Page 68 of The Souls We Claim

“So am I. You need me to move the jigsaw puzzle?”

Halo looks at it. “No. I like seeing your progress. We’ll get you another when you’re done.”

There’s a dichotomy to his words. He’s clear this isn’t a relationship, that we are a very temporary…thing. But he’s thinking about things we’ll do in the future, like buy more puzzles.

And so, we peacefully co-exist. He works, and I make him a sandwich with some ham and cheese I bought earlier in the week. I use up the rest of the tomatoes. Once I know he has food and a beer, I quickly grab a shower and shave my legs while Lola continues to nap.

By my accounting, I have about fifteen minutes left before she rouses, so there’s no time to dry my thick hair that takes an age. Instead, I cover myself in a scented lotion I adore.

Is the sweep of eyeshadow I quickly apply necessary? No. Neither is the mascara. It’s the first time in a while that I’ve felt like making the effort. Patrick always expected me to be presentable, even on my days off. It’s been a tiny act of rebellion to not wear makeup every day. But today, I want to feel pretty.

As I apply a little gloss, I study my face. I look rested. And my skin has picked up a healthy summer glow from all the hours spent outside. My heart rate after Patrick’s call has returned to normal.

Perhaps I should grieve the end of my marriage harder than I am. But all I feel is breathtaking relief. I couldn’t force tears, even if I wanted to.

I allow a daydream to linger. One where I stay with Halo and heal with him. One where we grieve our losses together and keep this house but turn it into a home. It’s a reckless idea. I don’t want to live in a situation where I rely on a man.

But the vision of me, Halo, and Lola all growing up together is beautiful.

Something else hits me too. Even if I move out tomorrow. Even if these conflicting and tender feelings I have for Halo aren’t ever reciprocated, I’ll be fine.

It feels wrong, taking money from Halo to look after my niece who I would look after even if he didn’t pay me. But I’m saving most of it beyond a couple of things I bought for Lola and the house. Which means when I’m ready, I can move out, get my own place.

I run my fingers over the lovely sink and the finely veined marble. Wherever I live won’t be as lovely as Halo’s home.

“But I can make it on my own.” In the quiet of the bathroom, it’s a powerful statement. I repeat it. “I can make it on my own.”

Energy courses through me.

I can.

“I can make it on my own.”

It’s my new mantra. I’m going to repeat it to myself every morning, or when things feel hard. When I file for divorce. Whenever I need to remind myself who I am.

Lola starts to babble in her bedroom, so I hurry through getting dressed. I put on a floaty sundress and smile at myself in the mirror.

One of the best things about a baby is that they are always so freaking happy to see you when they wake up. Even if they are crying and sad, seeing you makes their world immediately better.

Lola is no different.

“Come on, sweet thing,” I say, lifting her out of her crib. “Did you have a good nap?”

She babbles at me while I go through the routine of changing her diaper.

“Should we put you in a pretty dress too?” I ask. We walk to her closet. “You want the pink one or the orange one?”

Her chubby little fingers reach for the orange one, even as she shouts, “Pink.”

“Good choice. Jax is going to think you’re as cute as a button.” I sit her back on the changing mat and slip the dress over her head. “What do you think about a little clip with a daisy on it?”

Lola claps, and I take that as a yes. I brush her hair with the soft little brush. “You know, I think you’re going to be strawberry blonde like me and your momma.” I brush the downy hairs behind her ear, then slide the little clip in to keep her hair from her face.

“There. You’re all done. Jax is going to love this outfit. Do you think he’s going to like mine?”

Lola claps her palms on my cheeks and squeals.

“Yeah? I hope so too. I want him to think I’m the prettiest woman he knows.”