FYI – this is the last numbered chapter before the epilogue

APRIL

"Watch her head, Alex. Oh, my god. Be careful of her neck. Be careful!"

"Dude, chill out," he says, situating the buckle on Evangeline's chest. "I got it."

We're in the process of getting Angel into her car seat for the ride home. We've been recovering at the hospital for three days, learning everything that is new baby, and getting used to having an infant. Alex hasn't left my side once; not that I thought he would, but it's comforting all the same.

"She's so tiny," I say quietly. "I don't want you to hurt her."

"He's doing just fine," the nurse says, soothing me. "She's not as fragile as you think."

Evangeline's eyes are closed, as they have been for most of the time she's been alive. For the extent of her three-day life, she's been very sleepy. I take one of her tiny hands and she wraps her fingers around mine, squeezing harder than what seems possible.

"I'm right here," I whisper. "Mama's right here, baby. I got you."

"Uncle Alex did all the work," Alex grumbles, lifting the car seat onto my lap as I lower into a wheelchair.

"You didn't just push a human out of your vagina," I say. "So, I really don't want to hear it."

"Point taken."

With a nurse following, Alex wheels me out to the car with the baby strapped in on my lap. We spend a good amount of time figuring out how to attach the seat to the seatbelts, and I fuss for both myself and the baby as Alex flips through the instruction manual.

"It's secure," he says. "Look. Feel."

He jostles the seat slightly.

"Be careful with her!" I insist, and slide in beside the seat. "Okay. Okay, I trust you. Let's just go home."

He drives slowly and carefully, and I keep one arm wrapped around the car seat so I can gaze into my baby's face on the way. Her skin is a light caramel color, and her eyes - when she opens them - are a deep, indigo blue. I'm sure they'll change as she grows older, but right now the shade is nothing short of magical.

"How's she doing?" Alex asks, glancing in the rearview mirror.

I look at her tiny fingernails, perfect and circular in shape. Her perfectly pink lips, her button nose. Her nearly nonexistent eyebrows and black shock of hair atop her head.

"So good," I say, and stroke her cheek. Responding to the reflex, she turns her head to the side and opens her mouth, and I giggle softly.

When we get home, Alex insists on carrying the seat inside.

"I can do it," I say.

"Like you said," he grunts, carefully taking the carrier out. "You just pushed this little dude out of your body. I think I can do the heavy lifting."

I allow him to, but I follow closely at his heels without taking my eyes away from the precious cargo inside. Evangeline opens her mouth in a wide yawn, eyes still closed, and sticks her tongue out. I smile at her, one arm braced on Alex's bicep, and shut the door behind us.

"Alright, gimme my baby," I say, and gently lift her out to hold her in my arms. Her weight is comforting, just like I'd imagined, and she makes small humming sounds next to my ear where her head rests. "Hi, baby," I whisper, closing my eyes and leaning my cheek against her head. "Hi, Angel. This is your home. This is where we live."

"Should we show her her room?" Alex asks, putting the seat away.

"Of course," I say.

"Not like she'll remember it," he says.

"Still," I say, and walk down the hallway with her. "Look at what your Uncle Alex did for you, Angel," I say, perfectly aware that her eyes are probably still closed. "See, we painted the walls pink and got you a nice crib and changing table. We put a lot of pictures on the wall… see, baby?"

I prop her up a bit and show her the wall of photos that I framed and Alex hung. There's a few of the two of us, some from years ago and one where I'm visibly pregnant. There's one of the four of us - me, Alex, Addison and Amelia, too. But most of the photos on the wall are of Jackson and me, back when he was alive and we were happy. There are some of Jackson alone, too. The one of he and his mother after his high school graduation is up there, along with ones I took while we were together. In every single shot, he's smiling. I want her to know him with a smile.

"That's your daddy," I whisper, pointing to a photo where Jackson's tie is loosened around his neck while he sits at the dining room table, grading papers. He's looking at me over his glasses, an amused glint in his eye. "That's your daddy right there. Isn't he handsome?"

Alex shoves his hands into his pockets and takes his eyes off of us while I show Angel everything I got for a short time, that she'll never have.

"I think she likes it," I tell Alex with a smile.

"Yeah?" he says.

I nod.

"How about your swing?" I ask, leading the way out of the nursery. "Is her swing set up?"

There's a small, soft, rocking swing in the living room that was in pieces for months. It's made specifically to soothe newborns, and it's now set next to where I like to sit on the couch.

"All ready for her," Alex says.

"Oh, let's go look at this," I say, stroking Evangeline's back. I lay her down with care, buckle her in, and she sneezes. "Bless you," I say, lightly.

I turn it on the lowest setting and it starts to rock back and forth. She opens her eyes and keeps them on me for a second, then I sit down on the couch and put my feet up.

"How're you feelin'?" Alex asks, sitting as well.

"Exhausted," I say, voice lowered from the high tone I'd been using with the baby.

He pats my shin a few times, steady and sure.

"You did a good job," he says. "You are. You are doing a good job."

I only have the energy to give him a weak smile before I fall asleep with the baby rocking next to me.

…

The baby eats every two hours, and even though I know I'll be awake again before long, I change her into pajamas and get her ready for bed around 8pm.

"You need any help?" Alex asks, lingering in the doorway.

My hands shake as I try and change her diaper, and she starts to whimper and cry because she's cold without pants. I'm not confident in handling her yet because she's so tiny, and I have no experience with newborns. Everything is so new, and it's terrifying.

For some reason, though, it doesn't feel right to ask Alex for help. I don't know why I thought I'd be instantly confident with her, because it isn't like that at all. It's exactly the opposite, actually. With any wrong move, I feel like she'll break, and I'll lose her like I lost him.

"I… uh, no," I say. "I'm good. I'm a little hungry, though."

"I can make something," he says. "What sounds good?"

Evangeline starts to cry harder, eyes pinched and mouth open in an angry, pink circle.

"Um, anything," I say, fingers still trembling. "Shhh, it's alright, baby. I got you. Almost done. Almost done, just a little bit of powder on your bottom before we close you up."

"You sure you got it?" Alex asks.

I look up after closing the diaper. "Yeah," I breathe. "I'm fine."

"Okay," he says, and leaves as I put her in a soft, flowered onesie that has hand covers so she doesn't scratch herself. It's a feat in itself, getting all her limbs in the correct places, and she doesn't like being maneuvered around, either.

"I know," I say, finally snapping the buttons in place. "It's not fun, I know. But Mama's here," I say, and lift her against my chest. "I got you."

I sit in the rocking chair and try to breathe, calming myself down. The baby makes little grunting sounds along with her cries, which tells me she's hungry again.

I pull the collar of my shirt aside and adjust my nursing bra, angling Evangeline's head towards my breast. She doesn't attach right away, she's still getting the hang of things, but it doesn't take too long before she latches and starts to eat.

I let out a sigh of relief. "There you go," I say, and run my hand over her back while she rests against me. "That's better."

I close my eyes and rock back and forth, letting my mind go wonderfully blank while I nourish my baby. I'm disturbed only minutes later by the sound of Alex's voice as he comes back into the room.

"Hey, just wondering if- oh, shit. Sorry."

The baby flinches at the sudden sound, and I soothe her with a steady hand. It dawns on me that Alex is caught off guard by the sight of my breast, which I'd totally forgotten about until I saw the look on his face.

"Don't worry about it," I say, voice groggy. "I have a feeling that, with her around, they're gonna be out a lot."

"Okay," he says, shifting uncomfortably. "But, uh, I was just wondering if you wanted penne or elbow noodles."

I snort and say, "Either's fine."

I burp the baby once she's done eating, holding her over my shoulder where the burp cloth lies. Once her stomach is settled and her eyes are droopy again, I lay her down in the crib for the first time.

I stand over it, one hand on her belly. "Kinda weird, isn't it," I say. "You're in there all by yourself. So tiny."

For safety reasons, there can't be any stuffed animals or blankets, but still. She seems so lonely. I can't bear to move far away from her, even with the security of the baby monitor. I have the intense need to stay nearby, so I lie on the floor and try to get comfortable.

Even though the carpet is soft, it's not forgiving. But it doesn't matter. Because of how exhausted I am, I fall asleep almost instantly after lying my head down on my upper arm.

"April," I hear, what seems like mere seconds later. I hear the voice, and feel my shoulder being nudged. "Dude, wake up. Why're you on the floor?"

"The baby…" I murmur, eyes half-open. "Is she okay? Baby?"

"She's asleep," he says. "You wanna have dinner?"

"No," I say, rubbing my eyes. "Too tired."

"Alright, let's get you to bed," he says.

"No, I'm fine here," I say, plopping my head down again.

He makes a frustrated sound. "You're gonna kill your back," he says. "You'll regret it. Come on, you have the baby monitor. If she makes any sound at all, you'll hear it. And it has the video feature I set up, too. You can see her."

"I wanna stay," I argue. "I want to be close to her."

We make prolonged eye contact, and I can tell by the look on his face that he knows he won't win. Towards the end, his features soften and his shoulders fall a bit - he gives in.

"At least sit in the chair," he says. "It'll be more comfortable."

I compromise. I get up from the floor and recline in the rocking chair, hands capping the cushioned ends of the armrests. I lean my head back and close my eyes, then fall asleep almost instantly.

…

I get up numerous times throughout the night and lose track of time. My clock goes by what Evangeline wants, and she's very demanding. I try and take advice from all the books and sleep when she does, and luckily, she sleeps a lot. But unfortunately, for very small amounts of time.

In the middle of the day when we wake up, Alex comes in the front door while she's nursing. I hadn't even realized he was gone.

"Where'd you go?" I ask, arms wrapped around my baby.

"Had to pick up something," he says, out of breath. "I'll show you."

He brings it over, and I see that he's bought a crib that attaches to the side of a bed.

"So you can have her close," he says. "And also sleep like a normal person."

"Oh, Alex," I say, smiling. "Thank you."

"Yeah," he says, grabbing the box again. "So, I'm just gonna go set this up."

I nod and watch him go in the direction of the guest bedroom, but something twists in my gut. I frown a bit, wondering what the feeling could mean, and realize I don't want the crib in there. I want it in mine and Jackson's bedroom. I want to sleep in there, with Evangeline's bed attached to the one her father and I once shared.

"Alex, wait," I say, trying not to raise my voice; I've learned it scares the baby. "Can you… can you put it on the bed in the master bedroom?"

I don't offer an explanation as to why, because I wouldn't know where to begin. I'm not sure how to lace the words together, or if they would make any sense if I tried.

His expression falters, and I feel it in my chest. Maybe he'd wanted her in there with us, or maybe this simply came out of left field and surprised him. Either way, he doesn't let his disappointment show for long. Instead, he turns on his heel and walks the other way, headed to the other room with the boxed crib in hand.

That night, I sleep in the bed that I haven't slept in for almost a year - this time, with my daughter by my side. I keep my eyes open and watch her while she sleeps; as her tiny belly rises and falls, as her miniscule fingers twitch from a dream. She is perfection, embodied.

I want him to see her, to know her, so badly, which is why I brought the both of us to the place where Jackson and I were closest. I hope, lying in this bed with the baby next to me, that I'll bring us a little nearer to who we lost.

…

A month passes. A month full of sleepless nights, tiring days, spit up and tears. Tears not only from the baby, but from me, too. I cry a lot. I cry more than I ever thought was possible. Because not only am I crying for what Jackson is missing out on - the beautiful moments, her wonderful milestones - but I also cry from pure exhaustion and defeat.

Evangeline is tiny, but she is powerful. A tiny whimper from her can rouse me from the deepest slumber, and I am at her every beck and call all day, every day. I'm her mother - that's how it should be - and Alex helps when he can, but I never knew it was this hard. This taxing, this demanding.

But today, graduation day, we've managed to keep it together. Since different majors graduate on different days, Alex is going to take Evangeline and watch me walk across the stage with her in the audience.

"I packed everything in the diaper bag," I say, glancing back at the baby as we pull up to the arena where I'll graduate. "Extra diapers, and an extra outfit if there's a blowout. Pacifiers, bottles. She just ate before we left, though, so she should last until after it's done. I'm hoping, at least."

"We'll be fine, A," Alex says, then looks at the baby in the mirror. "Won't we, Angel?"

She presses her lips together and forms a few spit bubbles, and Alex chuckles in response.

"Yeah, we'll be just fine," he says.

Over the past month, Evangeline has grown substantially. She can lift her head for short amounts of time while lying on her belly, and just moved it from side to side the other day. She loves to stare at her fingers and toes, though her eyes are still on the way to focusing - her eyes, that have turned dark blue from indigo and are getting lighter.

When it's time for me to part from the two of them, I zip my robe and make sure my hat sits right.

"You look good," Alex says, turning off the car.

I go around the back and pick the baby out of her seat gently, and cradle her in my arms. "Mama has go to graduate," I tell her, then kiss her forehead. Her eyes try and follow the tassel hanging from my hat, but it's a very difficult task. "I'm gonna leave you with Uncle Alex for just a little while. You guys will have fun. He's gonna take good care of you, okay?"

She opens her mouth in a wide yawn, and I smile at her.

"You be good," I tell her, running my fingers through her wispy black hair before looking up at him. "If you need me for anything, just call. I can get up and be wherever you need me, doesn't matter."

"A, you gotta breathe," he says. "Today's about you. I got the baby. I know what I'm doing. Just trust me."

"I do," I say, bouncing her slightly. "I do trust you."

"How about you start with handing over the baby, then?" he asks, a joking glint in his eyes.

"Right," I say, then kiss her. "I love you, Angel," I say, and deposit her little body into Alex's waiting arms.

"Look for us in the stands," he says. "We'll be cheering for you."

I throw one last wave over my shoulder and tear up as I walk away from them. I know it's silly, but I haven't been more than a few feet away from Evangeline since the day she was born. I'll still be in the same building, I have nothing to cry about, but my hormones aren't quite stabilized yet. So, really, I don't have much of a choice.

When the time comes, I sit with my classmates and fold my hands on my lap, waiting for my row to be called. We listened to a few speakers, none of which stuck with me. I can't stop thinking about Jackson - Jackson, and what he would think now that I'm here, now that I've finished.

I tilt my head back and look at the ceiling, in the way I always do when I want to talk to him. I don't speak aloud because I'm surrounded by people, but I think it forcefully enough for him to hear.

Can you see me? Are you watching? Did I make you proud?

I blink away more tears, and I'm sure they're not the last that will come out of this day. I close my eyes for a moment and place my head level again, then search the audience for my two familiar faces. It takes me a while, but I eventually spot them. Alex is cradling the baby and waving at me, a big smile on his face. He gives me a thumbs-up, and I shoot one back.

The ceremony goes quickly once everyone starts walking. I expect to feel differently after receiving my diploma, but I don't. How much could one piece of paper mean after all I've gone through in the past year?

What I care most about is finding Alex and Angel after it's over. I weave through the giant crowd, looking for the top of Alex's head, and find him in the company of two people I hoped we wouldn't run into today.

"April Flowers!" Amelia says, extending her arms for me as Addison stands beside her. They're in robes, too. I almost forgot they'd be graduating with me.

They each give me a big hug, and I do my best to return the gesture. It's not easy, though. My body stiffens and I crane my neck away, out of the range of their flyaway hairs.

"Congratulations!" they chorus.

"Thanks," I say, itching to get my baby in my arms. "You guys, too."

I walk through the two of them and Alex wordlessly hands Evangeline over. I'm instantly comforted with her small body against my heart.

"Would you look at this little nugget," Addison says. "I can't believe you haven't brought her by the house yet. She is so precious!"

"Did you come to watch your mommy graduate?" Amelia asks, crouching to look into the baby's face.

"She's so cute, April," Addison says.

"Daddy brought you today, huh," Amelia says, still cooing at the baby. "Her skin is darker than I thought it would be," she adds, standing up to her full height. "That's kind of funny."

"It isn't funny," I say, tone sharp.

"Well, I mean just funny as in like, where did she get it from?" Amelia continues.

My emotions take over, as they've been doing so frequently lately. "Her father," I say, point-blank. "She got it from her father."

Addie's forehead crinkles as she looks between Alex and Evangeline, then back again. Amelia does the same. I don't say a word.

"Are you ready to go home?" I ask Alex, pressing my lips to my baby's dark, black hair.

"Yeah," he says, glancing between our two friends, who still look very confused.

But beneath the confusion, there's a sort of realization that's been there all along.

…

June filters into July, which steams into August, and before I know it, Evangeline is three months old. She's been growing so fast that it seems like when I blink, she does something new. She kicks and props herself up on her arms, and laughs and smiles all day long.

She loves music, just like I do. Just like her daddy did. And today, in the kitchen, I have 'Mine' by Bazzi turned up on a mix CD I found in the junk drawer. I put it on, and this was the first song that played, and I couldn't have been more excited.

"This is my song, baby!" I say, a big smile on my face.

Angel copies my expression and smiles with me, squealing as she does. I sing along with the song, swaying as her small body rests on my hip.

"You so - freakin' - precious - when you - smile," I sing, censoring the swear word for her. I spin around and she shrieks, blowing spit bubbles as my hair flies around my head while we dance.

"I'm so - freakin' - happy - you're a - live," I continue, my forehead pressed against hers. I give her kisses and she closes her eyes to accept them, mouth still open in a gummy grin.

"I love you, sweet baby," I say, under the music, still moving to it. "I love you so much."

When the song ends, the kitchen is quiet for a moment until the next one comes on. Surprisingly, the first few notes of 'Songbird' play, and I'm frozen in place.

Hearing the music without understanding the gravity of the song, Evangeline claps her hands and wants me to dance again, I can tell. But I don't. I stay standing there, rooted to the floor, staring ahead.

For you, there'll be no more crying. For you, the sun will be shining. And I feel that when I'm with you, it's alright. I know it's right.

To you, I will give the world. To you, I'll never be cold. 'Cause I feel that when I'm with you, it's all right. I know it's right.

And the songbirds are singing like they know the score… and I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before.

Evangeline touches my chin with her soft hand, bringing me back to earth. My eyes burn with tears, and Alex walks in the door just as I'm snapping out of my reverie. In that split second, when I close my eyes, I can almost smell Jackson's cologne as if he were passing by.

"Hey," Alex says, eyes on us with a few bags of groceries in his hands.

"Hey…" I say, zoned out.

"Y'alright?"

"Yeah," I say, still absent.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I say again, then take one hand off the baby to shut the music off.

Alex comes over, arms outstretched and fingers wiggling. "Your mama's acting like a big weirdo today, Angel. Come here and see Uncle Alex, c'mere!"

With a weak smile, I hand her over and she makes happy sounds while in his arms. He holds her close, kisses the top of her growing curls, and watches me wander out of the kitchen towards the bedroom.

I bought a book a couple months ago, on a whim. I was up late, nursing the baby and scrolling through Amazon when I found it. I didn't tell Alex; once it came, I tucked it away and didn't so much as open it. But now, I think I'm ready.

I go into the nursery to find it. I tucked it in the bookshelf among all the other nursery rhymes and cardboard books, but I spot it easily. It's bigger than the rest. I pull it out, look at the untouched, beautiful cover, and mouth the title to myself.

Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You, by Nancy Tillman.

I'm ready to read it to her now.

I'm fully aware that Angel won't understand, but I will. And I'll continue to read it to her as she gets older, too. There's no better time than now to begin.

"Alex," I say, book tucked under my arm. "Can I have the baby back?"

He's still in the kitchen with her, having a snack while she balances on his hip.

"Oh, sure," he says, chewing. "Is it nap time?"

"I just… I just want her," I say, and she reaches for me and folds her small body against my chest with a contented sigh.

I walk us both into the nursery and sit in the rocking chair, then kiss the top of her soft head.

"I have a book I wanna show you, baby," I say. "You won't understand it yet, but Mama's just gonna read it to you. And I'll keep reading it to you, for as long as you want me to. Alright?"

She's sleepy. Alex was right, it is close to nap time. That fact will make the story easier to get through, because she won't be so interested in grabbing at the pages.

"It's called 'Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You,'" I say, flipping open the wide cover. Evangeline sits on my lap, back against my stomach, tucked close. "You ready?"

She buzzes her lips and rests the back of her head against the apex of my ribs. I take that as a yes. I clear my throat.

"I wanted you more than you ever will know, so I sent love to follow wherever you go," I begin, trying to ignore the insistent lump in my throat. "It's as high as you wish it. It's quick as an elf. You'll never outgrow it… it stretches itself!"

I kiss the top of her head again with the last line and she babbles along with me, copying my tones.

"So climb any mountain… climb up to the sky! My love will find you. My love can fly!"

I turn the page and she copies my hand movements as best she can in her fumbling, baby way.

"Make a big splash! Go out on a limb! My love will find you. My love can swim!"

I trace the picture with one finger - shown is an elephant on a beach, playfully spraying a burst of water at a boy wearing a hat.

"It never gets lost, never fades, never ends…" I trail off. "If you're working… or playing… or sitting with friends."

I drop my chin and close my eyes for a moment, flipping the page yet again.

"You can dance 'til you're dizzy… paint 'til you're blue… There's no place, not one, that my love can't find you."

I take a break, a breath, a moment. I need one much more than she does, because I'm acutely aware of these words and who they inherently come from. Evangeline enjoys the closeness of her mother and the rise and fall of my voice, that's all. The content means nothing to her, not yet. But to me, it means everything.

"And if someday you're lonely, or someday you're sad, or you strike out at baseball, or think you've been bad… just lift up your face, feel the wind in your hair…"

The tears stream down my face by now, but I don't wipe them away. They fall into her tiny, spiral curls and sit there - shiny and glistening.

"That's me, my sweet baby, my love is right there."

Her weight grows heavier, her babbling quiets. She's soft and pliant now, on her way to sleep.

"In the green of the grass… in the smell of the sea… in the clouds floating by… at the top of a tree… in the sound crickets make at the end of the day… 'You are loved. You are loved. You are loved,' they all say."

I lower my voice to a whisper, because her breath comes easier and deeper now.

"My love is so high, and so wide and so deep, it's always right there, even when you're asleep."

I close my eyes once more, centering myself in her presence. My baby, everything that Jackson and I created, is culminated right here into this tiny, precious human.

"So hold your head high and don't be afraid," I read, finishing up. "To march to the front of your own parade. If you're still my small babe or you're all the way grown, my promise to you is that you're never alone."

I take a moment to catch my breath. I had no idea the book would hit me this hard.

"You are my angel, my darling, my star… and my love will find you, wherever you are."

I close the cover and openly weep, but quietly so not to wake her. I set the book on the floor and cradle the baby, rocking her side to side while gazing at her perfect face.

"That's from your daddy," I tell her, tracing her sweet features. "He loves you, Angel. And he would've loved to know you."

I lean back in the chair, eyes wet and looking up towards the ceiling. When they're open, all I see is the unmoving fan. But when I close them, I see Jackson's face, watching us, admiring all that I've become because of her.

"Did you meet her?" I ask, voice settling in the air. "Do you already know her?"

Of course, I get no answer. But I convince myself, in the quiet nursery alongside me and our sleeping baby, Jackson is here.

…

The first word she speaks is 'mama,' of course.

She says it at 8 months old, in January. I'm walking into her nursery, to get her from the crib she takes naps in. She still sleeps next to me at night, but this room is quieter during the day.

With her arms stretched towards me, she opens her mouth and flashes her single tooth, saying, "Mama," like she's been saying it all her life.

I cried with joy, and laughed, too. I picked her up, swung her around, and listened to her babble the same word all day long.

I'm resting on the couch a few days later when I hear movement from the baby monitor. It's late morning, around the time when she wakes up from her first nap, and Alex is still in bed. There's no one in the room with her, but she's talking like someone is.

I push the button on top of the monitor to watch her. She's standing up, hands braced on the bars of the crib, eyes all around the room while speaking nonsense. She looks happy; her eyes are bright and there's a hint of a smile on her face, as if she's talking to me or someone she knows and loves. But no one is there.

I sit up slowly, keeping my eyes on the screen. I can't help but let my mind wander where it wants to go - is Jackson with her?

I never voice those thoughts aloud. I don't want to sound crazy, or for Alex to think I'm stupid. I don't really think he would, but a part of me still downplays it.

I get up and make my way to the nursery, peeking my head in to see Angel in the middle of the same antics. She spots me before long, though, and squeals with joy.

"Mama!" she says, a warm greeting.

"Hi, honey," I say, setting the monitor down and walking over. I lift her out of the crib, change her diaper quickly, and plant her on my hip. "Who were you talking to, huh? Who were you talking to in here?"

She opens her mouth and lets out a long, sweet sound, plunking her head down on my shoulder. She sticks her hand in her mouth and chews, getting it shiny with spit, and continues on in baby talk.

I take a step further. I walk to the bookshelf and pick up a small, framed photo of Jackson that I took around Christmas. He's in the kitchen cooking, and my vantage point is from the counter a few feet away - my favorite spot.

"Were you talking to your daddy?" I ask, showing her the picture. She looks at it, blinking curiously. "Can you say 'dada?' Did you see him, Angel?"

Of course, she doesn't answer. I kiss her temple, set the frame down, and walk out of the room towards Alex.

"Baby wants to see you," I say, nudging the door with my shoulder.

He's sitting in bed on his phone, but puts it down when he sees us. "Hey," he says. "Look who's up."

I smile and set Angel down on his legs, and she scoots closer immediately. "She was just talking away in there," I say.

"Chatterbox like Mama," Alex says, laughing.

Angel reaches her arms out, fingers stretched towards Alex's face. When she gets close enough, she grabs his nose with one hand and his chin with the other.

Then, she says, "Dada."

The room is silent for a long, thick moment. I feel Alex's eyes on me, but I'm staring at the back of Evangeline's head. The back of her head that's covered in beautiful, kinky curls that could have never come from Alex. I know exactly who they came from.

"She didn't mean it," he says. "She doesn't know, A."

"No, I know," I say, but the tears are determined.

Of course she doesn't know, because she wasn't given the opportunity to know. Of course she thinks Alex is 'Dada,' because no matter how much I talk to her about Jackson, read her the book or show his picture, he isn't present. He isn't here, and Alex is. That's who she sees. That's who helps take care of her, that's who gets her dressed and changes her diaper, makes dinner and gives Mommy hugs.

Alex is alive. Jackson is dead.

Evangeline learns by what's in front of her. By what she lives with every day. And that will never be Jackson. He'll never wake up to the sound of her crying, rock her to sleep on a cold night, or make her a bottle. He won't see her first steps, attend her first birthday, or ever, ever kiss her goodnight.

"I know," I say again.

"You'll tell her someday," he says. "But she's just a baby now. She doesn't get it."

"I know," I say again, seemingly the only thing I can say. Because I do know. I am fully, completely aware of how absent Jackson is.

Missing him is like a hole in my heart.

...

When Evangeline is 11 months old in the month of April, I get a piece of mail from an address in Ohio. I stare at the envelope with the baby resting on my hip, thumb in her mouth.

I haven't ever gotten something from Ohio. Moline, specifically. There's no name listed, but I'm not stupid. I know who it's from.

I don't think it's a letter, it's too stiff. It's cardstock, by the way it feels through the paper. I could spend all night theorizing, but all I do is set it on the counter, face-down, and walk away. I tell myself I don't have any interest in opening it, and there's no reason for me to see what's inside. I should throw it away, but I don't.

It stays on the counter, untouched by both myself and Alex. It just sits there, waiting. Like it knows I'll eventually get to it. I know that, too, even as I try to fight the urge.

Three nights later, as I nurse Angel and she falls asleep curled against my chest, I can't ignore it anymore. I carry her to my bedroom and lay her down in the crib, then pad into the kitchen where Alex stands, eating Chinese leftovers.

"What's that?" he asks, regarding the white envelope in my hands.

"I'm not sure," I say, and rip the seam carefully. Once it's open, I pull out the thick piece of paper and see it's an invitation - an invitation to a funeral.

IN LOVING MEMORY

Of

Joseph L. Kepner

1960 - 2019

April 20th, 2019 at 12pm

Life Chapel

Willow Cemetery

Moline, OH 43465

"Oh, my god," I mutter, mostly to myself.

"What is it?" Alex asks again, eyebrows furrowed.

"My…" I begin, but my voice trails off and goes weak.

"What?"

I set the paper back on the counter, but I keep my eyes on it. There's no photo, no fancy design, just cut and dry. I would expect nothing more, assuming my mother created it.

"My… my dad died," I say.

"Wait," Alex says. "Shit."

He knows the bare minimum about my family. He knows they weren't nice people and that I essentially ran away from them, but he doesn't know why. I don't plan on ever telling another soul about that. Jackson was the only one I trusted enough to shoulder those secrets.

"How long's it been since you've heard from them?" he asks.

"Christmas, freshman year," I say, eyes still on the invitation. I can't believe what I'm looking at, I can't believe they extended it to me. I can't imagine they want me there, so I can't help but chalk it up to a mistake. Or maybe, all they're trying to do is save face.

With whatever my family's intent might be, it doesn't scare me. I don't feel afraid. Instead, I feel angry, and a small sense of retribution. My father, the one who inflicted years upon years of abuse against me, is dead. One small, quiet thought comes to me: God doesn't only take the good people.

I'm not the same person I was when I left them at 18, I don't know that girl anymore. I'm a woman now, I'm a mother. I'm still finding my balance in the world, but I've done everything they said I couldn't. I'm everything they thought I'd never be. And I'm determined to show them, and prove it.

"The funeral is on the 30th," I say.

Alex gives me a funny look. "You're not going, are you?"

I don't hesitate before I answer, "Yeah. I am."

"Why?"

I press my lips together and sigh softly. He doesn't come from all that great of a family, either, but he knew snippets of love as a child. His mother is mentally ill, not willfully blind. His father was absent, but not a tyrant. He doesn't stand a chance in understanding, and even if he did, I have a feeling my explanation wouldn't be all that telling.

"I just want to..." I say. "Pay my respects. Show them I'm alive. That I did it."

He takes a deep breath, obviously a bit troubled by my words. But he eventually says, "Okay."

"It's in Ohio," I say. "I'll drive there."

"Alright," he says. "Uh, you gonna be okay leaving the baby with me?"

I frown slightly. It hadn't crossed my mind not to take her - she's an integral part of my plan, in the way I'll present myself.

"No," I say. "She's coming with me."

"April," Alex says, in a tone that's obviously trying to bring me back to earth. "You're gonna drive with her, a baby, all the way to Moline? That's like, four hours. Or more."

"We'll be fine," I say, determined. "She's a good girl. She needs to come. I… I need her there."

"Well, then I'll come, too," he says.

"No," I say, instantly, adamantly. "I need to go alone."

"Who's gonna watch the baby during the funeral?" he asks.

"Me," I say. "She'll come. We'll be together."

He closes his eyes for a brief moment. "Think about this for a second," he says. "You haven't seen your family since whenever, and now you're gonna bring your-"

"I don't need a lecture from you on what to do with my child," I say, firmly. "I'm driving to Ohio, and I'm bringing Angel. That's the end of it. I'm her mother, and I make the decisions. Okay, Alex?"

He concedes, doesn't fight me any longer, and I'm glad. It's in his best interest.

…

When the day comes, Alex is still worried. He kissed my cheek before we left and gave me a long hug, then fussed over Angel like we were traveling across the world. The car ride wasn't bad, though, and I checked into a motel as soon as we arrived so we could change clothes.

We ran a little late, which meant missing the service. But there's still enough time to make it to the cemetery, which is what really matters.

I drive slowly along the beaten path, paved years and years ago. I grew up in this town, but rarely left the house unless it was for church, so I don't know my way around like I would had I spent my childhood normally. This place is only a few miles from my house, but I've never been here before.

"Angel," I say, glancing back at her while finding a secluded place to park. "Mama's nervous."

She chews on her fist and says, "Mama."

"Yeah," I say, resting with my hands on the wheel for a moment.

What will I say? How will they react when they see me? What's more, how will they react when they see a baby in my arms - a baby with brown skin? I know for a fact that if they say anything derogatory about her, a switch will flip inside me. One I never had while I was with them, but one I've grown into now. They won't like the way I react, either.

When I get out of the car, I see a small group of people huddled a good distance away. Everyone is dressed in black, but the long, red hair is unmistakable. It's them. The whole lot of them.

I get Angel out of the back seat and place her on my hip, walking deftly around the front of the car - eyes unmoving. They have no inkling that I'm here - they must not have heard the car. My walk is silent, and Angel makes no sound. It's like we aren't here at all.

As I grow closer, my grip on the baby tightens. Today, I put her in a tiny black dress with black socks and shiny black shoes. She is dressed to mourn, but I don't feel any sorrow. My father got what was coming to him, and it's guaranteed he isn't with his God now.

I see my mother. I see the woman who let it happen, right under her nose. Who witnessed the beatings and the ostracization and allowed him to cause me so much pain. Allowed him to ruin my childhood, and refused to help rebuild it. She stands and weeps for the man she loved, who wrecked her middle daughter's budding spirit.

I press my lips to my own daughter's warm temple. I will never let anything or anyone touch her. Judging by how much I love her, I have no idea how my mother could let what happened to me happen at all. How could she sit by and watch the brutal abuse of the girl who came from her, whom she created?

"No," I whisper, hitching my baby a bit higher. I stop walking. I keep staring at them, the people who I used to call my family.

I won't give myself back, and I won't hand her over. I won't say goodbye, and I won't pay my respects.

None of them deserve my kindness; they never did. Not a single one of them deserves the love I have to give.

I take a deep breath and let it out, surrounded by headstones and death. But I hold life in my arms. I hold the life I created. And as I turn on my heel, I turn my back for the final time on the life I left behind.

Because of those people, I was made to feel like I'd never know true love, or that it always came at a price. That with love, came physical pain. But out of the many things Jackson taught me, one of them was this: that fact is the furthest thing from the truth.

I gave him my heart when it was the weakest, and he made me strong. His love continues in our daughter, our Angel, whom I fall more in love with every day.

After he passed, my world grew dark much in the way it had been prior to meeting him. But Evangeline, my little girl with the luminous smile, brought back the light. I realized I can't fall in love without her.

Jackson gave me plenty of things, but the sweet baby on my hip is by far the best, most precious gift.

He might not be with me physically anymore, but I see him in our daughter every day. When she concentrates and crinkles her forehead, when I make her laugh while she's in a bad mood, when she seeks out my comfort at night.

He gave it all to her - and through her, he gave everything to me.