Page 78 of Midnight Between Us
There’s a girl here who plays guitar in the common room.She asked if I wanted to help her write a song.I almost said no—I haven’t felt creative in weeks—but I said yes.We sat on the floor and talked about dumb things for an hour.She said I remind her of someone she used to be.I asked if that was good or bad.She smiled and said, “It’s a beginning.”
I’m starting to think she’s right.
I’m not saying I’m fine.I still see you everywhere.I still find myself looking at the door, wondering what I’d do if you suddenly walked through it and told me you made a mistake.Then I remind myself that you don’t even know where I’m at.
I still write your name without meaning to, still whisper it into the dark when I can’t sleep.But something is shifting.Slowly.Quietly.And maybe that means I’m healing, even if it hurts.
You don’t have to care.But I wanted you to know I’m trying.Not for you.Not to prove anything.It’s for me.For the baby.For the girl who forgot she was allowed to want more than waiting around for someone who never cared for her.
I haven’t forgiven you yet.Maybe I won’t.But today, I think I finally forgave myself for loving you as much as I did.That has to count for something.
Love you less than I did yesterday,
Simone
ChapterThirty-Six
Keir,
I’ve been going through therapy as I try to figure out my future—and the baby’s.It’s helped.I don’t cry anymore, not the way I used to.I’m learning how to compartmentalize my feelings for you.To fold them up, tuck them away, and only take them out when I’m in a safe space.Sometimes that space is just a journal.Sometimes it’s here, writing to you.
Guess what?I graduated from high school early—just like I planned.The shelter helped me track down my transcript, and with the credits I had, they expedited the process.I wore a cap and gown for five minutes, as I wanted to take a picture to commemorate the occasion.Then, I handed everything back.It wasn’t exactly a dream ceremony, but I still felt proud of myself.I did something I wasn’t sure I’d finish.
Now I’m taking a couple of college classes, trying to figure out what’s next.There’s this program—kind of like a full-ride scholarship.They’ll pay for everything: tuition, books, housing, and even childcare.The only thing they ask in return is that you work for them after graduation.They’ve got options in business, nursing, education, tech ...even vet tech, which I know you’d joke about because I’m allergic to dogs and cats.
I keep thinking about med school.That was the goal, right?You remember how obsessed I used to be with it.But med school is ten years of my life.It’s long hours, debt, sacrifice.And raising a baby is all of that, too.It’s more.It’s every minute, every day, every heartbeat.
I’m due in early November.Crazy, right?I didn’t realize how far along I was until they did the ultrasound.Time has felt weird since I left—like it’s rushing past and standing still at the same time.I felt the baby kick last week.It was small, just a flutter.But it was real.
And it hit me—this isn’t some abstract thing anymore.This is a person.A tiny, growing person who didn’t ask for any of this but is coming soon.
If I choose to keep them, I don’t think I can be a doctor.Not the way I imagined.And that’s hard to admit.But I’m starting to realize that letting go of a dream doesn’t mean you’re weak.It means you’re making room for something new.Something unexpected.Something that still matters.
I’m scared.Every day.But I’m also stronger than I thought I was.
I don’t know if you think about me.If you ever wonder.But sometimes when I talk to the baby, I imagine you listening too.Quiet, the way you always were.Just there, and also hearing everything I don’t know how to say out loud.
I’ll write again soon; it feels good to get all this out.
Loving you less,
Simone
ChapterThirty-Seven
Keir,
I’m thirty-seven weeks now.
That means the baby could arrive in a week or two—or maybe he’ll be stubborn and not arrive until week forty.Have I mentioned he’s a boy?I can’t remember.I’m going to name him Lyndon.
Some days, that feels exciting.Other days, it feels like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, holding my breath, waiting for the ground to give way.
I’ve been nesting.That’s what they call it—this urge to clean, organize, prepare.But to me, it looks more like sitting on the floor of my room, folding tiny onesies I got from the thrift store downstairs.I’m trying hard not to cry over the size of them.Trying not to think about the fact that you’ll never see them.That you don’t even want to.
There’s a checklist taped to the wall across from my bed: birth plan, overnight bag, insurance forms.The shelter provided me with a list of tasks to complete and contacts to call when labor begins.They’re good people.They care.But they also keep asking me about what I’m going to do after.
I still like medicine.I still love the idea of becoming someone who helps.I’ve been shadowing a nurse who works at the community clinic.It’s not med school, but when I’m there, handing her gauze or watching her speak gently to patients who’ve had the world rough them up, I feel like I belong.I feel like maybe that version of my life isn’t totally gone—it just changed shape.
