My cuticles are messed to hell, my fingers scratched and dry. I’ve unpacked our clothes and Cally’s toys, decorated as much as I can without using a hammer to hang up pictures, and I am freakin’ exhausted. But… I look around. This house looks like a home. A real home, all mine. Cally is asleep in her bed with every single stuffed animal that I unpacked. It’s almost impossible to find the kid buried in all the plush, but she’s there, softly breathing, with a smile on her face. My phone rings, pulling me out of space. Grayson’s number lights the screen, and the first thing I’m going to do after we end this call is program his name. “Hey.” “Hey, pretty mama.” God, I love that. “How’d today go?” He groans. “That good, huh?” “The job interview, that was fine.” “That’s good.” A job. Stability. I can’t help but be nervous that it all might flit away. “Some other stuff I had to deal with. Basically—” He blows out into the phone. “Ya know, Pops is a piece of shit.”
