Page 117 of Who's Your Daddy?

It was so good to hear her voice. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to being isolated until I spoke to her. I almost cried three times during our call. She did blackmail me, though. She told me she would only forgive me if I came to her wedding at the end of September. And as added penance, she told me I’d have to take pictures of her special day.

I was ecstatic and agreed on the spot. I’ve felt so empty and alone these last few months, and I came back to anger and hostility, so just having someone happy to hear from me filled me with the kind of joy that I can’t even begin to describe.

There were many times during the last four months when I just sat on my bed and stared at the blank wall. There wasn’t anything else to do except self-reflect. And the conclusion of all those reflections is that I need to be better. A better mother. A better friend. A better person overall.

It was unintentional, but I hurt and betrayed the people closest to me. Little by little, I have to restore their faith and trust in me. Tori has given me a glimmer of hope that it’s not an impossible task. Shontelle will take a bit more time. Peter will probably never come around, but I’m going to try to at least build a relationship that’s amicable.

“Good morning, handsome,” I say, lifting Ambrose out of the crib. “Aren’t you so full of smiles this morning?”

Peter usually leaves us alone to bond every morning and only comes to get him when I leave for work. But today’s my first Saturday here, so I’m not sure what to expect.

He babbles while I change his diaper, laughing when I tickle his toes.

“I can’t believe how big you’ve gotten,” I say, buttoning his onesie again. “You were so tiny when I left.”

A pang of guilt hits me because I didn’t want to leave him. It tore me up, yet even with hindsight, I can’t see another alternative. And what makes me feel even worse is the fact that leaving here might’ve been the best thing for him. I had nothing, not even the prospect of a job, because I had no one to help me look after him. So, even if Teddy didn’t do what he did, how would I have survived? How would I have taken care of him?

And when I look at everything Peter has done for him – the fancy clothes and the toys and this house. I could never give him even a tenth of what he has here. Coming back to see him living like this highlighted how I failed him as a mother. I couldn’t even get him a proper chair. I delivered him here in a box.

Every day I’m attacked by these kinds of thoughts that run on a loop in my head, and part of me wonders if maybe both of them would be better off without me. I think about leaving and just letting them be happy, but that would make me an even bigger failure.

I take a deep breath, push those emotions aside, and smile. “I want you to know that I didn’t abandon you. Your father is just a bigger jerk than I thought. He was a coward, and I ended up paying for that.” I bend to kiss his little toes. “But let’s not dwell on the past. It’s Saturday, and I am looking forward to spending the entire day with you. We’ve got so much to catch up on.”

I carry him downstairs and hook him on my hip while I make a bottle. He starts to get fussy, so I hurry back up to the nursery. I try to give him the bottle, but he pushes it out with his tongue.

“C’mon, aren’t you hungry?”

This is very much part of our morning routine. He refuses to let me feed him. And at night, he refuses to let me take him to bed. For those things, he only wants Peter, and he’ll scream bloody blue murder until he gets what he wants.

I walk around the room, rocking him to get him to settle down, but his cries get louder. Peter comes to the door to check on us but doesn’t enter the room.

“Sorry,” I say. “Did we wake you?”

“I was up already.”

This is another thing about Peter that surprises me. He could sideline me or rub it in my face that Ambrose prefers him over me. But instead, he gives me the time and opportunity to bond with Ambrose and learn his likes and habits. Peter only intervenes if I need help, so he stands patiently at the door, waiting to see if I can settle the wailing baby in my arms.

I try rattles and squeaky toys, and he just gets louder. I try distracting him with singing and showing him the characters on the wall. Nothing helps. After almost half an hour, I walk to the door and force a smile when I hand him to Peter. I feel dejected and deflated. At times like this, I feel like the biggest failure as a mother because Ambrose settles down the second Peter takes him from me.

Shutting my eyes, I take a brief second to regroup. I force myself to channel positive thoughts and happy vibes even though my son can’t stand to be around me for more than an hour. I used to be the only person he needed, and it’s hard to come to terms with the fact that he just doesn’t need me anymore.

I’m about to walk out when Peter’s hand shoots out, grasping the other side of the doorframe to block my path. I keep my eyes cast toward the floor because I don’t want him to see how utterly defeated I feel right now.

“It’ll take time,” he says.

He usually interacts with me with terse responses or by ignoring me entirely. This is the first time since I’ve been back that he’s actually being somewhatniceto me. It’s only three words, but it’s a start.

And I want to believe him, but these four months have created this chasm between me and my son, and I don’t know how to fill it. I don’t know how to cross it or how to get to the other side. I lost time I can never get back, and the consequences of my actions are too much to bear.

I nod without looking at him, then go back to my room as soon as he drops his hand. I have a quick cry in the shower. It’s very quick because I’m on Team Happy here.

With a renewed positive attitude, I walk downstairs but stop midway through the foyer when I hear Scott’s voice coming from the kitchen.

“So, she just popped out of nowhere?” he asks. “That was a week ago. Why are you only telling us now?”

“I didn’t know how long she was going to stay for,” Peter replies.

“Why did she leave in the first place?” Dylan asks.

---