“Oh, my God! Go answer it. I have to get dressed!” I whisper-shout at Chris as I jump off the counter where we were about to have sex with his mother pounding on the front door.

Well, we didn’t know it was Jackie at the door until she shouted at us to let her in. As much as I love Jackie, I hope these surprise visits from her don’t happen often. As often as Chris and I tear each other to pieces in this apartment, being constantly interrupted could be troublesome.

Reaching for my panties on the kitchen floor, I notice the box of waffle mix Chris opened earlier upended and the white powdery mix splattered across the dark wood. I take a step toward the hallway and Chris comes up behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist to stop me from leaving.

“You look fine like that. I can’t answer the door like this,” he says, pointing at his crotch. He really didn’t need to point at his erection when it’s pressed against my backside.

“I’m not answering the door in panties and a tank top!” I insist as I attempt to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Fine,” he replies, letting me go. “Get some pants on. I’ll be in the bathroom.”

I smile as I imagine what he’s going to do in the bathroom to get rid of his boner. I pull on a pair of plaid pajama pants and rush to open the front door for Jackie. Her short auburn hair and makeup are impeccable as ever and I get a sudden flash of anxiety. I hope she doesn’t expect me to look like that on Sunday mornings.

Her arms are tucked behind her back and she does not look pleased as I brush some waffle mix off my arm. “Sorry, Jackie. We didn’t know it was you.”

She kisses my cheek as she enters the apartment and I quickly set off to search the apartment for a broom. I finally give up and decide to get on my knees and mop up the waffle mix with a damp rag. Chris enters the kitchen wearing the same T-shirt he wore last night, smiling when he sees me on the floor.

“We don’t have a broom. Did you know that?” I say, fixing him with the meanest glare I can muster. It’s hard to curse him when he looks so damn delicious.

“Why do I need a broom when I have a cleaning lady?”

“What did you call me?”

“Not you!” he replies emphatically. “I have an actual lady who comes to clean the apartment three times a week. Her name is Petra. She’s taking a few weeks off for the holidays. Maybe I should buy a broom.”

“Or another cleaning lady,” I grumble.

“Yeah, that’s a better idea.”

“Why are you both home today?” Jackie asks from somewhere in the living room.

“It’s Sunday,” Chris replies as he kneels next to me and takes the rag from my hand. “I’ll take care of this.”

“That’s right,” Jackie shouts back. “I work every day. I can never keep track of the days of the week.”

I smile as I watch Chris clean up the waffle mix I gathered into a pile. “When are you building that house in the country?” I whisper.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispers, laying a soft kiss on my cheek.

I’m not really in a rush to get away from Jackie. Especially when neither Chris nor I know how to cook. I feel a little sad for Chris that he’s had to take such a step down in that department by moving in with me. No one cooks or bakes like Jackie.

After we’ve cleaned up the waffle mess, we join Jackie in the living room.

“What were you doing in the kitchen?” Chris opens his mouth to reply, but she cuts him off. “Wait – I don’t want to know,” she continues, holding out a stack of mail to him.

“Mom, I told you I’d be by to pick up the mail tomorrow. You didn’t have to drive all the way down here.”

The annoyed expression she wore when she walked in here has morphed and she appears on the verge of tears. “There’s a certified letter in there.”

Chris hastily flips through the envelopes until his eyes lock on an envelope with a certified sticker. His gaze slides to the upper-left corner of the envelope and I can see his breathing quicken.

“What is it?” I ask, taking a seat on the sofa cross-legged.

Chris stares at the envelope a bit longer before he tears it open. “I don’t know. It’s from the Jensens’ lawyer.”

A force overtakes me, and I jump off the sofa as I rush to Chris’s side. My heart stops when he pulls out a small stack of folded papers from the envelope. A small stack. That has to be a bad sign.

“What does it say?” I demand, grabbing Chris’s arm as I begin to feel woozy.

Chris unfolds the stack of paper and we read together in the most painful moment of silence I’ve ever known.

“Turn the page,” I whisper.

The lump in my throat becomes more solid and painful with each word I read. We’ll never be able to see Abigail again after her first birthday in April. We’ll exchange photographs with the Jensens, but Abigail won’t have access to the photographs we give her until she turns eighteen. She won’t know we exist.

“What does it say?” Jackie asks, a soft plea in her voice for us to give her the news we all we’re hoping for.

Hope is fragile at best and dangerous at its worst. This letter is a soul-crushing reminder of that. I want to fall apart right now, but I can’t. I need to be strong, for Chris.

Chris tosses stack of papers and mail onto the coffee table. “To keep dreaming or fuck off. That’s what it says.”

“You can still fight for her,” Jackie insists as she follows Chris into the kitchen. “You didn’t sign the adoption decree.”

I bite my lip to hold back the tears as I stare at the papers strewn across the table. Just a few words written on tree pulp and they have the power to amplify the mistakes I’ve made and alter the course of our lives forever. Words are powerful. When I lied and told the adoption agency I didn’t know who Abigail’s father was, I set in motion a chain of events that singlehandedly tore me apart and brought Chris and I back together. Words carry unimaginable power. I just wish I knew the right words to say at this moment.

I’m feeling woozy again. My hands grope the arm of the sofa as I gently ease myself down onto the floor. I sit cross-legged, back straight, hands folded in my lap, then I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I haven’t meditated since I moved in with Chris, but I need to focus on something, anything, other than that stack of papers right now.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” I hear Chris whisper to Jackie. “You’ll have to come by another time, Mom. And next time, please call before you come.”

Taking a few more deep breaths, I try to block out the whispers and movement in the kitchen. I try to conjure up one of my happiest memories and the first image that comes to mind is the sparkling surface of Jordan Lake. I don’t think I was ever so happy with Chris as I was that day; lost in each other and completely unaware of the heartache that would come just one month later.

I open my eyes at the sound of footsteps. I look into Chris’s eyes so he can see how hard I’m trying. I’m not falling apart.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, shoving the mail on the coffee table aside as he takes a seat next to where I’m seated on the floor.

“I’m thinking of the last time we went to Jordan Lake.”

“Why are you thinking of that?”

“Because we had sex on your bike and we weren’t careful. It was almost exactly a month before we broke up. If I had gotten pregnant then instead of a month later, everything would have been so different.”

“Come here.”

He pats his lap for me to take a seat and I quickly stand from the floor, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as I sit.

“You want to know something crazy?” he asks.

“What?”

“I was just standing in the kitchen, silently cursing the universe for everything we’ve been through this past year, but you just helped me realize something.” He brushes my hair out of my face so he can look me in the eye. “The universe hasn’t been tossing us around, it’s been tipping over on its side trying to push us back together since the day we broke up. It’s just taken us a while to stop fighting gravity.”

Chris always knows the right words to say.

I smile as I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, forcing his hair to stick out at odd angles. “You mean, it was the gravitational pull of your huge head that sucked me back in?”

“That, and my waffle-making skills.”

I sigh as I rest my head on his shoulder, nuzzling my nose against his neck so I can breathe in his scent. “If you want to fight for her, I’ll understand. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Just hearing you say that is enough.”