ust

na's

rhythmic like a melody I never grew tired of hearing. Immediately, my hear

gy only a six-year-old could muster. He tugged at my arm,

ning already!" he declared, s

ar swell of love. Ajax was my pride, my joy, my miracle. He was the only good thing to come fro

him at all. He had been just a "false negative" away from being erased before his life even began. That thought still ma

omplained with a laugh, squirming

vy with relief, and watched him resu

is time!" he shouted, stretching out the last words lik

day had indeed begun without me, bright and full, and I sighed before springing up with a playful flourish, scooping Aj

back against me almost immediately. Today was important. I had three interviews lined up-three chances at clawing my way

voicing the thought would make it c

ame crawling back with flashing cameras and vicious headlines. The memory was so sharp it felt like it was happening again: my face plastered across television screens with th

balance, knuckles whitening as I tried to ground myself. I had lost track of how many times I had

to the room silently, as he always did at the exact moment I needed him most. His

s time, patient in a way far beyond his years. That was one of the things I loved most about my son-he always seemed to k

e had returned. Not the hollow mask I wore for the world,

tures with stuffed animals, then brushed my hair, applied light makeup, and slipped into a neat s

ed at my arm. "You forgot something,"

picked up my sunglasses and facemask, and slid th

alone. I hated it-hated having to hide my face from the world when I was with my son, hated that he had to grow up with a moth

nd I was determined it would stay that way. I couldn't risk Si

ht made my

g to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time they wouldn't dig too deeply into my past. But I knew bett

ed at me. Still, I whispered hope to myse

, his chatter spilling out before I could even greet him. Every word about his day tugged me further

he little corner the chef had set aside for him, a kindness I would never forget. The chef never asked questions. She didn't pry into why a woma

ile across my face-the one that masked fear and

Bella, my favorite coworker,

bly, a fellow single mother who understood without asking. We shared small ta

ooked up and saw who entered, the world shifted. The air turned icy, prick

ze in place, b

a life I had tried desperately to leave behi