Page 39 of Until You

I cry because it’s beautiful.

I cry because I’ve never had anything like it.

I cry because there’s a photo of Oliver at eight years old, small and serious in his cowboy hat. His child is growing inside me right now, and I haven’t told him. I might never have anything like what’s on that screen, but I gave these people this—I found their memories in a box in a closet, and I pulled them into the light—and maybe that’s enough. Maybe being the person who preserves the love story, even if she never gets one of her own, is enough.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

But it’s what I have.

I can’t help but wonder what they’ll all think when they find out who my baby’s father is. Will they accept my child? Will they accept me? Even on the periphery of their perfect family?

The slideshow ends. The final photo—Mimz and Pops last month, before the cruise, standing on the front porch of their house with their arms around each other, laughing about something I can’t remember—dissolves into another George Strait song’s final notes.

The crowd explodes.

Applause and tears, and Mimz sobbing openly into Pops’ chest while he holds her and blinks hard at the sky. Payton is crying without any attempt at concealment, his sweet, tender heart just sitting right out on those impossibly broad shoulders of his. Kelsie is pretending she’s not. Even Addison’s posh British husband’s eyes are shining. James has his arm around Rebecca, his face turned into her hair.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. Quiet. Quick.

Then I slip away from the crowd.

Not dramatically. Not in a way that draws attention. I just... step backward, into the dark, the way I’ve been doing my whole life. Making myself small. Making space for the people who belong.

I don’t belong here.

Not really.

No matter how much I want to.