Page 77 of Winning Brynn

"She is a girl," I remind her gently as Leo gets Salem settled in her lap, "not an it."

But she isn't listening. She's too enamored by the babbling one-year-old in her lap, who's currently looking back at her like she's just found a kindred spirit.

"My name is Ivy. Can you say that? I-vee."

Salem watches the movement of her lips, studying her face with sparkling, inquisitive eyes. "V-vee."

"That's right. Good job."

"Well, look at that," I whisper to Leo.

He doesn't respond—not with words, anyway. But his shock and awe that his daughter is so content being held by Ivy is written all over his face.

And I get it.

Whatever he's feeling at the sight of them together is raging war inside me too. These two little humans—so different in circumstance yet so similar in innocence—playing together in the home where I grew up... It's almost too much for me to handle, because I'm filled with the sort of pride I imagine mothers feel when witnessing the connection between their children.

Except, I have no right to feel that way. Neither child belongs to me, no matter how much I wish things could be different, and neither ever will.

I can't adopt Ivy, because I don't have a home of my own. Yet, if I were to finally invest in my own place and curate a life where I'd be able to raise a child, I'd have to leave Salem behind. Loving them from a distance is all I'll ever have.

"She's lucky to have a daddy," Ivy whispers, as if to herself, then looks solemnly toward Leo. "Make sure you don't die."

Leo blinks.

Ivy continues, "Your baby won’t like it if you die."

Leo nods in understanding. He doesn't know what brought her to the Poppy Fields Children's Home, but I guess he's figured it out. "I'll do my best to stay alive."

"Good." Ivy gives him a solemn nod. "My mommy and daddy died, and I didn't like it."

Oh, my sweet little Ivy.

She says it so simply, so casually, with a slight lift of her shoulders, as if the death of her parents didn't rock her entire world to its core. She's good at that, at pretending that everything is okay on the outside when, beneath it all, she's really a terrified, lonely six-year-old girl drowning in grief so strong that she doesn't know how to process it.

It's the reason she acts out sometimes.

People write her off as a bad kid, but it's only because they lack the patience and empathy needed to give her what she needs.

Comfort. Understanding. A safe space to feel her emotions.

"Where's your baby's mom?" she asks bluntly, absentmindedly running her fingers through the fine hairs on Salem's head.

"Salem doesn't have a mom," Leo replies.

Ivy's eyes widen, sadness filling them as she looks down at the baby on her lap. "Oh no," she gasps. "Did she die too? Like my mommy?"

I wrap my arm around her and kiss the top of her head. "No, sweet girl. She didn't die. Salem only has a daddy."

"Miss Brynn could be her mommy," she tells Leo, her tone serious, her expression one of earnest. "She could adopt her, like she'll adopt me one day."

My heart twists.

Pain shoots through me at the knowledge that I will likely never get the chance to make both our dreams come true. I've never told Ivy I'd adopt her. I wouldn't fill her with false hope only to let her down, but she asks me every single time I'm here.

"Remember what I told you?” I ask her gently. "You don't have to call me Miss Brynn."

"When you adopt me, I can call you mommy."

---