Page 218 of Bishop

He drags in a tired breath, his shoulders slumping with the exhale. “You deserve to be happy, figlio.”

I scoff. “We both know that’s not true. But even if it was, I don’t deserve it at her expense.” I yank open one side of the heavy wooden doors. “I won’t force her into marriage. Not for you. Not for me. And definitely not now that she’s got that kid hanging around.”

41

ABRI

THREE WEEKS LATER

“It’s been another great session, Abri. You should be encouraged by the progress you and Tabatha are making.” The child psychologist pushes from the elegantly carved dining table with a smile.

“Thanks, Kim.” I wince through the words, hating the use of my daughter’s real name.

With all the things I’ve had to get used to in my new role as a fully functioning mother, trying to accept Tilly isn’t actually Tilly has been near the top of the list.

What made the painful discovery worse was that I wasn’t the one to figure out the problem. It was Dr. Pentacost. On our very first in-home consultation.

Me, with my ignorance and complete lack of parental experience, had thought it was normal for my daughter to ignore me when I addressed her by name. I’d assumed it was due to trauma. And when every second had been so hectic with tears, pleas, and hiccupped cries, it hadn’t seemed out of place for Tilly not to acknowledge that one simple word.

Then Dr. Kim Pentacost arrived.

She was so incredibly good with Tilly—patient, compassionate, understanding. I fell in love with her straight away… Until she began bonding with my daughter, asking to be introduced to Tilly’s stuffed rabbit, then later discreetly telling me what she’d found.

“The label on her toy says, ‘Property of Tabatha Marks.’”

I hadn’t wanted to believe it. That my parents would not only steal my child but also hate me enough to give her a name other than the one I’d chosen.

But the doctor was right.

On the flimsy, tattered slip of material poking out of the bunny’s thigh was all the evidence I needed in faded, barely visible writing.

“I’m sorry.” Kim places a hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing. “I’ll start calling her Tilly from now on if you’d prefer. As we discussed, she’s young enough to accept the name change. Just use the steps I wrote down. Make it gradual and fun. I’m sure it will take her no time at all to understand that’s her new normal.”

I nod. Force a smile.

“And I don’t think we need another session tomorrow either.” The doctor grabs her thick binder off the table, dragging the heavy weight to her chest. “You can handle a long weekend without me.”

My stomach plummets.

“You’ve got this, Abri. You really do.”

I swallow back the nerves and turn to watch my little girl playing in the sunshine streaming in through the living room window, her tiny hands building a tower of clunky plastic blocks. “I’m not sure you’re right, but I’ll trust your expert opinion.”

Life is nothing like what it used to be.

Before Tilly, I used to wake up empty and soulless. There was no hope. No joy.

Now, my mornings start with my heart open and my faith restored. I spend every day dedicated to making Tilly’s life better. To being a good mother. A patient caregiver. A strong role model.

We play. We learn. We sing. A lot. And not just nursery rhymes. Taylor Swift is our jam. Then there are the television jingles, and our own silly mashed up sentences to remember important hygiene routines.

Where once all I thought about was manipulating powerful people, now the only thing I set out to achieve is creating little patches of light in Tilly’s life to cover up the holes of darkness my parents created.

And it’s working. Slowly.

Tilly still breaks my heart whenever she’s startled, scared, or scrapes her knee. Her instinctive response is to call for her momma. And that momma isn’t me. But the more often I come running, the quicker she accepts my love, opening those tiny arms to me so I can hug her tight.

“I’ll see you Monday.” Kim starts toward the front door, her heels clapping along the polished wooden floorboards. “But my cell is always on if you need me.”

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