measured by having everything under control.
Sometimes love was admitting you didn’t.
Sometimes it meant asking for help.
Sometimes it meant staying when your first instinct was to run.
And sometimes it meant telling someone a painful truth because allowing them to live inside a comforting lie would hurt them even more.
As I stepped toward the door, Melissa called my name.
I turned around.
She was still beside Ryan, one hand resting gently over Hope’s blanket.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Months earlier, she had thanked me for carrying their daughter.
This time, I understood that she meant something more.
I smiled through my tears.
“Take care of her.”
Melissa looked down at Hope.
“We will.”
Ryan met my eyes.
“We will,” he repeated.
Outside, the evening air felt cool against my face.
I stood on the walkway for a moment before getting into my car.
Through the front window,
