Chapter 16
Not because I wanted to pretend those seven years had never happened.
But because I no longer wanted the worst part of my life displayed in the center of my home.
I bought a smaller house with a sunny kitchen, a little garden, and a spare bedroom.
I painted the spare bedroom pale blue.
I filled its shelves with children’s books.
There were dinosaur stickers on the walls.
And a small wooden sign on the bedroom door that simply read:
MATTY.
It wasn’t a promise that I would take him away from Paige.
It was a promise that he would always have a place with me.
Over time, with the help of family professionals and the relevant legal arrangements, Paige and I developed a stable routine that allowed Matty to spend meaningful time in both our homes.
He learned that families don’t always look the way they do in picture books.
Sometimes, families are created through choices people make after terrible things happen.
And sometimes, love begins with two people deciding that a child matters more than their own pain.
A year after the accident, I was sitting in my garden when Matty came running toward me.
He had a scraped knee and tears in his eyes.
I hurried to him.
“What happened, sweetheart?”
“I fell.”
I picked him up and carried him inside.
After cleaning the scrape and putting on a small bandage, I kissed his forehead.
“There. All better.”
He studied my face.
Then he asked a question I had been preparing myself to hear.
“Jacqueline?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Paige says I grew in her tummy.”
My heart began beating faster.
“That’s right.”
He frowned.
“And she says you helped make me.”
I nodded gently.
“That’s right too.”
He thought about that for a moment.
Then he looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes.
“Does that mean I have two mommies?”
My throat tightened.
I had imagined this moment countless times.
I had rehearsed explanations.
I had worried about saying the wrong thing.
But now, looking at the little boy sitting on my lap, the answer seemed simple.
“Yes, sweetheart. You have two mommies who love you very much.”
He smiled.
Then he wrapped his small arms around my neck.
“Okay, Mommy.”
I closed my eyes.
And cried.
Not because I was sad.
But because the word I had once believed I would never hear was finally being spoken to me.
That evening, after Matty had fallen asleep, I sat alone on the porch.
My phone buzzed.
It was a message from Rebecca.
May you like
She had received the final archived document from the fertility clinic.
The document was a letter written during our original treatment.
