Anna

Seated in front of my laptop at my childhood desk, I gazed out the window at the swaying leaves on the oak tree. Willow slept a few feet away, clutching a bear that Sean had given her.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I brought up my email.

No, Sean and I weren’t talking. Not in the strictest sense. But every night he sent me a message. Mostly about Willow, what they’d done that day and what they had planned for the next visit. He usually included pictures, and at the bottom, there was always a small poem or a lyric. Something for me alone.

It was driven by guilt, more than likely. For the Kimber debacle. And though I refused to take any blame in that, I knew what I was getting into when I moved into Sean’s house. I wasn’t enough for him, and that was nobody’s fault.

From the first day, I’d suspected that his feelings for me were more of a reflection of his undying love for Willow. And the legal action proved it. Sean wanted his daughter, and I was an afterthought. One he could forget as soon as he stepped foot out of our little bubble.

Sighing from the weight of it all, I opened Sean’s latest message, and a picture of Willow populated the screen. Parked behind her custom drum kit, she wore specially made pink earphones and a big smile.

Scanning through Sean’s notes about the bed he’d commissioned for Willow’s room at his house, my heart swelled with pride and then broke into a thousand pieces. Willow was about to begin her overnight visits, and Sean was pulling out all the stops to make her comfortable. Still, she’d be gone.

Missing from me . . .

When I got to the bottom of the page, there it was, Sean’s latest musing.

I never knew love

Until you showed me how to love you

I never knew pain

Until you took it all away

I never knew want

Until I looked into your eyes

I love you. I’m sorry.

Sean

A sharp pain lanced through me, because I wasn’t sure if Sean was sorry for loving me or sorry for not loving me enough.

And he did love me.

Because you’re Willow’s mother.

Even with that knowledge, I couldn’t help but bring up his private Facebook page. The one he kept under another name.

Biting the bullet, I fired off a friend request. I was about to turn off my computer when a message popped up, alerting me that Sean had accepted.

Opening his page, I smiled at the dozens of pictures of our daughter on his feed. And one of me that I didn’t recognize, with the simple caption “Anna-baby.”

Nostalgia won over, and I opened my Messenger. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I tried to think of something safe to say. Since there was nothing, I gave up and typed: What are you doing?

The dots jumped around in the little box, then stopped, before starting again.

Considering how long it took Sean to compose his response, I figured he was recounting whatever he’d done tonight.

But only two words popped into the box.

Missing you.