Page 83 of From Maybe to Baby

Then there’s Paris, within arm’s reach—the only sacrifice to be made is the little family that’s pulled me into their hearts—kicking and screaming. I’ve fallen for them all. I can’t deny it. And it’s not right. Not for me, and not for them.

I know what this family needs, and it’s not me. I might be able to show up to a game or ballet practice or two, and maybe even get everyone’s schedule written down in one place, but I know I’m going to let these people down eventually. I can’t be these kids’ new mom. And I can’t be their dad’s new partner. It’s just not in my DNA, no matter how many dinosaur pancakes I make. I feel like a fraud, because I am one.

Paris promises a return to the real me—chic Fashion Week coverage, wine tours, late-night meals, and adult conversation.

I glance at my laptop screen, where my draft titledA Reformed Solo Traveler's Guide to Family Adventuressits half-finished. The cursor blinks accusingly. I contemplate hitting delete. I’m not reformed. I’m the same as I ever was.

More notifications pile in:

Saw you in that hockey jersey.

Selling out much?

Your child-free travel tips were a lifeline during family reunions.

Paris would mean reclaiming my identity, the carefully constructed life of freedom and next to no responsibilities.

"Lexa?" Jace's sleepy voice cuts through my thoughts. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Just working on something. Go back to sleep."

"My story? About the hockey princes?" she mumbles, and my heart skips a beat.

"Yes, that one," I lie.

"Can we go see her after hockey season?”

Her words sting. After hockey season. As if I’ll still be here.

"Go back to sleep, sweetie."

"Will you tell me a princess story tomorrow? With hockey moves?" she persists.

"Maybe," I hedge, the word heavy in the dark.

My phone vibrates again and I gather my things to leave Jace’s room. Ryan's text message flashes on the screen:

Paris office wants to schedule a call. Time to make dreams come true.

Followed by:

Unless your dreams have changed? It's okay if they have.

The social media alerts continue.

Your piece about finding magic in family life was so real. This new voice of yours—it's genuine and raw.

Jesus. I don’t even know what authenticity is at this point.

Jace sighs softly, her grip tightening on her unicorn—Minty, named whimsically after me for reasons I can't fathom.

"Lexa?" Her voice is fainter now, sleep reclaiming her. "Stay with me?"

The simplicity of her request, the complexity of what it signifies, anchors me to the spot. "Sleep, honey," I whisper back, my voice thick.

I watch her for another minute, wondering if the idea of Paris is beginning to pale in comparison to the reality of these quiet, unremarkable moments that are somehow so fulfilling. Actually, more than fulfilling.

Even if admitting that scares the living hell out of me.

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