I pulled the curtain back, there in the bed, looking so tiny and frail, was my little girl. She was pale, dark blue circles around her eyes, but she was alive and she was going to be ok. I had to keep reminding myself of that or I was going to break down right in front of her.

I put my hand over hers and felt the place where her IV was connected to her hand.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Hi, Mama.” Her voice was weak and scratchy, but it was the best sound I’d ever heard.

“Hi, baby girl.” I felt the tears coming, but I held them back and showed her nothing but calm confidence.

“What happened?”

“You had a little accident, baby girl, but you’re okay now. You’ll be home very soon.”

“Is Daddy here?”

I suddenly realized how much that word meant, and exactly who it referred to. There was only one man who fit that description. “Yes, baby girl, he’s here. You can see him after you get some rest.”

“Wanna hear a secret, Mama?” she asked me, her eyes now closed.

“Sure, baby.” I lay next to her on the bed, careful not to squish any of the wires or tubes. “Tell me a secret.” I held her to my side without moving her. I needed her to feel me there, to know she wasn’t alone as she drifted off to sleep.

“Jake lets me call him Daddy when you aren’t around.” Even with her eyes closed she was smiling.

“Oh, does he?”

“Yeah. He says I can call him Daddy in front of you only when you say it’s okay.” I leaned down and kissed my sweet girl on her cheek. “Is it okay, Mama?” It came on a shallow breath. She was asleep before I could answer.

I smoothed down her hair and whispered to her, “You get some sleep now.” I was finally coming to accept that there were some things in life that were just meant to be. Not all of them are good. But Jake being Georgia’s father was meant to be.

Two souls who bonded because of love, and love alone.

My parents didn’t choose me. They ended up with me after my mother got pregnant. They’d never wanted children. They reminded me every day what a burden I was to their drugged-out lives. I never felt anything even close to love.

Then, Nan came and showed me that someone could truly care about me and love me for who I was and what I was. She took me in because I was her flesh and blood, but she loved me because she wanted to, not because she had to.

Then, there was Jake and Georgia. They had chosen one another. It hadn’t been all that long, but they already knew they wanted to be a family, and regardless of what my feelings were initially, they knew it was meant to happen.

A family by choice, not chance. A choice to love, and to be loved in return. A choice to take care of and enjoy one another, not to put up with or to suffer through one another.

It was the best kind of family. A family on our own terms.

I whispered to my baby girl— my entire world, the centerpiece of the family we’d all chosen to be part of. “You can call him Daddy.”

***

Bethany was the only one in the waiting room when I came back out. She was sipping from the tiny straw of an orange juice box.

“Where’s Jake?” I asked.

“The nurse with the attitude came back in and asked for blood donations.” She showed me a small round Band-Aid on the inside of her arm. “He’s in there now. How is she?”

“She’s tired. They’ve got her on a lot of meds, but she’s going to be okay.” It felt good to say it, and after seeing her, I truly believed it. My legs suddenly felt very heavy and weak. I plopped down next to Bethany.

“I’m so sorry, Abby.”

I saw the tears fill her eyes, the quivering of her lip. “Stop, Bethany.” I made a move to put my hand over hers. It burned, but I ignored it. I needed to comfort her, and that was far more important than my own pain. “You gave birth to him. You didn’t put the gun in his hand, and you didn’t tell him to pull the trigger. Just like you didn’t make him rape me.” It was so odd saying it like that, so bluntly, to the woman who helped carry me back to Jake’s apartment after it happened. She was probably as much a victim of her son as I had been. “You made a lot of mistakes, but we all have. I don’t blame you—for any of it. So stop apologizing.”

Jake interrupted us when he stepped back into the waiting room, escorted by a nurse wearing purple scrubs. His face was pale. He was clutching a juice box in one hand and a cookie in the other. He sat on the couch and drained the juice in one long pull. “Well, that sucked,” he said. I almost laughed.