For three weeks, neither Marcus nor I mentioned children again.
That was intentional.
At least on my side.
I wanted the question to settle.
Some questions became clearer when examined.
Others only became louder.
This one did both.
I watched families at work differently.
Newborns.
Toddlers.
Exhausted parents.
Pregnant women balancing coffee cups against swollen stomachs.
I remembered Maisie's infancy in fragments.
Night feedings.
Milk stains.
A bassinet beside my bed.
The terrifying responsibility of loving someone whose entire world depended on me.
I also remembered doing most of it alone.
That mattered.
When I imagined another baby, I wasn't only imagining a child.
I was imagining the circumstances around one.
Would Marcus stay?
Would he panic?
Would I trust him?
Would I become responsible for another adult's fear?
The questions were unfair to him.
They were also real.
Marcus finally brought it up during a walk.
"You're thinking very loudly."
"I didn't know that was possible."
"It is with you."
We were beside the lake.
Spring had finally reached Seattle properly.
People were everywhere.
Children on bicycles.
Dogs pulling owners toward the water.
Couples pretending not to argue.
"I don't know if I want another child," I said.
"Okay."
"But I realized something."
"What?"
"I'm afraid wanting one would make me stupid."
Marcus stopped walking.
"Why?"
"Because I've already done this."
"Parenthood?"
"Trust."
He waited.
"I trusted someone once with that future."
"Derek."
"Yes."
"And he left."
"Yes."
Marcus looked toward the water.
"You're worried choosing that again means ignoring what you learned."
Exactly.
I nodded.
He thought before speaking.
"What did you learn?"
"That people can leave."
"True."
"That promises don't guarantee behavior."
"True."
"That I need to be able to stand on my own."
"Also true."
He looked at me.
"None of those mean you should never trust anyone."
I knew.
Still.
"What did you learn from your marriage?" I asked.
Marcus smiled faintly.
"That was a sharp turn."
"Answer."
He did.
"That two decent people can become terrible partners."
Interesting.
"Did someone cheat?"
"No."
"Abuse?"
"No."
"Money?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"We stopped telling each other the truth."
I waited.
"Not big lies."
He continued walking.
"Small ones."
"I'm fine."
"Work is fine."
"I don't mind."
"Do whatever you want."
"Nothing's wrong."
I knew those lies.
Everyone did.
"Eventually we had built a marriage around avoiding conflict."
"What ended it?"
"She got a job offer in Boston."
"And?"
"She wanted to go."
"You didn't?"
"No."
"She went?"
"Yes."
"Without you?"
"Eventually."
There was no bitterness in his voice.
Sadness, maybe.
But processed sadness.
"Did you try long distance?"
"Eight months."
"Then?"
"We admitted we had both been waiting for geography to make the decision."
That sentence stayed with me.
"What would you do differently?"
Marcus answered quickly.
"Speak sooner."
That was good.
"About children too?"
"Especially that."
We walked another block.
Then he said, "I don't want a baby because I met you."
I looked at him.
"That sounded terrible."
He laughed.
"I mean I haven't suddenly developed a life plan."
"Good."
"But being around you and Maisie made me realize I had treated the question as closed because my marriage closed it."
That I understood.
"You thought that life was over."
"Yes."
"And now?"
"Now I know it might not be."
Possibility again.
That word seemed to define us.
Not certainty.
Possibility.
"I don't want to make decisions based on fear," I said.
"Neither do I."
"But fear exists for reasons."
"Absolutely."
"So what do we do?"
Marcus smiled.
"Keep telling the truth."
Annoyingly simple.
The next truth came from somewhere unexpected.
Brinn.
She called on Friday.
"Can I come up tomorrow?"
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
That answer sounded suspicious.
"Brinn."
"I'm fine."
"Are you in trouble?"
"No."
"Money?"
"No."
"Cameron?"
"Fine."
"Then what?"
She laughed.
"Can I tell you in person without being interrogated?"
"Apparently."
She arrived Saturday afternoon.
Cameron was with his father.
Maisie was at Derek's.
Brinn brought coffee.
Then sat on my couch and said:
"I'm pregnant."
I stared.
"What?"
She smiled nervously.
"Pregnant."
I hugged her before thinking.
She laughed into my shoulder.
"Okay, good reaction."
I pulled back.
"Was this planned?"
"Not exactly."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"Is the father—"
"Still Ethan."
I remembered Ethan.
Quiet.
Reliable.
He and Brinn had been dating almost two years.
"Does he know?"
"Yes."
"Reaction?"
"Terrified. Happy. Then terrified again."
"Reasonable."
She laughed.
Then her expression changed.
"I wanted to tell you before Mom."
That sentence carried history.
"Why?"
"Because Mom is going to become insane."
"Probably."
"And I need help keeping boundaries."
There it was.
Not help managing pregnancy.
Help maintaining herself.
"What boundaries?"
"No buying a nursery before I decide what I want."
"Good."
"No calling every day."
"Good."
"No moving into my house after delivery."
"Excellent."
Brinn laughed.
"And no acting like because I'm pregnant, I'm suddenly incapable."
I looked at her.
"You've thought about this."
"A lot."
"Then you don't need me."
She blinked.
"I need you."
"Not to make the boundaries."
Understanding appeared.
"Oh."
"You already know them."
She smiled.
"I need you to remind me when I cave."
"That I can do."
We told Mom together by video.
Brinn delivered the news.
Mom screamed.
Dad appeared from another room believing someone was injured.
Then he screamed too.
For five minutes, everyone was happy.
Then Mom said:
"I can come next weekend and help you reorganize the spare room."
Brinn looked at me.
I raised my eyebrows.
Her turn.
"No."
Mom stopped.
"But the baby—"
"Doesn't need a room tomorrow."
"Of course not. I just thought—"
"I know."
Brinn smiled.
"But no."
Mom inhaled.
"Okay."
I almost applauded.
Then Mom said:
"Can I send you the crib I saw?"
Brinn thought.
"One link."
Mom smiled.
"One."
Dad muttered, "This will require supervision."
Mom glared at him.
The call ended peacefully.
Brinn stared at the blank screen.
"I did it."
"You did."
"I feel mean."
"Welcome."
She laughed.
Then became quiet.
"Was it this hard for you?"
"Harder."
"Because we were worse?"
"Much."
"Sorry."
"I know."
She looked at me.
"No."
I waited.
"I don't think I've ever said it properly."
Her eyes filled.
"When you had Maisie, I acted like your boundaries were attacks on us."
I said nothing.
"I thought you were becoming selfish."
"I know."
"And then when I needed money, I expected you to fix it."
"Yes."
Brinn looked down.
"I didn't understand what I was asking."
"Maybe not."
"I do now."
Pregnancy had made the past newly visible to her.
Not because she needed punishment.
Because roles change perspective.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"Of the baby?"
"Everything."
"Normal."
"What if I'm bad at it?"
"You will be."
She stared.
I smiled.
"Everyone is bad at parts of parenting."
"Comforting."
"You'll also learn."
"What if Ethan leaves?"
There it was.
Not my story exactly.
But close enough to haunt the family.
"Then you'll survive."
Brinn's face tightened.
"That's horrible."
"No."
I took her hand.
"I didn't say he will leave."
"I know."
"You asked what happens if the worst thing happens."
"Yes."
"You survive."
She swallowed.
"And if he stays?"
"Then you learn how to let someone help."
That might be harder.
Brinn laughed softly.
"Family specialty."
We spent the afternoon talking.
No rescue.
No plan.
Just sisters.
Later, after she left, Marcus came over.
I told him.
He smiled.
"Congratulations, Aunt Jenna."
I looked at him.
"Brinn asked if Ethan leaves."
Marcus understood immediately.
"That hit something."
"Yes."
We sat quietly.
Then I said, "I think I might want another child."
Marcus did not smile.
That was exactly the right reaction.
He took the sentence seriously.
"Okay."
"Not now."
"Okay."
"Maybe not ever."
"Okay."
"But the door isn't closed."
He nodded.
"Mine isn't either."
I looked at him.
"That doesn't mean we're making plans."
"No."
"It doesn't mean we're trying."
"Definitely not."
"It doesn't mean—"
Marcus touched my hand.
"Jenna."
I stopped.
"We are allowed to discover what we want without immediately turning it into an obligation."
I exhaled.
Right.
Wanting was not a contract.
Possibility was not a promise.
That night, I told Derek about Brinn.
He laughed.
"Your mom must be losing her mind."
"With surprising restraint."
"Growth."
Then he said, "Elena and I have news too."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
He smiled.
"We're moving in together."
I stared.
"Where?"
"My place."
"When?"
"End of summer."
My mind immediately reorganized Maisie's entire custody environment.
Bedroom.
Routine.
Sophie.
Elena.
Overnights.
Privacy.
Rules.
Derek watched my face.
"I know."
"Have you talked to the counselor?"
"Appointment Tuesday."
"Maisie?"
"Not yet."
"Good."
"Elena wants us to tell you before her."
That mattered.
I nodded.
"Thank you."
Then Derek added:
"And there's something else."
Of course.
"What?"
He reached into his pocket.
For one horrifying second, I thought he was about to show me a ring.
Instead, he handed me a key.
I stared.
"What is this?"
"My apartment."
"Why are you giving me a key?"
"Emergency access."
I looked at him.
"You've had one for my place for a year."
True.
"I realized you don't have one for mine."
I turned the key in my hand.
A tiny piece of metal.
Nothing dramatic.
But years earlier, Derek had not even known where his infant daughter slept.
Now he was giving me unrestricted access to the home where she spent part of her life.
Trust did not always arrive as an apology.
Sometimes it looked like a key.
"I won't use this unless necessary."
"I know."
"Elena is okay with it?"
"Her idea."
That surprised me most.
I closed my fingers around the key.
"Okay."
Derek stood.
At the door, he paused.
"Jenna."
"What?"
"I'm glad you're seeing Marcus."
I studied him.
"Why?"
"Because you look lighter."
I didn't know what to do with that.
So I nodded.
After he left, I added his key to my ring.
My apartment.
My car.
Mom and Dad's townhouse.
Derek's home.
For years, family had felt like doors I needed to close to survive.
Now I carried keys to several.
The difference was simple.
Nobody expected me to live behind all of them.
Click here to continue reading: PART 24: Derek and Elena’s New Home Gave Maisie More People to Love, Until a School Emergency Tested Every Promise We Had Made
Halfway to My Mother’s Birthday, One Message Made Me Turn Around and Question Everything My Family Had Taught Me About Love
Part 23 of 35
