Because that night, after the boys were asleep, Adrian found me on the back porch, staring at the stars.
He sat beside me.
“You okay?”
“I keep thinking about her face,” I whispered. “When they said my name.”
“She made her choices.”
“I know. But they’re still her sons.”
Adrian took my hand.
“And they’re ours now too.”
I looked at him.
“I didn’t plan this.”
“I know.”
“I came here to survive three days.”
“And you stayed for a lifetime.”
He kissed my temple.
And for the first time in months, I let myself breathe.
Three years later, Vanessa stopped showing up for visitation.
The boys stopped asking about her.
Evan graduated middle school at the top of his class.
Caleb built a robot that won a state competition.
Noah published a short story in a kids’ magazine.
Luke started first grade and told everyone his mom was the best cook in the world.
Maya, now eleven, was healthy and strong and rolled her eyes at all of them.
And one night, Adrian and I stood in the doorway of the living room, watching all five kids play a board game, arguing and laughing and safe.
“You know what’s funny?” Adrian said quietly.
“What?”
“I spent four years trying to find someone who could handle them.”
“And?”
He looked at me.
“Turns out I just needed someone who could handle me.”
I laughed.
