on my own income.
A new job.
A daycare schedule that didn’t depend on Ryan.
A plumber whose number I actually knew.
Friends I could call before an emergency became a disaster.
A life Lily and I had built ourselves.
Not Ethan’s unfinished life.
Not Ryan’s imagined one.
Ours.
Three weeks later, I accepted a position at another company.
The salary was slightly lower.
The commute was fifteen minutes longer.
And on my first morning, my kitchen sink started dripping.
For almost five minutes, I stood there staring at it.
My instinct was to pick up my phone and call Ryan.
Instead, I searched for the shutoff valve.
I watched two ridiculous repair videos.
I soaked one towel.
Then another.
And eventually I stopped the leak long enough to call a plumber myself.
It was such a small thing.
But afterward, I sat on the kitchen floor and laughed until tears rolled down my face.
Lily came running in.
“Why are you laughing, Mommy?”
I pulled her into my lap.
“Because I fixed something.”
She looked at the leaking faucet.
“It’s still broken.”
That made me laugh even harder.
“You’re right.”
She grinned.
Then she touched behind her ear.
“Daddy would know how.”
“Yes.”
I kissed her forehead.
“He probably would.”
“And Uncle Ryan.”
I paused.
“Yes. Ryan would too.”
Lily thought about that.
Then shrugged.
“But you called the fixing man.”
“I did.”
She smiled proudly.
“Good job, Mommy.”
And somehow, those three little words meant more to me than she could possibly understand.
Because she was right.
I hadn’t fixed everything.
I wasn’t even close.
I still missed Ethan.
I still sometimes reached for my phone to text him before remembering there was nowhere for the message to go.
I still wondered about Ryan.
I still wondered whether, years from now, that upstairs bedroom would ever belong to Lily after all.
But those were questions for another day.
For now, my daughter and I were finally standing on ground we had chosen ourselves.
