Page 89 of Daring Destiny
I lean against Brennan. “I guess it explains why I never felt like I was part of this family. No matter how hard I tried.”
My dad looks stricken. His usually placid face tightens into something resembling guilt. “We were doing the best we could. Maybe we failed, but we fed you and put a roof over your head. Got you through school.”
Mom’s eyes flicker to my dad and we witness a silent communication passing between them.
She sighs so deeply it sounds like it carries the weight of years. “You were born to a woman who wasn’t ready to be a mother. She left you with your father at a week old and I was there. I took care of you because he couldn’t do it alone. When your birth mother came back, wanting to take you, we said hell no.”
“Really?” I feel like someone’s knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect to feel sorry for my coldhearted mother, but there it is—a flicker of sympathy, something soft I’m not used to feeling for her. “So, you kept me. But you never wanted me, did you?”
Her eyes widen and, for the first time, I see a crack in her icy facade. “We may not see life in the same way. I always wanted you. I was scared you’d be taken away. I probably distanced myself to avoid further sorrow. I thought if I didn’t get too close, it wouldn’t hurt as much if you were taken from me.”
I swallow hard, trying to process this. I always thought she was cold, but hearing this, I realize her emotions are deep-rooted. Fear. Grief. Things I never considered.
“So, then what? Were you going to keep me at arm’s length, forever? I grew up feeling like I didn’t belong, like I was a visitor in my own home. Maybe, in many ways, I was.” I cross my arms over my chest.
My dad leans forward. “I don’t understand why you’d say something so dramatic. So what if we don’t talk about all of our feelings. You were fine. Got good grades. Your generation needs to toughen up. I can’t, for the life of me, keep up with you girls. Always some excuse for poor behavior.”
A silence, heavy and thick, hangs between us. All this time I thought it was my mom who was cold. Only to find out, no. It’s my dad. I feel Brennan’s hand tighten around mine, grounding me. I don’t dare look at him or I’m liable to burst into tears.
“Your birth mother,” my mom continues, “didn’t disappear completely. We kept in touch over the years. Once the court ruled in our favor, she backed off. I kept her information...just in case. I never wanted to hide it from you, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”
She gets up, reaches into a drawer and pulls out an envelope, worn and yellowed with age. She hands it to me. “This is the last contact info we had for her. I don’t know if it’s still valid, but it’s yours if you want it.”
I glance down at the envelope. It feels like Pandora’s box because opening it could change everything, or nothing. I look at Brennan, who meets my gaze with a steady, reassuring calm. He already gave me this information weeks ago, but he’s letting me decide what to do. Giving me control over an uncertain future.
“Thank you.” I take the paper. “I don’t know if I want to reach out to her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I appreciate you giving this to me.”
There’s another silence until my dad clears his throat. “Astrid, I know we’ve made mistakes. But we do love you, in our own way. We always have.”
“I believe you.” I surprise myself with how much I mean it. “It doesn’t change anything. As you can see, I’m pregnant. Brennan and I are planning our wedding. I’d like to find a way to include you both but I’m still figuring out how.”
“We want to be in your life. Be grandparents to your baby.” My mom glances at my dad, who nods.
We leave their house in a kind of truce. It’s not closure, not by a long shot, but it’s a start. Maybe this is what healing looks like—messy, imperfect, with a lot of unanswered questions. As we walk to the car, Brennan wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
“You okay?” He kisses my temple.
“Yeah.” I lean into him. “I mean, it went about as well as could be expected. It’s not…fixed, but I don’t feel as angry. Progress, I guess.”
“It’s a lot. You did great in there.” He takes my hand and leads me to the car.
God, I’m grateful for his constant support. I’m also glad to have the discussion over with. My mind is already moving ahead, though, thinking of the future. He helps me into the passenger seat and takes his place at the wheel.
“I’d like to focus on us now. Our family.” I place my hand over my small bump, still not entirely used to the idea there’s a baby growing inside me or we’re going to be parents and make a million mistakes with our own kids. “We’ve got so much to look forward to. Let’s not waste time on the past.”
He puts his hand on top of mine and, together, we caress our little one. “I love you. I love us.”
As we drive back to our new house, I daydream about our baby. Imagine the future we’re going to have. Vacations we’ll take. Memories we’ll make. There’s still fear, still uncertainty, but there’s also hope. Peace. Acceptance. Things I never thought I’d find.
“I’m proud of you.” Brennan breaks the comfortable silence as we pull into the driveway. “For everything. For facing them, for being so strong.”
I smile, leaning over to kiss him. “I’m proud of us. We’ve been through a lot, and we’ve still got a long way to go. But we’re doing it together, which is most important.”
As we step into our sanctuary, I feel a sense of tranquility I haven’t felt in a long time.
The past will always be there. It’s a part of me. But, it doesn’t have to define who I am. I’m starting to understand it’s okay to let things go, to focus on what matters.
I have my own family now and don’t need to hold on to the pain of the past. I’m letting it go, bit by bit. Focusing on the miracle ahead.