Page 214 of Fighting Chance

She nods along, her eyes watching everything pass by us on the highway.

I quickly wipe away the tear that escapes. “I love that you live with me. It’s made me very happy, Emmy.”

“It has?” She looks at me now, our eyes locking in the rearview mirror.

I nod, not trusting myself to talk right now without choking on my emotions, and give her a watery smile.

“Layla, too,” she adds. “I love Layla.”

“Me too, munchkin, me too.”

“Why can’t Layla be my mommy?”

Fuck me.

Taking a deep breath, I pause to try and think this through. What the hell do I say to that?

“You really want her to be your mommy, don’t you?”

She nods emphatically. “She’s the bestest.”

“She is the best. She’s very sweet.”

“Nice, too. She plays with me.” Her voice grows quiet. “And she doesn’t scream at me or lock me in the closet.” Her little sniffles make me want to pull the car over. “My mommy wasn’t a nice one, was she?”

“No, sweetheart, she wasn’t.”

Some might not agree with me here, that I didn’t try and put a positive spin on her mother; the last thing I want to teach my daughter is that people who love you can sometimes hurt you. If someone loves you—truly loves you—they won’t hurt you, and there is not a reality in which I will ever teach her to accept poor behavior from anyone.

My daughter will know that love is soft, kind, and uplifting. That the one who loves you is never meant to lay a finger on you out of anger. They say kind not hurtful words, they lift you up not tear you down and most importantly, love is not pain.

Arguments can occur of course, different opinions and beliefs, yet she will know that those can be had respectfully.

“Why was she mean?” Emmy suddenly asks me.

Heaving out a breath, I can’t help but shrug. “There are very mean people in the world, Emmy. I wish I could tell you there aren’t but there are, and I’m not sure why.”

Frowning, she says with utter conviction, “I will never be a meanie.”

“No, you’re not capable of it. Your heart is pure.”

“P-pure?” she says, as if tasting the word.

“Pure,” I confirm. “Your heart is very kind, Emmy. You’re a good person, and you would never go out of your way to be mean or hurt someone.”

“I don’t want to make people cry like my mommy made me cry.”

“I know, sweetheart. That’s why you have a good heart.”

“Maybe if I be really good, Layla can be my new mommy.”

My eyes widen, my hand fisting on the wheel. How the fuck do I explain to a near four-year-old that it actually depends on me? That it depends on me being a good enough partner that will make Layla want to continue to date me?

Because trust me, I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about marrying her, about making it official, about Layla adopting Emmy if she wanted to. I’ve thought about all of it because I want Layla to be a part of our family. I want to be a husband to her.

I want to beeverythingto Layla.

“Emmy, you are already enough, sweetheart.” Flicking my blinker on, I pull over, needing to face her fully for this. I unbuckle my seat belt and turn in my chair. “You don’t need to change anything about yourself. Layla loves you as you are, and whether you call her Mommy or not, she is your family because she loves you.”