Page 69 of Merry Me
I looked down at my fingers, twisting the hem of my sweater. “I haven’t thought about him in years, not really. But now…with Paige inviting him and the wedding in a few days, I don’t know. I feel like I’m a kid again. Waiting on the porch with mittens and hope, thinking maybe this year he’d come.”
Her eyes softened. “He didn’t deserve you.”
“Maybe not,” I whispered. “But that didn’t stop me from wanting him.”
My throat tightened. I hated that it still had power over me. The ache. The wondering.
She exhaled, and it was slow…probably full of memories. “Do you want to know what I remember most about when he left?”
I looked up, my voice tight. “What?”
“You. Sitting on the stairs. Your face crumpling when you realized he wasn’t coming back. Crying so hard you couldn’t breathe. And I remember the way you looked at me and asked if he left because ofyou.”
I closed my eyes. “I was obviously deranged even at that age.”
“No. You were just a kid. And heartbroken. And already trying to shoulder blame that wasn’t yours.” Her voice was firm but not harsh.
I swallowed hard. “It just…It felt like maybe there was something wrong with me.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” She reached over, placing a warm hand on mine. “There was never anything wrong with you. There was something wrong withhim.” Her voice was fierce now, the kind of fierce that could punch holes through doubt. “He was the problem. He was a coward. And he missed the best parts of your childhood.”
I blinked, and the tears that I hadn’t known were there slid down my cheeks. I swiped at them quickly. Because how dare they.
“He left,” I said quietly. “And I spent years convincing myself it didn’t matter. But now the idea of him showing up to the wedding like he belongs—like he deserves to watch Paige’s happiest day—it makes me feel…off-balance. Like I’m that little girl again.”
My mom nodded slowly. “I understand that.”
“Do you?” I asked, looking at her, my voice sharper than I meant.
She didn’t flinch. “More than you think.”
She brought the mug to her lips, took a sip, then set it back down. “When he left, I thought I would never trust anyone again. I was angry. Not just at him. At myself. For believing him. For loving him.”
I watched her closely. “But then you met Dad.”
Her lips curved gently. “Yes, then I met Steve. And I realizedthat loving someone isn’t what hurts. Loving the wrong person—that’s what leaves the bruises.”
I exhaled shakily.
“I didn’t love him right away,” she went on, her voice quieter now. “But he was patient. Kind. He didn’t push. He just…stayed. Through the hard days. Through the guarded silences. Through me needing tobelievehe wouldn't leave.”
She paused.
“And eventually,” she said, “I realized that love isn’t proven in the grand gestures. It’s proven in the staying. In the showing up. In the choosing to be there. Again and again.”
I looked down at my hands, her words stirring something deep and unsteady inside me.
“Does it still hurt?” I asked. “What he did?”
She thought for a moment. “Less now. But back then, yes. I thought it would break me. But then life gave me something better. Someone better. A love that made the pain feel like it had a purpose.”
My throat tightened. “So, you’re not mad Paige invited him?”
She sighed. “I wish she hadn’t, only because I don’t think she understands how deep that scar runs. But I also understand why she did. He’s her dad, too, even if he wasn’t much of one.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Do you think he’ll actually show?”
My mom shrugged lightly. “Maybe. Or maybe not. Either way, it doesn’t change what came after. He left. But that opened the door for someone better. For a man who loved you like you were his own. Who raised you with patience and pride and a fierce, unwavering love.”
