Page 98 of Who's Your Daddy?

I know I’m the one at fault. There were so many things I lied about when I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t expecting him to forgive me. I wasn’t expecting us to resolve this and continue as one big, happy family. But I also wasn’t expecting him to tell me to leave, at least not tonight anyway. I wasn’t expecting him to discard me so callously without a second thought.

Like I meant nothing.

The thing that hurts the most is that I completely opened myself up to him. After Teddy dumped me, I was wary of getting close to anyone. I kept everyone at a distance. My friendships were all superficial. But I wasn’t like that with Peter. He told me he would come over to my side if I just stopped pulling away...so I stopped. I threw caution to the wind and gave him my whole heart, only for him to throw it right back in my face. And that hurts a million times more than anything Teddy ever did to me.

My mother always used to say that when people show you how they feel about you, believe them.

Both Teddy and Peter have shown me I’m dispensable. It was a hard lesson that needed to be taught to me a few times, but I think I’ve finally learned it.

That is the last time I trust a man to keep my heart safe. That is the last time I trust a man. Period.

From now on, there will be only one man who has my undivided love and devotion. And that man is my son.

20. Lia

Three months later...

The soft cries of my very demanding little man wake me from my sleep. With only one eye open, I shift on the tiny bed, sitting up so I can feed him. Even through my exhaustion, I smile at the tiny suckling sounds he makes. He’s so cute. In the dim light peeping through the faded curtains, I make out that there are two other moms, Camilla and Dimika, also up for the midnight feed.

Camilla ran away to escape her abusive husband, while Dimika’s mom kicked her out when she found out she was pregnant. She’s only sixteen. Life at this shelter isn’t easy. It lacks all the creature comforts and luxuries I’ve grown accustomed to. But even though I’m not in the best of circumstances right now, every day I’m reminded of how grateful I should be. I have never faced the kind of hardships some of these other ladies have experienced.

I wouldn’t say we’re friends. I don’t have the energy to emotionally invest in anyone other than my child at this moment. But I would say that I’ve developed a sort of camaraderie with the other women here. We share chores. We cook meals together. We help each other with the babies. They showed me how to bathe him and burp him and so many other things. The communal space somehow makes single motherhood slightly easier. Given my situation, coming here was the best decision I could’ve made.

This place has become a sanctuary in the turbulent storm of my life, a haven that has kept me safe for the last three months. But I know it’s not a long-term solution. Because of the demand and shortage of funding, most women are only allowed to stay for three months, while moms and expectant moms can stay for six months. My time here is running out, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. I have no plan. I know I need to get a job to support us, but I can’t get a job until I can put him in a proper daycare, but I can’t put him in daycare unless I have a job. It’s the kind of catch twenty-two that’s causing me a run-on of sleepless nights.

The stress and anxiety are overwhelming. I actually pinned that as the root cause of why I went into labor early. My tiny bundle of joy came on March, fourth. A full three weeks before his due date. Although a little underweight, he was perfectly healthy, and I’m so grateful for that.

I was overly paranoid and worried about that at first, but he’s grown so much in the last six weeks. His cheeks have filled out, and he’s got those adorable cellulite dimples on his thighs now. He’s perfect.

I lift him up over my shoulder to burp him, nuzzling my face against the soft hair on the side of his head. I love the way he feels, the way he smells, the small sounds he makes. It’s weird how my heart can feel so full yet so shattered at the same time. One man smashed it into pieces and my little boy has put it back together.

There are days when I miss Peter so much. We were supposed to be experiencing these things together. The sleepless nights. The diaper changes. The vomit. And now I’m doing it all on my own. It just doesn’t feel right. I think about it constantly because he would’ve been a phenomenal dad. He would’ve rocked him to sleep and sang lullabies in that off-key voice. He would’ve talked to him every night before bed. It’s a tragedy that my son will never know all that. It feels like he was robbed of an opportunity to be loved by a great man.

But at the end of the day, it’s my fault that I am where I am. This is my life now and I have to figure out a way to do this by myself.

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