Today was hard.
Tilly was still fractured—sharp-edged, unsettled.
Maybe she was missing her dad.
Maybe she was just tired.
Maybe the world was just too much for her soft little heart.
Work was frantic for me—nonstop, noisy, too full.
I snapped at Joel when I shouldn’t have.
But he met me with calm, with love.
He had good news—he got the job.
It was beautiful to see him lighter again,
to watch the weight fall from his shoulders,
to see him be himself again.
But after school, the cracks widened.
Her voice turned sharp.
Her eyes flared with the kind of rage only grief knows.
She screamed.
She cried.
She told me she hated me.
Said I ruin everything.
Said she wanted to go back.
Back to Lady.
Back to just me and her and her dad.
Back to a world that made sense to her.
But I know she doesn’t truly want that.
What she wants is safety.
Simplicity.
She wants a world that doesn’t keep shifting shape beneath her feet.
And I am her safe space.
So she let it out.
And I held her, even when it hurt.
She asked me to bring Lady back.
To make everything the way it was.
And I had to say the hardest thing a mother can say:
I can’t.
Lady is gone.
That chapter is closed.
But this—
this is our story now.
It’s different.
It’s messy.
But it’s real.
And it’s beautiful in its own, strange way.
We are writing a new book together.
One with new characters, new rituals, new rhythms.
And yes—the ghosts of the past still linger.
But the ink is ours now.
And every word we write is stitched with something stronger than grief.
We cried.
Then we breathed.
And then we got up.
We went to my best friend’s house.
We ate Chinese food.
Watched our silly quiz shows.
Tilly and Louis chased each other around the lounge, teasing and laughing,
and I felt the light return.
She’s usually with her dad on those nights.
That’s usually my time to fall apart.
But having her with me tonight—
it was different.
It was healing.
She’s such an old soul, my girl.
She feels everything like thunder inside her chest—just like me.
But my God, her temper…
that flick of the switch, that blaze in her voice—
that’s her dad, through and through.
And I try, with everything in me,
to be her lighthouse without dimming her flame.
She adores Joel.
She’s just still learning how to share me.
How to make space for someone new in the book we’re writing.
She’s learning.
I’m learning.
But tonight, I saw a glimpse of what we’re building.
And even in the exhaustion, even in the mess—
I believe in us.