Rejected and Broken

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Aurora.

“Ama, sweetheart, where’s your other shoe?” I called, balancing a steaming mug of coffe in one hand and hairbrush in the other. She often didn't do her best to try and hide her shoes, especially when it came to the fact of her heading to the daycare.

Then again, I knew that it was her hiding her things whenever she did not want to go anywhere beside ice cream or the park. She was just as stubborn as her father, no matter how much I wanted to try and forget him.

A giggle echoed from behind the couch, followed by the soft thud of tiny feet against the floor. I set the mug down on the kitchen counter and leaned over the back of the worn sofa, finding my daughter crouched beneath the coffee table. She let out a little giggle, but did her best to try and keep herself hidden despite making a little noise that I believed she thought I wouldn’t hear.

“There you are,” I said, smiling despite the chaos. “We’re going to be late, love. And I think that you know that you don't want to be late for your play day.”

Ama grinned, her bright green eyes, so much like his, shining with mischief. “I’m hiding, Mama.”

I crouched down, holding out the tiny sneaker in my hand. “If you’re hiding, how am I supposed to get you to daycare so I can go to work and earn us some ice cream money? How is Mama going to be able to take you to the park later?”

Her eyes widened. “Ice cream? We're going to the park?”

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded, trying to keep my voice light. “But only if we hurry. You don't want to be late for your day and you don't want to be late for your play games and your friends.”

Ama scrambled out from under the table, her small hands gripping my shoulders as I slipped the sneaker onto her foot. She was all soft giggles and warm skin, her laughter a melody that never failed to soothe the ache in my chest. She was the one light of my day after everything was ruined for me, after my life shifted into something that I did not expect it to be.

“There,” I said, tying the laces with quick fingers. “All set.”

She threw her arms around my neck, her curls tickling my cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

My breath caught, as it did every time. “I love you too, baby. Always.”

I stood, grabbing my worn leather bag and double-checking that everything was inside, my wallet, keys, a packed lunch for Ama, and the folder with my notes for work. My job at the small accounting firm wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills and kept a roof over our heads. It was more than enough. I learned very quickly what it was to be happy with the things that I had, with the little things that I could afford when I found myself with nothing to lose.

“Ready?”

Ama nodded, slipping her hand into mine. Her fingers were tiny, but her grip was strong. We stepped out of the small apartment, and I locked the door behind us, a practiced motion that had become a ritual of safety and caution.

The world outside was bustling, a stark contrast to the quiet life we led. Our apartment complex sat on the edge of a busy street, where cars honked and people moved with purpose. It was nothing like the pack lands, where the forest hummed with life and the air was always tinged with the scent of pine and earth. Everywhere here was busy. Everywhere here told me that I was alone in this world, but it also gave me a sense of peace that I knew that it did not have within the pack. I wouldn't have had it if I stayed there.

I hadn’t thought about the pack in years. I didn’t let myself. It was a dark memory that I did my best to try and live far away from.

We reached the bus stop just as the old, yellow vehicle wheezed to a halt. I guided Ama up the steps, waving at Mrs. Harlan, the elderly driver who always had a warm smile for us.

“Good morning, sweethearts,” she said. “On your way to daycare, Ama?”

Ama nodded, her curls bouncing. “Mama said we can get ice cream if I’m good. And if we get there early, I'm also going to the park.”

“Well, then you better be on your best behavior,” Mrs. Harlan chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I think that you don't need to be late, then the park will be waiting for you.”

I led Ama to an empty seat, sitting her on my lap as the bus lurched forward. She leaned into me, her thumb finding its way into her mouth as she gazed out the window.

The daycare was only a few stops away, tucked into a quiet corner of the neighborhood. It was a small, homely place, run by Miss Clara, a kind woman who treated every child like her own. It had been a blessing finding her, a safe space for Ama while I worked.

When we reached the gate, Ama hesitated, her small hand gripping mine tighter.

“What’s wrong, love?” I asked softly.

She bit her lip, her brows furrowing in a way that mirrored my own. “You won't be late, right?”

“Oh, Ama.” I knelt in front of her, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You know that I'm never late unless I really have something to do. And even if I am, I'm going to give you a call to assure you that I'm okay.”

She nodded, though the worry didn’t quite leave her eyes. I knew that fear. It was the same gnawing anxiety that had plagued me for years, the fear of being left behind. I did not know how she had developed it, but I knew that she was always afraid of being left behind, maybe because I was the only family that she knew.

I hugged her tightly, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent. “I’ll be back before you know it. And then, ice cream, remember?”

She managed a small smile. “Okay.”

I stood, watching as Miss Clara took Ama’s hand and led her inside, her warm voice offering comfort. I waited until the door closed, until I couldn’t see my daughter’s curls through the window. Only then did I turn away, forcing my feet to move.

The walk to work wasn’t far, but each step felt heavier than the last. My mind raced with the usual worries, bills, groceries, Ama’s school fees. And beneath it all, the constant hum of fear.

Fear of being found.

Fear of him.

I pulled my coat tighter around me, blending into the crowd as I always did. I had built a life out of shadows, threading myself into the seams of the world where no one would think to look.

It was safer this way.

For me.

For Ama.

But as I reached the glass doors of the accounting firm and caught my reflection—a woman with tired eyes and a practiced smile—I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer we could hide. How much longer I could keep my daughter safe from the world that had broken me.

I drew a breath, steadying myself.

One day at a time.

One step at a time.

And as long as I could still hold Ama close, as long as I could still promise her safety, I would keep going.

No matter what.

I wasn’t going to let that thought slip my mind. No matter how hard things could end up being.