Or maybe I’d just love if you were here.

Tell me something I should know.

-Oscar

* * *

Something you should know?

That’s easy.

Today is April 4th, and I still love you.

-Princess

* * *

It’s May 3rd, and I still love you, too.

-Oscar

When late May came around, I was getting ready to finish yet another year of teaching. It was chilling how much had changed in the past year, how much I have grown, and how much I’ve learned about my heart and how it beat.

On Sunday morning, Mama always headed off to church. That was something she realized about herself—no matter if she was still with Dad or not, she held on to her faith. Sometimes I went with her, and other times, I stayed and prayed on my own.

Over the past year, I learned that faith wasn’t a building, yet it was a place in one’s heart.

I could go to a church and be surrounded by others and join them in prayer, or I could close my eyes in my own solitude and find peace. Both ways were worthy. Both ways were right.

There wasn’t one correct way to believe—there were a million possibilities out there.

That was one of my favorite discoveries. I didn’t have to be a perfect Christian in order to exist in the world.

When Mother’s Day came around, I went to church with Mama and sat in the pew holding her hand tight in mine. Throughout my life, there were a few hard days. Days where even when I tried to be happy, my heart still cracked, and Mother’s Day was one of those. For others, it stood as a celebration. For me, it spoke of loss and failure.

I’d somewhat come to terms with the fact I wouldn’t be one who had children. It wasn’t in my cards, and I’d learned to accept that.

But still, some days were harder than others.

Mother’s Day was one of them.

“That was a beautiful service,” Mama told me as we walked home from the church with our arms linked.

“It was.”

She smiled my way and tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. Judy is driving in tonight for dinner, so I think I’ll just grab a nap before she gets here.”

“Sounds like a perfect plan.” She took my hand in hers and squeezed it. “Today’s a tough one for you?”

“Yes, it is.”

She squeezed my hand again and didn’t say another word. Though her comfort was enough.

That was all I ever wanted from Mama—her comfort.

As we walked up the steps to my apartment, and I unlocked the door, my eyes watered over, and I gasped as I looked around.

Scattered throughout the living room and dining room were bouquets of red roses.

Seven to be exact.

“Mama…” I started.

She shook her head. “They aren’t from me.”

I walked over to the roses sitting on the coffee table and grabbed the note attached to them.

Instant tears fell from my eyes.

Because there is no such thing as an “almost” mother.

Seven bouquets from your seven angels.

Happy Mother’s Day, Princess.

My heart skipped as I read how the card was signed.

- Emerson, Jamie, Karla, Michael, Jaxon, Phillip, Steven, and Oscar.

There was one bouquet from each child I’d lost.

All of my babies.

All of my loves.

Mama moved over to me and read the words on the letter. “Oh, honey,” she breathed out, just as stunned as I had been. “He’s the one.”

He was so much more than the one. Even though we were apart, he still controlled my heartbeats.

Just then, there was a knock on the front door, and when I opened it, everything inside me began to heal completely.

“Hi,” Jackson whispered, holding a bouquet of roses in his hands. Watson sat right beside him, wagging his tail back and forth.

“Hi,” I replied, feeling my body tremble.

“I, uh…” He brushed his hand against the back of his neck. “I’ve seen so many places over the past few months. I’ve witnessed a million sunrises, and I’ve seen the sun set. There were thousands of roads I’ve driven, and no matter which one I took, no matter if I went left or right, north or south, it seemed that they all led me right back to you.”

“Jackson…” I started, but the tears and love in my soul made my words fade away.

“You’re my world, Gracelyn Mae,” he told me, moving in closer. Mama removed the roses from his hold, and Jackson took my hands into his. “You’re my faith. You’re my hope. You’re my true religion. I’m a better man because you exist. I’m me because of you. And if you’d allow it, I’d love to spend the rest of my life worshipping your heartbeats.”

I held his hands in mine and moved in close. My head tilted up, and I released a small breath as my eyes locked with his. A small, tiny, breath.

My mouth grazed across his, and I whispered against his lips. “Worship me, and I’ll worship you.”