Chapter 1
The water runs hot—
too hot—
but I stay.
Because sometimes pain
is the only thing that feels real.
Steam curls around my face
like memories that won’t let go.
I sink lower,
pretend the warmth is a hug,
the kind that used to find me
when I was small
and safe
and someone else’s child.
Now I am grown.
A mother.
A heartbeat someone else calls home.
But tonight—
tonight I feel like an orphan again.
Like the child inside me
still waits at the window
for someone who’s never coming back.
I cry until the water cools.
Cry until I’m praying
without even knowing the words.
“God… please.
Please hear me.
Please stop this shaking,
this breaking.”
My chest aches—
like my heart’s trying to outrun
the weight of what it can’t change.
Death.
Addiction.
The echo of longing
that keeps coming back
like a wave that refuses to die.
I can’t change any of that.
But I can change me.
Because there’s a boy
sleeping down the hall
who calls me Mom—
who looks at me
the way I used to look at them.
Eyes full of trust,
tiny hands believing
I can hold up the world.
So I have to.
Even when I’m tired.
Even when I’m drowning.
Even when the water feels safer
than the air.
I breathe.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Because the pattern—
this ache,
this legacy of loss—
it ends with me.
My son will never learn grief
as a second language.
He will never mistake silence
for love.
He will never wonder
if he’s enough to make someone stay.
I rise from the bath,
skin flushed,
heart still trembling—
but I’m alive.
And tonight,
that is enough.
