“Because she asks about you every night. Every single night before she falls asleep, she asks me to pray that her mommy comes back.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Her prayer has been answered, Rebecca. Don’t waste this chance.”
I stood there trembling. Part of me wanted to run again. It would be easier to disappear. Easier to let Thomas keep being her family. Easier to avoid facing what I’d done.
“Will you come with me?” I asked. “I don’t think I can do this alone.”
Thomas nodded. “I’ll be right beside you. That’s what grandpas do.”
We walked into the room together. Lily was still asleep, her chest rising and falling peacefully. She looked so small in that big hospital bed. So fragile. But also stronger than I’d ever seen her. There was color in her cheeks. Her hair was starting to grow back in soft blonde wisps.
She’d survived. Despite everything, my baby had survived.
I sat down in the chair Thomas had been sitting in. Took her hand. It was so small. So warm.
“Lily,” I whispered. “Baby, wake up. Mommy’s here.”
Her eyes fluttered open. Confused at first. Then wide. Then filling with tears.
“Mommy?”
Lily stared at me for a long moment. I waited for the anger. The rejection. The hatred I deserved.
Instead, she threw her arms around my neck and cried. “Mommy! You came back! Grandpa Thomas said you would come back and you did!”
I held her so tight. Crying into her hair. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry I left. I was scared and broken and I made a terrible mistake. But I’m never leaving again. Never. I promise.”
“You promise?” Her voice was muffled against my shoulder.
“I promise. Forever and ever.”
She pulled back and looked at me with those blue eyes. “Are you going to take me away from Grandpa Thomas?”
I looked at Thomas, who was standing by the door with tears streaming down his face. “No, baby. Grandpa Thomas is family now. He’s going to stay in our lives forever. Right, Thomas?”
Lily’s face broke into the biggest smile. “So I have a mommy AND a grandpa now?”
“Yes, sweetheart. You have both.”
“This is the best day ever!” She grabbed both our hands. “Grandpa Thomas, come sit with us! We can all be together now!”
So that’s what we did. Thomas pulled up another chair and the three of us sat there together. Lily in her hospital bed, holding both our hands, chattering happily about everything we’d missed. The pictures she’d drawn. The books Thomas had read her. The nurses who let her have extra pudding.
And for the first time in eight months, I felt hope.
It’s been three months since that day. Lily was discharged from the hospital last month. She’s living with me now in a small apartment near Thomas’s house. He comes over every single day. Brings her breakfast on weekends. Takes her for rides on his motorcycle—slowly, around the block, with a special kid’s helmet he bought just for her.
I’m working again. Going to therapy. Slowly rebuilding my life and my relationship with my daughter. It’s not easy. There are nights when Lily wakes up crying, asking if I’m still there. There are days when the guilt is so overwhelming I can barely breathe.
But Thomas helps. He reminds me that second chances are rare and precious. That I can’t change the past but I can shape the future. That being a good mother now is more important than being a perfect mother before.
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