I knelt beside him, brushing his hair back like I always did. “Yeah,” I said, barely holding back tears. “We’re going home.”
As we walked down the steps, we passed Diane. Her makeup was smudged, her mouth twisted in a bitter scowl. She didn’t say a word.
She didn’t have to.
It’s been two years. I’m working full-time and taking college courses online. Max is in second grade, thriving. He tells his friends I’m his “big bro and hero.” We still share a tiny apartment, still argue over what movie to watch, and still laugh at bedtime stories gone wrong.
I’m not perfect. But we’re safe. We’re free. We’re us.
Because love isn’t measured in years or bank accounts. It’s measured in the fight.
And when Max looked at me tonight and whispered, “You never gave up on me,” I told him the only thing that mattered.
“I will Never.”
