Because sometimes, the words that break you are the same ones that stitch you back together. And sometimes, all it takes is a six-year-old telling the truth in the simplest, kindest way she knows how.
That Sunday morning, I woke up to the smell of cinnamon and the unmistakable sound of my daughter giggling in the kitchen.
There they were, Ryan standing at the stove, spatula in hand, while Susie stood on a chair beside him, her face smudged with pancake batter and joy. A stack of slightly burnt pancakes wobbled on a plate nearby.
Ryan looked up when he saw me and grinned.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said. “Chef Susie insisted on breakfast duty.”
“And I’m a very strict chef,” Susie added seriously, pointing the wooden spoon like a wand.
“Daddy’s in charge of the stove stuff. And I’m in charge of syrup and berries.”
I laughed, walking over to kiss the top of her head.
Ryan reached for a mug and handed it to me with both hands. It was the new one, the “Boss Mama” mug.
He’d already filled it with coffee, just the way I liked it.
You make everything work, Nancy. And I don’t say it enough. But I see it.
I see you, sweetheart.”
I held the mug tighter than I needed to. My throat thickened before I could even respond.
“I don’t expect perfection, Ry,” I said finally. “I just want a partnership.
I want us to raise our child together. To tag-team each other when we need a moment to breathe. I don’t want us to miss the little moments…
but by being partners… we’ll get to do it all. Together.”Continue reading…
