Page 82 of Breakaway Daddies

Bruno, with his steady hands and his soft voice that always made me feel like the world wasn’t ending.

Thomas, with his ridiculous energy and the way he made everything feel lighter… even my own tangled-up thoughts.

And Rowan, with his quiet strength and those eyes that looked at me like hesawme. Like, really saw me.

I miss being held between them. Being known.

But I can’t do this to them again.

I can’t keep letting them drift back into my life just because I’m lonely or confused. I’m not staying. School starts in a few weeks, and that’s the path I chose. The one that matters. The one I’ve fought like hell to get back to.

I don’t get to have both. I don’t get to chase this dream and also keep three ridiculously beautiful, wonderful, complicated men wrapped around my heart.

It’s selfish to even think about texting them. They deserve more than someone who’s always halfway out the door.

Still… I pick up my phone again.

I don’t open the messages. I just stare at the home screen until the light fades and my reflection stares back at me: tired eyes, smudged eyeliner, hair a mess.

I bury myself under the blanket like it’ll protect me from everything I’m feeling.

“I hate this,” I mumble into the fabric. “Ihatefeelings.”

Outside, someone honks. A bird screeches. The world keeps spinning.

I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m fine.

I’m not. But I try.

I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling fan, watching it spin like maybe it’ll hypnotize me into peace. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

Instead, my brain, traitorous gremlin that it is, starts spiraling.

How the hell does anyone figure out child support or parenting time when they’re not married? I don’t even know what county I’d file that stuff in.

Is that something you can just… Google? Hire a lawyer? Ask Siri?

Hey, Siri, how do you co-parent with three men you’re in love with but technically not involved with anymore?

Siri doesn’t answer, obviously. Coward.

I groan and drag the blanket over my face.

I don’t evenknowwhat I want. Like, okay, yes, I want the baby. At least, I think I do. Most of the time. Some of the time?

I press a hand to my stomach, like I’ll feel something. There’s nothing there yet, not really. Just the idea of a life. A little maybe. A possible future.

Sometimes I imagine holding them, tiny and warm and blinking up at me like I’m their whole world. And I think,Yeah. I could do this. I want this.

But then I remember how hard everything is already. The schooling. The career I’m still clawing my way back toward.

The fact that I’mbarelykeeping my own life together, let alone trying to shape someone else’s.

And then there’s the boys.

What if they want to be involved? What if they don’t? What if they fight about it, or what if theydon’tfight and that hurts worse somehow?

Would I be dragging them into something they never signed up for? Would I be asking too much?

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