Page 15 of This Is Our Forever

He just nods and takes another bite. I watch him, marveling at how much he’s grown—my baby, now a boy, with his own thoughts and will.

Mom catches my eye. “He’s getting so big. It feels like just yesterday he was tiny.”

I nod, throat tight. “I know. Sometimes, I wish I could freeze time.”

She reaches out, her hand warm as it wraps around mine. “Watching them grow is hard, but it’s the greatest joy. Seeing the person they’re becoming.”

Tears sting my eyes. Dylan is everything to me. The thought of losing him, of having him taken away, gnaws at me every day.

Mom squeezes my hand, her gaze steady. “You can’t keep running, Amelia. At some point, you have to face this.”

I gasp for breath. “I know. I just…I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

“You don’t have to do it today. But for Dylan’s sake, you’ll need to find the strength.”

I glance at my son; his face scrunched in concentration as he tries to lick the frosting from his fingers. He’s so innocent, untouched by the chaos swirling around him.

But Mom is right. I can’t run forever.

I meet her gaze. “I need a little more time.”

She smiles and squeezes my hand once more. “Take all the time you need. I’m here for you, and always will be.”

Gratitude overwhelms me. “Thanks, Mom. For everything.”

She waves off my thanks, her eyes twinkling. “That’s what mothers do.”

We finish our cupcakes in comfortable silence, Dylan’s eyelids growing heavy. I gather him in my arms, his head drooping against my shoulder.

“It’s time for a nap, little man,” I whisper and carry him upstairs.

In my old room, I lay him in the toddler bed, his tiny body curling around his stuffed dinosaur. I kiss his forehead and he drifts off.

I linger and stare at the boy who has become my universe. Then I slip from the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Downstairs, I find Mom in the living room, flipping through a magazine. Dad is in his recliner, the television murmuring in the background.

“Dad.” I hover in the doorway.

He glances up, and for a second, I think he’ll ignore me, but then he nods—a small acknowledgment, but more than I’ve had in years.

I sit on the couch and twist my hands in my lap, unsure of what to say.

The silence stretches, and down the street, a dog barks.

After a while, Dad clears his throat, still focused on the TV. “How long are you staying?”

The question feels like an olive branch. I take a deep breath. “A few days. I needed to get away, to think.”

He nods. “And the boy? He’s doing well?”

I smile. “He’s wonderful, Dad. He’s everything.”

For a moment, his eyes soften. “Good.”

It’s not much, but it’s something—a crack in the armor, a step forward.

I rise, my legs shaky. “I’m going to catch a nap before Dylan wakes.”

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