Page 99 of From Maybe to Baby

Coach benches me for the next practice game.

"You're one of our best players," he says frankly. "But right now? You're a liability."

He's not wrong.

The team psychologist offers to meet with the kids. The PR team suggests a "family healing" narrative. Everyone has solutions for problems they don't understand.

That night, after another nightmare, another day of pretending we're all fine, I find myself in the kitchen staring at Genny's photo again.

"This is your fault," I tell her. Not because it is, but because sometimes you need someone to blame. "You left and now look what’s happening."

The photo doesn't answer.

But maybe that's the point. Maybe sometimes there are no answers. No solutions.

Maybe that's what rock bottom really is—not the dramatic crash, but the quiet recognition that some things just fucking suck.

And all you can do is keep showing up. For practice. For your kids. For whatever.

Including when showing up means admitting you're not okay.

15

ALEXA

The Eiffel Towersparkles outside my window, but all I can think about is how Jace would say it looks like a giant fairy wand. I'm supposed to be writing about romantic getaways—Paris's most intimate corners, its hidden gems, its perfect date spots. Instead, I'm calculating what time it is in San Francisco. Eight hours earlier? Or nine?

My laptop mocks me with its blank screen and blinking cursor.

Paris offers couples an unparalleled romantic experience...

So freaking boring.

Delete.

A Goldfish cracker falls out of my purse while I'm searching for my phone. Then another. They're everywhere—tucked into pockets, hiding in my makeup bag, somehow multiplying like little orange reminders of my time in San Francisco. I never evenliked Goldfish until Lukas insisted they were "the best snack for hockey watching."

My first article draft sits unfinished on my desk.

The City of Light dazzles with possibility...

Except it doesn't. Not really. Not when every corner café reminds me of pancakes. Not when every park makes me think of impromptu hockey lessons. Not when every sparkling light makes me remember tiny faces watching for magic.

"You look terrible," Lucy announces during our weekly video call. She's eating ice cream for breakfast because time zones are weird, and apparently this is an intervention. "Like, worse than that time you got food poisoning in Bangkok."

"You’re lucky you’re my BFF."

"You're wearing his jersey."

Busted.

"It was laundry day."

"It's been laundry day for a week, according to your Instagram. So what about your San Francisco family?"

"They're not my family."

"Really? Because there's an empty wine bottle next to you and it’s only six p.m.”

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